Page:Electra of Euripides (Murray 1913).djvu/74

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It shames me; yet, God knows, I hunger sore—

What wouldst thou? Speak; the old fear nevermore

Need touch thee.

To let loose upon the dead

My hate! Perchance to rouse on mine own head

The sleeping hate of the world?

No man that lives

Shall scathe thee by one word.

Our city gives

Quick blame; and little love have men for me.

If aught thou hast unsaid, sister, be free

And speak. Between this man and us no bar

Cometh nor stint, but the utter rage of war.

[''She goes and stands over the body. A moment's silence''.

Ah me, what have I? What first flood of hate

To loose upon thee? What last curse to sate

My pain, or river of wild words to flow

Bank-high between? Nothing? And yet I know