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Unmanly doom! 'twere better far to die—

Death is a gentler lord than tyranny.

Think well—must cry or sign of woe or pain

Fix our conclusion that the chief is slain?

Such talk befits us when the deed we see—

Conjecture dwells afar from certainty.

I read one will from many a diverse word,

To know aright, how stands it with our lord!

[''The scene opens, disclosing Clytemnestra, who comes forward. The body of Agamemnon lies, muffled in a long robe, within a silver-sided laver; the corpse of Cassandra is laid beside him''.

Ho, ye who heard me speak so long and oft

The glozing word that led me to my will—

Hear how I shrink not to unsay it all!

How else should one who willeth to requite

Evil for evil to an enemy

Disguised as friend, weave the mesh straitly round him,

Not to be overleaped, a net of doom.

This is the sum and issue of old strife

Of me deep-pondered and at length fulfilled.

All is avowed, and as I smote I stand

With foot set firm upon a finished thing!