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Thus by that curse fell he whom here ye see,

And I—who else?—this murder wove and planned;

For me, an infant yet in swaddling bands,

Of the three children youngest, Atreus sent

To banishment by my sad father's side:

But Justice brought me home once more, grown now

To manhood's years; and stranger thro' I was,

My right hand reached unto the chieftain's life,

Plotting and planning all that malice bade.

And death itself were honour now to me,

Beholding him injustice' ambush ta'en.

Ægisthus, for this insolence of thine

That vaunts itself in evil, take my scorn.

Of thine own will, thou sayest, thou hast slain

The chieftain, by thine own unaided plot

Devised the piteous death: I rede thee well,

Think not thy head shall 'scape, when right prevails,

The people's ban, the stones of death and doom.

This word from thee, this word from one who rows

Low at the oars beneath, what time we rule,

We of the upper tier? Thou'lt know anon,

'Tis bitter to be taught again in age,

By one so young, submission at the word.

But iron of the chain and hunger's throes,

Can minister unto an o'erswoln pride

Marvellous well, ay, even in the old.