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Tis madness and the rule of mind distraught,

Since she beheld her city sink in fire,

And hither comes, nor brooks the bit, until

In foam and blood her wrath be champed away.

See ye to her; unqueenly 'tis for me,

Unheeded thus to cast away my words.

[Exit Clytemnestra.

But with me pity sits in anger's place.

Poor maiden, come thou from the car; no way

There is but this—take up thy servitude.

Woe, woe, alas! Earth, Mother Earth! and thou

Apollo, Apollo!

Peace! shriek not to the bright prophetic god,

Who will not brook the suppliance of woe.

Woe, woe, alas! Earth, Mother Earth! and thou

Apollo, Apollo!

Hark, with wild curse she calls anew on him,

Who stands far off and loathes the voice of wail.

Apollo, Apollo!

God of all ways, but only Death's to me,