Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/141

Rh While thou, by idle bark, dost all things stir

To hate;—when conquered, thou wilt tamer show.

Shalt thou be ruler of the Argives, thou,

Who, when that thou hadst plotted this man's death,

Didst courage lack to strike the blow thyself?

To spread the snare was plainly woman's part,

For I, his ancient foeman, was suspect;

But armed with this man's treasure, be it mine

To rule the citizens. Th' unruly colt

That, barley-fed, turns restive, I will bind

With heavier thong than yokes the trace-horse;—him,

Darkness' grim comrade, Famine, shall see tamed.

This man why didst thou not, O base of soul,

Slaughter thyself? But him his wife, with thee,

The land polluting, and her country's gods,

Hath slain. Orestes, sees he still the light,

That, home-returning with auspicious Fate,

He may, with mighty stroke, deal death to both?

Since thou art minded thus to act, not talk alone, know quickly.