Page:The Dramas of Aeschylus (Swanwick).djvu/195

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Where then the price for which I bartered thee?

It shameth me, in sooth, to charge thee home.

But tell with mine the errors of thy sire.

Sitting at home blame not abroad who toils.

For wives 'tis grievous to live spouseless, child.

The husband's toil supports the wife at home.

Thy mother, O my child, art nerved to slay?

Thyself art guilty of thy death, not I.

Take heed, beware thy mother's vengeful hounds.

Those of my sire how 'scape if thee I spare?

Living, vain moanings to a tomb I pour.

Ay, for my father's fate doth work thy doom.