Page:Tragedies of Euripides (Way 1896) v2.djvu/267

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Thyestes' son and thine own mother slay.

To win this prize I come. How shall I grasp it?

Through yon gates, never, how good soe'er thy will.

With guards beset is he, and spearmen's hands?

Thou sayest: he fears thee, that he cannot sleep.

Ay so:—what followeth, ancient, counsel thou.

Hear me—even now a thought hath come to me.

Be thy device good, keen to follow I!

Aegisthus saw I, hither as I toiled,—

Now welcome be the word! Thou saw'st him—where?

Nigh to these fields, by pastures of his steeds.