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126
AGAMEMNON.
She lies,—to him, a sweetheart: me she brought to
My bed's by-nicety, the whet of dalliance.
CHOROS.
Alas, that some
Fate would come
Upon us in quickness—
Neither much sickness
Neither bed-keeping—
And bear unended sleeping,
Now that subdued
Is our keeper, the kindest of mood!
Having borne, for a woman's sake, much strife—
By a woman he withered from life!
Ah me!
