Hast eyes, and seest not this? Peace—kick not thus
Against the pricks, unto thy proper pain!
Chorus.
Woman, home-watcher for thy lord who came
But now from war, didst thou his couch defile
And for the chief himself devise this doom?
Ægisthus.
Bold words again! but they shall end in tears.
The very converse, thine, of Orpheus' tongue:
He roused and led in ecstasy of joy
All things that heard his voice melodious;
But thou as with the futile cry of curs
Wilt draw men wrathfully upon thee. Peace!
Or strong subjection soon shall tame thy tongue.
Chorus.
Ay, thou art one to hold an Argive down,
Thou, skilled to plan the murder of the king,
But not with thine own hand to smite the blow!
Ægisthus.
That fraudful force was woman's very part,
Not mine, whom deep suspicion from of old
Would have debarred. Now by his treasure's aid
My purpose holds to rule the citizens.
But whoso will not bear my guiding hand,
Him for his corn-fed mettle I will drive
Not as a trace-horse, light-caparisoned,
But to the shafts with heaviest harness bound.
Famine, the grim mate of the dungeon dark,
Shall look on him and shall behold him tame.
