Chorus.
And yet forsooth dost chide us following him!
Apollo.
Ay—not for you it is, to near this fane.
Chorus.
Yet is such office ours, imposed by fate.
Apollo.
What office? vaunt the thing ye deem so fair.
Chorus.
From home to home we chase the matricide.
Apollo.
What? to avenge a wife who slays her lord?
Chorus.
That is not blood outpoured by kindred hands.
Apollo.
How darkly ye dishonour and annul
The troth to which the high accomplishers,
Hera and Zeus, do honour. Yea, and thus
Is Aphrodite to dishonour cast,
The queen of rapture unto mortal men.
Know, that above the marriage-bed ordained
For man and woman standeth Right as guard,
Enhancing sanctity of troth-plight sworn;
Therefore, if thou art placable to those
Who have their consort slain, nor will'st to turn
On them the eye of wrath, unjust art thou
In hounding to his doom the man who slew
