Come on, my faithful body-guard, the fray is not far distant.
Chorus.
Come on then, and with hand on hilt, his sword let each make ready.
Ægisthos.
Be well assured, with hand on hilt, to die I too refuse not.
Chorus.
To die,—thine utterance we accept, and take as thy death-omen.
Clytemnestra.
Dearest of husbands let us not, I pray, work further mischief.
Already in our many woes reaped have we wretched harvests.
Of sorrow there hath been enough; let us forbear more bloodshed.
Go thou, and ye too aged men, seek your appointed mansions,
Ere aught ye do to work mischance. As fate enjoined we've acted.
If trouble is the lot of man, enough have we encountered;
Sore smitten by the heavy hoof of some avenging demon.
Thus ye a woman's counsel have, if any deign to hearken.
