Have I, to countervail my daughter lost:[1]—
Scant guerdon, yet fair honour for mine house.
Electra.
May I not then,—the slave, the outcast I
From my sire's halls, whose wretched home is here,— 1005
Mother, may I not take that heaven-blest hand?
Klytemnestra.
Here be these bondmaids: trouble not thyself.
Electra.
How?—me thou mad'st thy spear-thrall, banished home:
Captive mine house was led, and captive I,
Even as these, unfathered and forlorn. 1010
Klytemnestra.
Such fruit thy father's plottings had, contrived
Against his dearest, all unmerited.
Yea, I will speak; albeit, when ill fame
Compasseth woman, all her tongue drops gall—
As touching me,[2] unjustly: let men learn 1015
The truth, and if the hate be proved my due,
'Tis just they loathe me; if not, wherefore loathe?
Of Tyndareus was I given to thy sire—
Not to be slain, nor I, nor those I bare.
He took my child—drawn by this lie from me, 1020
That she should wed Achilles,—far from home
