CLYTEMNESTRA: Sweet lord, step forth,...

CLYTEMNESTRA: Sweet lord, step forth,

Step from thy car, I pray-nay, not on earth

Plant the proud foot, O king, that trod down Troy!

Women! why tarry ye, whose task it is

To spread your monarch's path with tapestry?

Swift, swift, with purple strew his passage fair,

That justice lead him to a home, at last,

He scarcely looked to see. (The attendant women spread the tapestry.)

For what remains,

Zeal unsubdued by sleep shall nerve my hand

To work as right and as the gods command.

AGAMEMNON (still in the chariot) Daughter of Leda, watcher o'er my home,

Thy greeting well befits mine absence long,

For late and hardly has it reached its end.

Know, that the praise which honour bids us crave,

Must come from others' lips, not from our own:

See too that not in fashion feminine

Thou make a warrior's pathway delicate;

Not unto me, as to some Eastern lord,

Bowing thyself to earth, make homage loud.

Strew not this purple that shall make each step

An arrogance; such pomp beseems the gods,

Not me. A mortal man to set his foot

On these rich dyes? I hold such pride in fear,

And bid thee honour me as man, not god.

Fear not-such footcloths and all gauds apart,

Loud from the trump of Fame my name is blown;

Best gift of heaven it is, in glory's hour,

To think thereon with soberness: and thou-

Bethink thee of the adage, Call none blest

Till peaceful death have crowned a life of weal.

'Tis said: I fain would fare unvexed by fear.

CLYTEMNESTRA Nay, but unsay it-thwart not thou my will!

AGAMEMNON Know, I have said, and will not mar my word.

CLYTEMNESTRA Was it fear made this meekness to the gods?

AGAMEMNON If cause be cause, 'tis mine for this resolve.

CLYTEMNESTRA What, think'st thou, in thy place had Priam done?

AGAMEMNON He surely would have walked on broidered robes.

CLYTEMNESTRA Then fear not thou the voice of human blame.

AGAMEMNON Yet mighty is the murmur of a crowd.

CLYTEMNESTRA Shrink not from envy, appanage of bliss.

AGAMEMNON War is not woman's part, nor war of words.

CLYTEMNESTRA Yet happy victors well may yield therein.

AGAMEMNON Dost crave for triumph in this petty strife?

CLYTEMNESTRA Yield; of thy grace permit me to prevail!

AGAMEMNON Then, if thou wilt, let some one stoop to loose

Swiftly these sandals, slaves beneath my foot;

And stepping thus upon the sea's rich dye,

I pray, Let none among the gods look down

With jealous eye on me-reluctant all,

To trample thus and mar a thing of price,

Wasting the wealth of garments silver-worth.

Enough hereof: and, for the stranger maid,

Lead her within, but gently: God on high

Looks graciously on him whom triumph's hour

Has made not pitiless. None willingly

Wear the slave's yoke-and she, the prize and flower

Of all we won, comes hither in my train,

Gift of the army to its chief and lord.

-Now, since in this my will bows down to thine,

I will pass in on purples to my home. (He descends from the chariot,

and moves towards the palace.)

Aeschylus, Agamemnon. Trans. E.D.A. Morshead, http://classics.mit.edu/Aeschylus/agamemnon.pl.txt