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