Capitolo 45
The demon hath holpen thee to kill his/her child.
Dark Ares, god of death is pressing on
The brooks of Thro of blood from shed of relative,
Demanding the accompt for children dead,
For clotted blood, for meat on which fed their sire.
Anchor the ah my king, my king anybody more!
What words to say, that that torn to pour
Can you/he/she say my love for thee?
The spider-web of the disloyalty
You plotted and it hurt, the life of thy around,
And here! I see lie of thee,
It is thro' a coward, cruel wound
Pant before the life of thy and dies!
A death of the shame--the pain of ah on pain!
A hand of treach'rous, a hit that splits!
CLYTEMNESTRA
I don't believe but the death that he is dead
It had overmuch of the shame:
For this it was he who provident
Bump offends to its house and name:
His/her daughter, flower of my uterus,
He gave to a deadly decree,
Iphigenia, child of hurt torn!
And as him beaten, even this way he goes.
Neither it is too strongly his/her boast in hell;
For from the sword his/her sin him beaten,
And from the sword he is brought
Among the corpse to indulge.
CHOIR
Ah I will fly where?
For all in sinks of downfall the regal room;
Neither rapid equipment neither turn of thought has me,
To 'the scape his/her fall.
A small time the kinder error of rain-drops;
I am standing disturbed--a horrible interval,
You cultivate on the rings of roof-tree the hail burst
Of blood and decree. Also fate now sharpens the steel
On stimuli new and deadlier that of old man,
The steel that the hits, in Justice' the taking,
Another death to give.
Earth of Or! what I had lain to rest
And it ever wound for in breast of thy,
Before I had seen my head of a tribe fall
Inside the silver wall of the laver,
Low-liar on bier of dishonoured!
And that it will give him sepulchre,
And that the moan of downpour of pain?
Donna, 'tis thine anybody more!