The House of Atreus

Aeschylus

Capitolo 54

And to Earth, the mother of all the things,
And raise-nanny and uterus that he/she takes their seed.

Here, me what time it pours these draughts for men dead,
You call on my father that anchors it holds in ruth
Mine and I that own Orestes, _Fathers speak--
How will you/they dominate salt of thine children of thy again?
Homeless we am and we sold;  and her who sold
It is her who annoyed us; and the price that she has taken
It is he who joined with her to work thy death_,
_Aegisthus, his/her new gentleman. See here me
Demolished to the piece of ground of ground of slave, and far street
Vague Orestes, banished by the wealth
What once thine was the profit of care of thy,,
Whereon that these make party in an ashamed joy.
Son-in-laws, my prayer is said;  'tis thine to feel--
Grant that some fate of fair brings house Orestes,
And to me the concession these--a purer soul
What my mother is, a more hand._ without stain

These are my prayers for us;  for thee, the sire of Or,
I cry that you/he/she can come to hostile of thy of hit,
And that the slayerses are able to turn is killed.
Cursed it is their prayer, and so I block his/her run,
Begging mine really, a box-curse on them.
And you, send above to us the straight advantage
For that we pray:  thine helps both sky and earth,
And guide of justice the right to the victory,

[_To the Chorus_

This way I have prayed, and so me toward these brooks,
And it makes to follow the accustomed ye, and as with flowers
You crown ye with a lot of a torn wound and he/she cries the funeral song,
Your lips encircle out above of the grave of the dead man.

[_She pours the libations_.

CHOIR

      The pain, pain, pain!
You leave that the tear falls, plashing on the earth
      Where our gentleman lies low:
Fall and it cleans away the stain of the accursed libation,
      You pour on this I serious-bury,
Enclosure where together, gifts of good person or bad luck
      From the corpse you/he/she is found.
        God of Argos, hearken!
Although around thee darkens
  Fog of death and hell, rise and feel!
Hearken and alarm clock to ours to whine some pain!
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