Clytaemnestra monologue — Specimens of Greek Tragedy — Aeschylus and Sophocles

Much did I say before to serve the time Which now to contradict I think no shame. How else could hate encircle with its toils The enemy that was a seeming friend, So that the prey might not o'erleap the net? Old is the quarrel; over my revenge Long have I brooded, now it comes at last. Here where I stand the deed of death was done, And I so managed, I deny it not, That he could neither fly nor fend the blow. As he had been a fish I round him cast, Like a close net, a rich but deadly robe. Twice did I strike, twice did he groan, then sank; And as he lay another stroke I gave, To make the lucky number, and commend His soul to Hades, guardian of the dead. So did his angry spirit pass away, While over me he threw a jet of blood, Which gladdened me as doth the rain from heaven The corn-field in the swelling of the ear. Elders of Argos, hear! This have I done, And in this glory, take it as ye will. To pour a glad libation on the corpse, Did piety permit, were more than just. He mixed a bowl of curses for the house, And what he mixed himself came home to drink.