"Stay, nor set
On the bare earth, O King, thy hallowed foot;
That which hath trampled upon ruined Troy.
Why tarry ye, my damsels? 'Tis your office
To strew the path with gorgeous carpetings;
Like purple pavement rich be all his way;
That justice to his house may lead him in—
The house he little dreamed of. All the rest
Leave to my care, that may not sleep. So please
The Gods, what's justly destined shall be done."
Irony cannot be carried further.
Agamemnon, however, is not easily flattered to his ruin, and he refuses an honour fit only for the gods.
"Treat me not like a soft and delicate woman,
Nor, gazing open-mouthed, grovelling on earth
Like a barbarian, raise discordant cry:
Nor, strewing with bright tapestries my way,
Make me an envy to all-jealous Heaven.
These are the proud prerogatives of the Gods;
That mortal thus should walk on rich embroideries
Beseems not: do it I cannot without awe.
As a man, honour me, not as a God!
Though she wipe not her feet on carpetings,
Nor variegated garments fine. Fame lifts
High her clear voice. To be of humble mind
Is God's best gift. Blessed is only he
Who in unbroken happiness ends his days.
Still may I prosper, thus not overbold."
But at last he is persuaded to tread the purple, though he insists on removing his sandals for the sake of humility. He steps upon the carpet: we feel that he is doomed. One more touch has to be added; the
