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AGAMEMNON.
45
HERALD.
I hail:—to die, will gainsay gods no longer!
CHOROS.
Love of this fatherland did exercise thee?
HERALD.
So that I weep, at least, with joy, my eyes full.
CHOROS.
What, of this gracious sickness were ye gainers?
HERALD.
How now? instructed, I this speech shall master.
CHOROS.
For those who loved you back, with longing stricken.
