12
AESCHYLUS
vv. 268–278.
Leader.
How?
Thy word flies past me, being incredible.
Clytemnestra.
Ilion is ours. No riddling tale I tell.
Leader.
Such joy comes knocking at the gate of tears.
Clytemnestra.
Aye, 'tis a faithful heart that eye declares.
Leader.
What warrant hast thou? Is there proof of this?
Clytemnestra.
There is; unless a God hath lied there is.
Leader.
Some dream-shape came to thee in speaking guise?
Clytemnestra.
Who deemeth me a dupe of drowsing eyes?
Leader.
Some word within that hovereth without wings?
Clytemnestra.
Am I a child to hearken to such things?
Leader.
Troy fallen?—But how long? When fell she, say?
