To bite in the end like a secret death?—And can
The woman? Slay a strong and armèd man? . . .
What fangèd reptile like to her doth creep?
Some serpent amphisbene, some Skylla, deep
Housed in the rock, where sailors shriek and die,
Mother of Hell blood-raging, which doth cry
On her own flesh war, war without alloy . . .
God! And she shouted in his face her joy,
Like men in battle when the foe doth break.
And feigns thanksgiving for his safety's sake!
What if no man believe me? 'Tis all one.
The thing which must be shall be; aye, and soon
Thou too shalt sorrow for these things, and here
Standing confess me all too true a seer.
Leader.
The Thyestean feast of children slain
I understood, and tremble. Aye, my brain
Reels at these visions, beyond guesswork true.
But after, though I heard, I had lost the clue.
Cassandra.
Man, thou shalt look on Agamemnon dead.
Leader.
Peace, Mouth of Evil! Be those words unsaid!
Cassandra.
No god of peace hath watch upon that hour.
Leader.
If it must come. Forefend it, Heavenly Power!
Cassandra.
They do not think of prayer; they think of death.
