Elder H.
I say as this man says. I have no trust
In words to raise a dead man from the dust.
Elder I.
How mean you? Drag out our poor lives, and stand
Cowering to these defilers of the land?
Elder J.
Nay, 'tis too much! Better to strive and die!
Death is an easier doom than slavery.
Elder K.
We heard a sound of groaning, nothing plain,
How know we—are we seers?—that one is slain?
Elder L.
Oh, let us find the truth out, ere we grow
Thus passionate! To surmise is not to know.
Leader.
Break in, then! 'Tis the counsel ye all bring,
And learn for sure, how is it with the King.
[They cluster up towards the Palace Door, as though to force an entrance, when the great Door swings open, revealing Clytemnestra, who stands, axe in hand, over the dead bodies of Agamemnon and Cassandra. The body of Agamemnon is wrapped in a rich crimson web. There is blood on Clytemnestra's brow, and she speaks in wild triumph.
