Leader.
Ho there, ye Men of Argos! Up! Stand and be ready, sword from sheath!
Aigisthos.
By Heaven, I also, sword in hand, am ready, and refuse not death!
Leader.
Come, find it! We accept thy word. Thou offerest what we hunger for.
[Some of the Elders draw swords with the Leader; others have collapsed with weakness. Men from Agamemnon's retinue have gathered and prepare for battle, when, before they can come to blows, Clytemnestra breaks from her exhausted silence.
Clytemnestra.
Nay, peace, O best-belovèd! Peace! And let us work no evil more.
Surely the reaping of the past is a full harvest, and not good,
And wounds enough are everywhere.—Let us not stain ourselves with blood.
Ye reverend Elders, go your ways, to his own dwelling every one,
Ere things be wrought for which men suffer.—What we did must needs be done.
And if of all these strifes we now may have no more, oh, I will kneel
