913–923
THE CHOËPHOROE
Clytemnestra.
Cast out? I sent thee to a war-friend's Hall.
Orestes.
A free man's heir, ye sold me like a thrall.
Clytemnestra.
If thou wast sold, where is the price I got?
Orestes.
The price! . . . For very shame I speak it not.
Clytemnestra.
Speak. But tell, too, thy father's harlotries.
Orestes.
Judge not the toiler, thou who sitt'st at ease!
Clytemnestra.
A woman starves with no man near, my son.
Orestes.
Her man's toil wins her bread when he is gone.
Clytemnestra.
To kill thy mother, Child: is that thy will?
Orestes.
I kill thee not: thyself it is doth kill.
Clytemnestra.
A mother hath her Watchers: think and quail!
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