A wanton, is a fool: the lowly chaste
Are better in men's homes than high-born wives.
Chorus.
Chance ordereth women's bridals. Some I mark 1100
Fair, and some foul of issue among men.
Klytemnestra.
Child, still thy nature bids thee love thy sire.
So likewise to the man some sons will cleave:
Some more the mothers than the father love.
I pardon thee. In sooth, not all so glad 1105
Am I, my child, for deeds that I have done.
But thou, why thus unwashed and meanly clad,
Seeing thy travail-sickness now is past?
Woe and alas for my devisings!—more
I spurred my spouse[1] to anger than was need. 1110
Electra.
Too late thou sighest, since thou canst not heal.
My sire is dead: but him, the banished one,
Why dost thou not bring back, thine homeless son?
Klytemnestra.
I fear: mine own good I regard, not his.
Wroth for his father's blood he is, men say. 1115
Electra.
Why tarre thy spouse on ever against me?
