Children are we of everlasting Night;
[At home, beneath the earth, they call us Curses.]
Athena. Your race I know, and whence ye take your name.
Chor. Thou shalt soon know then what mine office is.
Athena. Then could I know, if ye clear speech would speak.
Chor. We from their home drive forth all murderers.
Athena. Where doth the slayer find the goal of flight?
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Chor. Where to find joy in nought is still his wont.
Athena. And whirrest thou such flight on this man here?