Prepare myself to give the Gods due thanks;
For they have wrought full meed for all our toil.
[Exit Clytæm. with her train
O Zeus our King! O Night beloved,
Mighty winner of great glories,
Who upon the towers of Troïa
Casted'st snare of closest meshes,
So that none full-grown or youthful
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Could o'erleap the net of bondage,