That they should make me sharer in their joy.
Enter Clytæmnestra
Clytæm. I long ago for gladness raised my cry,
570
When the first fiery courier came by night,
Telling of Troïa taken and laid waste:
And then one girding at me spake, “Dost think,
Trusting in beacons, Troïa is laid waste?
This heart elate is just a woman's way.”
In words like these they made me out distraught;