which Cassandra is standing, carrying
her prophet's wand in her hand, and
wearing fillets round her temples, and by
a great train of soldiers bearing trophies.
As they come on the stage the Chorus
sings its welcome
Come then, king, thou son of Atreus,
Waster of the towers of Troïa,
What of greeting and of homage
Shall I give, nor overshooting,