CHORUS
Ah—’tis Thyestes’ feast on kindred flesh—
I guess her meaning and with horror thrill,
Hearing no shadow’d hint of th’ o’er-true tale,
But its full hatefulness: yet, for the rest,
Far from the track I roam, and know no more.
CASSANDRA
’Tis Agamemnon’s doom thou shalt behold.
CHORUS
Peace, hapless woman, to thy boding words!
CASSANDRA
Far from my speech stands he who sains and saves.
CHORUS
Ay—were such doom at hand—which God forbid!
CASSANDRA
Thou prayest idly—these move swift to slay.
CHORUS
What man prepares a deed of such despite?
CASSANDRA
Fool! thus to read amiss mine oracles.
CHORUS
Deviser and device are dark to me.
CASSANDRA
Dark! all too well I speak the Grecian tongue.