Having paid the forfeit of his father’s crime.
For Atreus, ruler of this Argive land,
This dead man’s father—to be plain—contending
About the mastery, banished from the city
Thyestes, his own brother and my father.
In suppliant guise back to his hearth again
The unhappy prince returned, content if he
Might tread his native acres, not besprent
With his own blood. Him with a formal show
Of hospitality—not love—received