Why should I the hate conceal,
That spurs my heart with promptest zeal,
Bitter thoughts, that gathering grow,
Like blustering winds, that beat the plunging vessel’s prow?
ANTISTROPHE IV.
Orestes.
O thou that flourishest, and mak’st to flourish,
By thy hands perish
All they that hate me! Cleave the heads of those,
That are Orestes’ foes!
Pledge the land in peace to live,