The man is gone; fled like a hind! he snaps
The meshes of your toils, and makes—O shame!
Your Deity a mark for scoffers’ eyes
To wink at! Hear me, ye infernal hags,
Unhoused from hell! For my soul’s peace I plead,
Once Clytemnestra famous, now a dream.[n17]
[The Chorus moans.
Ye moan! the while the man hath fled, and seeks
For help from those that are no friends to me.[n18]
[The Chorus moans again.