OLD M. Nor will I let it go.
MEN. Then quickly with my sceptre will I make thine head bloody.
OLD M. But glorious it is to die for one's masters.
MEN. Let go. Being a slave, thou speakest too many words.
OLD M. O master, I am wronged, and this man, having snatched thy letter out of my hands, O Agamemnon, is unwilling to act rightly.
MEN. Ah! what is this tumult and disorder of words?
OLD M. My words, not his, are fittest to speak.[[19]]
AG. But wherefore, Menelaus, dost thou come to strife with this man and art dragging him by force?
MEN. Look at me, that I may take this commencement of my speech.
AG. What, shall I through fear not open mine eyelids, being born of Atreus?