[Exit.]
Thyestes: What is this tumult rising in my breast?
Why do my vitals quake? I feel a load1000
Unbearable, and from my inmost heart
Come groans of agony that are not mine.
My children, come! your wretched father calls.
Oh come! For when mine eyes behold you here,
Perchance this care will pass away.—But whence
Those answering calls?
Atreus [returning, with a covered platter in his hands]: Now spread thy loving arms.