Aeschylus - Agamemnon (ll. 908-974) lyrics

Agamemnon: There is Leda's daughter, the keeper of my house. And the speech to suit my absence, much too long. But the praise that does us justice, let it come from others, then we prize it. This— you treat me like a woman. Grovelling, gaping up at me— what am I, some barbarian peaco*king out of Asia? Never cross my path with robes and draw the lightning. Never—only the gods deserve the pomps of honour and the stiff brocades of fame. To walk on them . . . I am human, and it makes my pulses stir with dread. Give me the tributes of a man and not a god, a little earth to walk on, not this gorgeous work. There is no need to sound my reputation. I have a sense of right and wrong, what's more— heaven's proudest gift. Call no man blest until he ends his life in peace, fulfilled. If I can live by what I say, I have no fear. Clytaemnestra: One thing more. Be true to your ideals and tell me— Agamemnon: True to my ideals? Once I violate them I am lost. Clytaemnestra: Would you have sworn this act to god in a time of terror? Agamemnon: Yes, if a prophet called for a last, drastic rite. Clytaemnestra: But Priam—can you see him if he had your success? Agamemnon: Striding on the tapestries of god, I see him now. Clytaemnestra: And you fear the reproach of common men? Agamemnon: The voice of the people—aye, they have enormous power. Clytaemnestra: Perhaps, but where's the glory without a little gall? Agamemnon: And where's the woman in all this lust for glory? Clytaemnestra: But the great victor—it becomes him to give way. Agamemnon: Victory in this . . . war of ours, it means so much to you? Clytaemnestra: O give way! The power is yours if you surrender, all of your own free will, to me! Agamemnon: Enough. If you are so determined— [Turning to the women, pointing to his boots.] Let someone help me off with these at least. Old slaves, they've stood me well. Hurry, and while I tread his splendours dyed red in the sea, may no god watch and strike me down with envy from on high. I feel such shame— to tread the life of the house, a kingdom's worth of silver in the weaving. [He steps down from the chariot to the tapestries and reveals Ca**andra, dressed in the sacred regalia, the fillets, robes, and sceptre of Apollo.] Done is done. Escort this stranger in, be gentle. Conquer with compa**ion. Then the gods shine down upon you, gently. No one chooses the yoke of slavery, not of one's free will— and she least of all. The gift of the armies, flower and pride of all the wealth we won, she follows me from Troy. And now, since you have brought me down with your insistence, just this once I enter my father's house, trampling royal crimson as I go. [He takes his first steps and pauses.] Clytaemnestra: There is the sea and who will drain it dry? Precious as silver, inexhaustible, ever-new, it breeds the more we reap it -- tides on tides of crimson dye our robes blood-red. Our lives are based on wealth, my king, the gods have seen to that. Destitution, our house has never heard the word. I would have sworn to tread on legacies of robes, at one command from an oracle, deplete the house -- suffer the worst to bring that dear life back! When the root lives on, the new leaves come back, spreading a dense shroud of shade across the house to thwart the Dog Star's fury. So you return to the father's hearth, you bring us warmth in winter like the sun-- And you are Zeus when Zeus tramples the bitter virgin grape for new wine and the welcome chill steals through the halls, at last the master moves among the shadows of his house, fulfilled.