ACH.  I never wooed thy daughter, lady, nor has any thing been said to me on the subject of marriage by the Atrides.

CLY.  What can it be?  Do you in turn marvel at my words, for thine are a marvel to me.

ACH.  Conjecture; these matters are a common subject for conjecture, for both of us perhaps are deceived in our words.[68]

CLY.  But surely I have suffered terrible things!  I am acting as match-maker in regard to a marriage that has no existence.  I am ashamed of this.

ACH.  Perhaps some one has trifled with both me and thee.  But pay no attention to it, and bear it with indifference.

CLY.  Farewell, for I can no longer behold thee with uplifted eyes, having appeared as a liar, and suffered unworthy things.

ACH.  And this same [farewell] is thine from me.  But I will go seek thy husband within this house.

[The OLD MAN appears at the door of the house.]

OLD M. O stranger, grandson of AEacus, remain.  Ho! thee, I say, the son of the Goddess, and thee, the daughter of Leda.

ACM.  Who is it that calls, partially opening the doors?  With what terror he calls!

OLD M. A slave.  I will not be nice about the title, for fortune allows it not.

ACH.  Of whom? for thou art not mine.  My property and Agamemnon’s are different.

OLD M. Of this lady who is before the house, the gift of her father Tyndarus.

ACH.  We are still.  Say if thou wantest any thing, for which thou hast stopped me.

OLD M. Are ye sure that ye alone stand before these gates?

CLY.  Ay, so that you may speak to us only.  But come out from the royal dwelling.

OLD M. (Coming forward) O fortune, and foresight mine, preserve whom I wish.

ACH.  These words will do for[69] a future occasion, for they have some weight.

CLY.  By thy right hand [I beseech thee,] delay not, if thou hast aught to say to me.

OLD M. Thou knowest then, being what manner of man, I have been by nature well disposed to thee and thy children.

CLY.  I know thee as being a faithful servant to my house.

OLD M. And that king Agamemnon received me among thy dowry.

CLY.  Thou camest into Argos with us, and thou wast always mine.

OLD M. So it is, and I am well disposed to thee, but less so to thy husband.

CLY.  Unfold now at least to me what words you are saying.

OLD M. The father who begat her is about to slay thy daughter with his own hand.

CLY.  How?  I deprecate thy words, old man, for thou thinkest not well.

OLD M. Cutting the fair neck of the hapless girl with the sword.

CLY.  O wretched me!  Is my husband mad?

OLD M. He is in his right mind, save with respect to thee and thy daughter, but in this he is not wise.

CLY.  Upon what grounds?  What maddening fiend impels him?