Stasimon 4
KASSANDRA.
Self-slaying evils, halters too:
Man’s-shambles, blood-besprinkler of the ground!
CHOROS.
She seems to be good-nosed, the stranger: dog-like,
She snuffs indeed the victims she will find there.
KASSANDRA.
How! How!
1095
By the witnesses here I am certain now!
1095
These children bewailing their slaughters — flesh dressed in the fire
And devoured by their sire!
CHOROS.
Ay, we have heard of thy soothsaying glory,
Doubtless: but prophets none are we in scent of!
KASSANDRA.
Ah, gods, what ever does she meditate?
1100
What this new anguish great?
1100
Great in the house here she meditates ill
Such as friends cannot bear, cannot cure it: and still
Off stands all Resistance
CHOROS.
Of these I witless am — these prophesyings.
1105
But those I knew: for the whole city bruits them.
KASSANDRA.
Ah, unhappy one, this thou consummatest?
Thy husband, thy bed’s common guest,
