Agamemnon Monologue by Aeschylus Character: Clytemnestra Gender: Female Age (range):? Style: Drama Length: 4 minutes CLYTEMNESTRA: Though much to suit the times before was said, It shames me not the opposite to speak: For, plotting against foes,--our seeming friends,-- How else contrive with Ruin's wily snare, Too high to overleap, to fence them round? To me, not mindless of an ancient feud, Hath come at last this contest;--late indeed. The deed achieved, here stand I, where I slew.

Euripides Electra Clytemnestra monologue This classic dramatic monologue is 2-3 minutes and is spoken by Clytemnestra in Euripides' Electra. Download Free Monologue (PDF Format). By Aeschylus. This tragic play of revenge revolves around Clytemnestra, who has been unfaithful to her husband and king, Agamemnon. The captive princess and prophet Cassandra foretells her own death and Agamemnon's at the hands of the vengeful Clytemnestra.

So was it wrought (and this I'll not deny), That he could neither 'scape, nor ward his doom; Around him, like a fish-encircling net, This garment's deadly splendour did I cast;-- Him twice I smote, and he, with twofold groan, His limbs relaxed;--then, prostrate where he lay, Him with third blow I dowered, votive gift To nether Hades, saviour of the dead. Thus as he fell he chafed his soul away; And gurgling forth the swift death-tide of blood, He smites me with black drops of gory dew, Not less exultant than, with heaven-sent joy The corn-sown land, in birth-hour of the ear.

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For this great issue, Argive Senators, Joy ye, if joy ye can, but I exult. Nay, o'er the slain were off'rings meet,--with right Here were they poured,--with emphasis of right. Such goblets having filled with cursed ills At home,--himself on his return drains off. Me thou dost doom to exile,--to endure The people's hate, their curse deep-muttered,--thou, Who 'gainst this man of yore hadst naught to urge. He, all unmoved, as though brute life he quenched, The while his fleecy pastures teem'd with flocks, His own child slaughtered,--of my travail throes To me the dearest,--charm for Thracian blasts. Him shouldst thou not have chased from land and home Just guerdon for foul deed?

Stern judge thou art When me thou dost arraign;--but, mark my words, (Nerved as I am to threat on equal terms,) If with strong hand ye conquer me, then rule;-- But should the god decree the opposite, Though late, to sober sense shalt thou be schooled. Credits: Reprinted from The Dramas of Aeschylus.

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