#excerpts

Clytemnestra [in the palace, the axe in hand, after killing Agamemnon]
I have long thought of this clash | of ancient strife; and yet late, it has arrived. | Where I struck the blow, I now make my stand. | It was my work, nor do I deny it, | let it not shake off or escape its fate. | I have spread, like for a shark, an immense net | over him: the mournful splendor of a cloak. | I strike him with two blows and with two laments | he collapses: I deal the third, on the ground, | in grace to Hades, refuge of the dead. | Thus shakes the fallen soul | and blowing a bitter spray of blood | it drenches me with a funeral dew, | that cheers me like the seed | swelling in the cloud, that Zeus grants generously.

Aeschylus, Agamemnon [Oresteia]