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In a dream you are hunting your prey, and are barking like a dog that never leaves off its keenness for the work. What are you doing? Get up; do not let fatigue overpower you, and do not ignore my misery because you have been softened by sleep. Sting your heart with merited reproaches;  for reproach becomes a spur to the right-minded. Send after him a gust of bloody breath, shrivel him with the vapor, the fire from your guts, follow him, wither him with fresh pursuit!The Ghost of Clytaemestra disappears; the Furies, roused by their leader, awake one after the other. Chorus
Awake! Wake her up, as I wake you.  Still asleep? Get up, shake off sleep, let us see if any part of this beginning1is in vain.
1 The utterances of the Furies, as they rouse themselves to action, will be only a prelude to the fuller expression of their wrath. It is uncertain whether the first and second strophic groups were sung by single voices or by semi-choruses.
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