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And now, no more shall my prophecy peer forth from behind a veil like a new-wedded bride; but  it will rush upon me clear as a fresh wind blowing against the sun's uprising so as to dash against its rays, like a wave, a woe far mightier than mine. No more by riddles will I instruct you. And bear me witness, as, running close behind,  I scent the track of crimes done long ago. For from this roof never departs a choir chanting in unison, but singing no harmonious tune; for it tells not of good. And so, gorged on human blood, so as to be the more emboldened, a revel-rout of kindred Furies haunts the house,  hard to be drive away. Lodged within its halls they chant their chant, the primal sin; and, each in turn, they spurn with loathing a brother's bed, for they bitterly spurn the one who defiled it.1Have I missed the mark, or, like a true archer, do I strike my quarry?  Or am I prophet of lies, a door-to-door babbler? Bear witness upon your oath that I know the deeds of sin, ancient in story, of this house. Chorus
How could an oath, a pledge although given in honor, effect any cure? Yet I marvel at you that,  though bred beyond the sea, you speak truth of a foreign city, even as if you had been present there.
1 Thyestes' corruption of Aerope, wife of his brother Atreus.
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