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Electra
[140] Take this pitcher from my head and put it down, so that I may cry aloud the night-time laments for my father. A wail, a song of death, of death, for you, father, under the earth, I speak the laments [145] in which I am always engaged, day by day, tearing my skin with my nails, and striking my cropped head with my hand, for your death.

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