p.

CHOR. Tell us; what end to his miseries awaits him?

ELEC. Death, death; what else can? for he has no appetite for food.

CHOR. Death then is manifestly before him.

ELEC. Phoebus offered us as victims, when he commanded[4] the dreadful,
abhorred murder of our mother, that slew our father.

CHOR. With justice indeed, but not well.

ELEC. Thou hast died, thou hast died, O mother, O thou that didst bring me
forth, but hast killed the father, and the children of thy blood. We
perish, we perish, even as two corses. For thou art among the dead, and the
greatest part of my life is passed in groans, and wailings, and nightly
tears; marriageless, childless, behold, how like a miserable wretch do I
drag out my existence forever!

CHOR. O virgin Electra, approach near, and look that thy brother has not
died unobserved by thee; for by this excessive quiet he doth not please me.

ORESTES, ELECTRA, CHORUS.

ORES. O precious balm of sleep, thou that relievest my malady, how pleasant
didst thou come to me in the time of need! O divine oblivion of my
sufferings, how wise thou art, and the goddess to be supplicated by all in
distress!--whence, in heaven's name, came I hither? and how brought? for I
remember not things past, bereaved, as I am, of my senses.

ELEC. My dearest brother, how didst thou delight me when thou didst fall
asleep! wilt thou I touch thee, and raise thy body up?

ORES. Raise me then, raise me, and wipe the clotted foam from off my
wretched mouth, and from my eyes.

ELEC. Behold, the task is sweet, and I refuse not to administer to a
brother's limbs with a sister's hand.

ORES. Lay thy side by my side, and remove the squalid hair from my face,
for I see but imperfectly with my eyes.

ELEC. O wretched head, sordid with ringlets, how art thou disordered from
long want of the bath!

ORES. Lay me on the couch again; when my fit of madness gives me a respite,
I am feeble and weak in my limbs.

ELEC. Behold, the couch is pleasant to the sick man, an irksome thing to
keep, but still a necessary one.

ORES. Again raise me upright--turn my body.

CHOR. Sick persons are hard to be pleased from their feebleness.

ELEC. Wilt thou set thy feet on the ground, putting forward thy
long-discontinued[5] step? In all things change is sweet.

ORES. Yes, by all means; for this has a semblance of health, but the
semblance is good, though it be distant from the truth.

ELEC. Hear now therefore, O my brother, wh