His father gave me Orestes to be nursed. . . .
And now he is dead; and strangers come and tell
The news to me. And this poor miserable
Old woman must go tell the plunderer
Who shames this house! Oh, glad he will be to hear!
Leader.
How doth she bid him come? In what array?
Nurse.
I take thee not. . . . What is it ye would say?
Leader.
Comes he with spears to guard him or alone?
Nurse.
She bids him bring the spearmen of the throne.
Leader.
Speak not that bidding to our loathèd Lord!
"Alone, quick, fearing nothing" is the word.
So speak, and in thy heart let joy prevail!
The teller straighteneth many a crooked tale.
Nurse.
What ails thee? Are these tidings to thy mind?
Leader.
The wind is cold, but Zeus may change the wind.
Nurse.
How, when Orestes, our one hope, is dead?
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