ELECTRA
61
Orestes (looking along the road).
Stay, 'tis a new thing! We have still a word
To speak . . .
Electra.
What? Not a rescue from the town
Thou seëst?
Orestes.
'Tis my mother comes: my own
Mother, that bare me. He takes off his crown.
Electra (springing, as it were, to life again, and moving where she can see the road).
Straight into the snare!
Aye, there she cometh.—Welcome in thy rare
Chariot! All welcome in thy brave array!
Orestes.
What would we with our mother? Didst thou say
Kill her?
Electra (turning on him).
What? Is it pity? Dost thou fear
To see thy mother's shape?
Orestes.
'Twas she that bare
My body into life. She gave me suck.
How can I strike her?
