Apollo.
How? Would ye count as a light thing and vain
The perfect bond of Hera and high Zeus?
Yea, and thy word dishonoureth too the use
Of Cypris, whence love groweth to his best.
The fate-ordainèd meeting, breast to breast,
Of man and woman is a tie more sure
Than oath or pact, if Justice guards it pure.
If them so joined ye heed not when they slay,
Nor rise in wrath, nor smite them on their way,
Unrighteous is thine hunting of this man,
Orestes. Why on him is all thy ban
Unloosed? The other never broke thy rest . . .
But Pallas, child of Zeus, shall judge this quest.
Leader.
I cleave to him. I leave him never more.
Apollo.
Oh, hunt thy fill! Make sorrow doubly sore.
Leader.
Abridge not thou the Portions of my lot.
Apollo.
Keep thou thy portions. I will touch them not.
Leader.
Thou hast thy greatness by the throne of God;
I . . . But the scent draws of that mother's blood.
I come! I come! I hunt him to the grave. . . .
[The Furies go out on the track of Orestes.
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