Enter Electra, with a water-jar upon her head.
Electra.
Hail, black-winged Night, nurse of the golden stars,
Wherein this pitcher poised upon mine head 55
I bear, to bring the river's fountain-flow,—
Not for that of constraint I am bowed to this,
But to show Heaven Aegisthus' tyranny,
And wail to the broad welkin for my sire.
For mine own mother, Tyndareus' baleful child, 60
Thrust me from home, for grace to this her spouse,
And, having borne Aegisthus other sons,
Thrusteth aside Orestes' rights and mine.
Peasant.
Why toil'st thou thus, O hapless, for my sake,
Nor dost refrain from labour,—thou of old 65
Royally nurtured, though I bid thee so?
Electra.
Kind I account thee even as the Gods,
Who in mine ills hast not insulted me.
High fortune this, when men for sore mischance
Find such physician as I find in thee. 70
I ought, as strength shall serve, yea, though forbid,
To ease thy toil, that lighter be thy load,
And share thy burdens. Work enow without
Hast thou: beseems that I should keep the house
In order. When the toiler cometh home, 75
'Tis sweet to find the household fair-arrayed.
Peasant.
If such thy mind, pass on: in sooth not far
