Chorus.
Now, more than heretofore, Electra, glows
Mine heart with joy. Thy fortune now, though late
Advancing, haply shall be stablished fair.
Electra.
Poor man, thou know'st thine house's poverty.
Wherefore receive these guests too great for thee? 405
Peasant.
How?—an they be of high birth, as they seem,
Will they content them not with little or much?
Electra.
Since then thou so hast erred, and thou so poor,
Go to the ancient fosterer of my sire,
Who on the banks of Tanaüs, which parts 410
The Argive marches from the Spartan land,
An outcast from our city, tends his flocks.
Bid him to wend home straightway, and to come[1]
And furnish somewhat for the strangers' meat.
He shall rejoice, yea, render thanks to heaven, 415
To hear how lives the child whom once he saved.
For of my mother from my father's halls
Nought should we gain: our tidings should we rue
If that wretch heard that yet Orestes lives.
Peasant.
If thus thou wilt, thy message will I bear 420
To yon grey sire: but pass thou in with speed,
