ELECTRA.
207
For many nobly born be knaves in grain.
Yet—(aloud) to the strangers greeting fair I give.
Orestes.
Greeting, grey sire! Electra, of thy friends
Who hath this time-worn wreck of man to thrall?
Electra.
This, stranger, was my father's fosterer. 555
Orestes.
How say'st thou?—this, who stole thy brother hence?
Electra.
.
Even he who saved him, if he liveth yet.
Orestes.
Why looks he on me, as who eyes the stamp
On silver?—likening me to any man?
Electra.
Joying perchance to see Orestes' friend. 560
Orestes.
A dear friend he:—yet wherefore pace me round?
Electra.
I also marvel, stranger, seeing this.
Old Man.
Daughter Electra—princess!—pray the Gods—
