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ORESTES.
117
Orestes.
Pylades, sharer in my mother's blood.
Menelaus.
And by what phantom-shapes thus art thou plagued?
Orestes.
Methought I saw three maidens like to night.
Menelaus.
I know of whom thou speak'st, but will not name.
Orestes.
They are Dread Ones: wise art thou to name them not.410
Menelaus.
Do these by blood of kindred madden thee?
Orestes.
Woe for their haunting feet that dog me aye!
Menelaus.
For dread deeds sufferings dread—not strange is this.
Orestes.
Yet can I cast my burden of affliction—
Menelaus.
Nay, speak not thou of death!—not wise were this.415
Orestes.
On Phœbus, who bade spill my mother's blood.
