Or terrible, but gainful? Hard my lot,
To save my life through my calamity!
Old M. Lady, why hath my speech disheartened thee?
Cly. To be a mother hath a marvellous power:
No injury can make one hate one’s child.
Old M. Then it should seem our coming was in vain.
Cly. In vain? Nay, verily; thou, that hast brought
Clear evidences of his fate, who, sprung
From my life’s essence, severed from my breast
And nurture, was estranged in banishment,
And never saw me from the day he went
Out from this land, but for his father’s blood
Threatened me still with accusation dire;
That sleep nor soothed at night nor sweetly stole
My senses from the day, but, all my time,
Each instant led me on the way to death!—
But this day’s chance hath freed me from all fear
Of him, and of this maid: who being at home
Troubled me more, and with unmeasured thirst
Kept draining my life-blood; but now her threats
Will leave us quiet days, methinks, and peace
Unbroken.—How then shouldst thou come in vain?
El. O misery! ’Tis time to wail thy fate,
Orestes, when, in thy calamity,
Thy mother thus insults thee. Is it well?
Cly. ’Tis well that he is gone, not that you live.
El. Hear, ’venging spirits of the lately dead!
Cly. The avenging spirits have heard and answered well.
El. Insult us now, for thou art fortunate!
Cly. You and Orestes are to quench my pride.
El. Our pride is quenched. No hope of quenching thee!
Cly. A world of good is in thy coming, stranger,
Since thou hast silenced this all-clamorous tongue.
Old M. Then I may go my way, seeing all is well.
