Chorus.
She, as herself relates, a dragon bare.
Orestes.
And what the scope, the issue, of the tale?
Chorus.
In swathing-clothes she moored it as a child. 520
Orestes.
What nurture might the new-born horror crave?
Chorus.
She, in her dream, herself held forth the breast.
Orestes.
How by the pest the nipple then unscathed?
Chorus.
With nurture-milk it sucked the clotted blood.
Orestes.
Not vain the dream but by her husband sent;—
Chorus.
In terror shrieked she, waking up from sleep,
And many torches, in the darkness quenched,
Gleamed through the palace in our mistress' aid;
Libations to the tomb forthwith she sends
Devising for her woe a sovereign cure. 530
Orestes.
I to this earth and to my father's tomb
Pray that this dream be consummate in me.
And as I read it, sooth, it tallies well.
