Chorus.
Of many an ill to Hellas and thine house
Was Helen, sister of thy mother, cause.
Orestes and Pylades approach.
Electra.
Woe's me, friends!—needs must I break off my moan! 215
Lo, yonder strangers ambushed nigh the house
Out of their hiding-place are rising up!
With flying feet—thou down the path, and I
Into the house,—flee we from evil men!
Orestes (intercepting her).
Tarry, thou hapless one: fear not mine hand. 220
Electra.
Phœbus, I pray thee that I be not slain!
Orestes (extending his hand to hers).
God grant I slay some more my foes than thee!
Electra.
Hence!—touch not whom beseems thee not to touch!
Orestes.
None is there whom with better right I touch.
Electra.
Why sword in hand waylay me by mine house? 225
Orestes.
Tarry and hear: my words shall soon be thine.
