ELECTRA.
191
Orestes.
Liv'st thou?—he asks; and, living, what thy state?
Electra.
Seest thou not how wasted is my form?—
Orestes.
So sorrow-broken that myself could sigh. 240
Electra.
Mine head withal—my tresses closely shorn.
Orestes.
Heart-wrung by a brother's fate, a father's death?
Electra.
Ah me, what is to me than these more dear?
Orestes.
Alas! art thou not to thy brother dear?
Electra.
Far off he stays, nor comes to prove his love. 245
Orestes.
Why dost thou dwell here, from the city far?
Electra.
I am wedded, stranger—as in bonds of death.
Orestes.
Alas thy brother!—A Mycenian lord?
