ELECTRA.
215
Electra.
At tidings of my travail will she come.
Old Man.
How?—deem'st thou, child, she careth aught for thee?
Electra.
Yea—even to weeping for my babes' high birth!
Old Man.
Haply: yet goalward turn I back thy speech.[1]
Electra.
Let her but come, and surely is she dead. 660
Old Man.
Nay then, to the very house-door let her come.
Electra.
Ay—short the bypath thence to Hades' gates!
Old Man.
Oh but to see this hour, then welcome death!
Electra.
First, ancient, then, be guide unto this man.
- ↑ Retaining ἄγω. The metaphor is from the race-course, Electra's reference to her mother's spite seems irrelevant, so he guides her, like a horse that has swerved from the course, in the direction of the goal, i.e., the point at issue.
