230
EURIPIDES.
Electra.
Nay, but my mother, her that gave me birth.
Orestes.
Ha! fair and full into the toils she runs. 965
Electra.
O flaunting pomp of chariots and attire!
Orestes.
What shall we do?—our mother shall we slay?
Electra.
How?—hath ruth seized thee, seeing thy mother's form?
Orestes.
Woe!
How can I slay her—her that nursed, that bare me?
Electra.
Even as she thy father slew and mine. 970
Orestes.
O Phœbus, folly exceeding was thine hest—
Electra.
Nay, where Apollo erreth, who is wise?
Orestes.
Who against nature bad'st me slay my mother!
