Page:Sophocles - Seven Plays, 1900.djvu/198

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. How mine eye pities thee this while, poor maid!

. Know now, none ever pitied me but you.

. None ever came whose heart like sorrow wrung.

. Is’t possible we have some kinsman here?

. I will tell it, if these women here be friendly.

. They are. They may be trusted. Only speak.

. Let go yon vase, that thou may’st learn the whole.

. Nay, by the Gods! be not so cruel, sir!

. Obey me and thou shalt not come to harm.

. Ah, never rob me of what most I love!

. You must not hold it.

. O me miserable

For thee, Orestes, if I lose thy tomb!

. Speak no rash word. Thou hast no right to mourn.

. No right to mourn my brother who is gone?

. Such utterance belongs not to thy tongue.

. Oh, am I thus dishonoured of the dead?

. Far from dishonour. But this ne’er was thine.

. Is’t not Orestes’ body that I bear?

. Nay, but the idle dressing of a tale.

. And where is his poor body’s resting-place?

. Nowhere. Seek not the living with the dead.

. My son, what saidst thou?

. Nought but what is true.

. Doth he yet live?

. If I have life in me.

. Art thou Orestes?

. Let my signet here,

That was our father’s, tell thine eyes, I am.

. O day of days!

. Time hath no happier hour.

. Is it thy voice?

. Hearken not otherwhere.

. Have my arms caught thee?

. Hold me so for aye!

. O dearest women, Argives of my home!

Ye see Orestes, dead in craft, but now

By that same craft delivered and preserved.