THE FURIES.
163
Orestes.
Strong is my hope; my buried sire shall aid.
Chorus.
Go to now, trust the dead, a matricide!
Orestes.
Yea, for in her combined two stains of sin.
Chorus.
How? speak this clearly to the judges' mind.
Orestes.
Slaying her husband, she did slay my sire.
Chorus.
Therefore thou livest; death assoils her deed.
Orestes.
Then while she lived why didst thou hunt her not?
Chorus.
She was not kin by blood to him she slew.
Orestes.
And I, am I by blood my mother's kin?
Chorus.
O cursed with murder's guilt, how else wert thou
The burden of her womb? Dost thou forswear
Thy mother's kinship, closest bond of love?
Orestes.
It is thine hour, Apollo—speak the law,
Averring if this deed were justly done;
