ELECTRA
His paramour? So lost to shame is she
That the adulteress fears no vengeance. No,
As if exulting in her infamy,
She watches month to month to know the day
Whereon by treachery she slew my sire,
And keeps that day with dance and sacrifice,
Each month, of sheep to tutelary gods.
Beholding this I weep and waste within,
And to myself bewail the unhallowed feast
Named of my sire, with silent tears, for e’en
The luxury of wailing is denied me.
This woman (saintly is her speech) upbraids
And rates me thus: “Ungodly, hateful girl,
Hast thou alone to bear a father’s loss,
Art thou the only mourner? Out upon thee!
Perdition seize thee I and in hell may’st thou
Find no deliverance from thy present grief!”
So rails she, save at times when rumours run
Orestes is at hand, then wild with rage
She thunders in my ears “This is thy doing;
Was it not thou who from my hands didst steal
Orestes and convey him safe away?
Mark my words, thou shalt rue it!” So she screams,
And her abettor’s there to egg her on,
Her glorious consort who repeats her gibes,
That rogue in grain, that dastardly poltroon,
Who fights his battles with a woman’s aid.
Meanwhile I wait until Orestes comes
To end my woes, and waiting pine away.
By ever dallying he has quite destroyed
