ELECTRA
Born and one mother; in her hands she bears
Gifts for the tomb that use and wont ordain.
Enter Chrysothemis.
Chrysothemis
Sister, why com’st thou once more to declaim
in public at the outer gate? Has time
Not schooled thee to desist from idle rage?
I too, my sister, chafe no less than thou
At our sad fortunes, and had I the power,
Would make it plain how I regard our masters.
But in the storm ’tis best to reef the sail,
Nor utter threats we cannot execute.
I would thou wert likeminded; yet I know
Justice is on thy side, and I am wrong.
Yet if I am to keep my liberty,
I needs must bow before the powers that be.
Electra
O shame that thou, the child of such a sire,
Should’st him forget and take thy mother’s part;
For all these admonitions are not thine,
A lesson thou repeatest, learnt of her.
Make thine election then, to be unwise,
Or show thy wisdom by forgetting friends.
Thou saidst, “If but the power were granted me,
I would make plain the hate I feel for them;”
And yet when I am straining every nerve
To avenge my sire, thou wilt not aid me; nay,
Dissuadest and wouldst have me hold my hand.
Shall we to all our ills add cowardice?
Tell me—or let me tell thee—what have I
To gain by ceasing from my sad complaint?
I still have life? a sorry life, indeed,
