ELECTRA
Aged Servant
Phanoteus, the Phocian,
On a grave mission.
Clytemnestra
Tell me, stranger, what.
It must be friendly coming from a friend.
Aged Servant
Orestes’ death, to sum in brief my tale.
Electra
Me miserable! Now am I undone.
Clytemnestra
What say’st thou, man, what say’st thou? Heed not her.
Aged Servant
I say again, Orestes is no more.
Electra
Ah me, I’m lost, ah wretched me, undone!
Clytemnestra
Attend to thine own business. (To Aged Servant.) Tell me. Sir,
The circumstance and manner of his death.
Aged Servant
That was my errand, and I’ll tell thee all.
To the great festival of Greece he went,
The Delphic Games, and when the herald’s voice
Announced the opening trial, the foot race,
He stepped into the lists, a radiant form,
The admired of all beholders. Like a shaft
He sped from starting point to goal and back,
And bore the crown of glorious victory.
To speak in brief where there is much to tell,
I never heard of prowess like to his.
