O’ercrows my wailing with loud obloquy:
‘Hilding! are you alone in grief? Are none
Mourning for loss of fathers but yourself?
’Fore the blest Gods! ill may you thrive, and ne’er
Find cure of sorrow from the powers below!’
So she insults: unless she hear one say
‘Orestes will arrive’: then standing close,
She shouts like one possessed into mine ear,
‘These are your doings, this your work, I trow.
You stole Orestes from my gripe, and placed
His life with fosterers; but you shall pay
Full penalty.’ So harsh is her exclaim.
And he at hand, the husband she extols,
Hounds on the cry, that prince of cowardice,
From head to foot one mass of pestilent harm.
Tongue-doughty champion of this women’s-war.
I, for Orestes ever languishing
To end this, am undone. For evermore
Intending, still delaying, he wears out
All hope, both here and yonder. How, then, friends,
Can I be moderate, or feel the touch
Of holy resignation? Evil fruit
Cannot but follow on a life of ill.
Ch. Say, is Aegisthus near while thus you speak?
Or hath he left the palace? We would know.
El. Most surely. Never think, if he were by,
I could stray out of door. He is abroad.
Ch. Then with less fear I may converse with thee.
El. Ask what you will, for he is nowhere near.
Ch. First of thy brother I beseech thee tell,
How deem’st thou? Will he come, or still delay?
El. His promise comes, but still performance sleeps.
Ch. Well may he pause who plans a dreadful deed.
El. I paused not in his rescue from the sword.
Ch. Fear not. He will bestead you. He is true.
El. But for that faith my life had soon gone by.
Ch. No more! I see approaching from the house
Thy sister by both parents of thy blood,
Chrysothemis; in her hand an offering,
Such as old custom yields to those below.
