ELECTRA.
211
Old Man.
Thyestes' son and thine own mother slay.
Orestes.
To win this prize I come. How shall I grasp it?
Old Man.
Through yon gates, never, how good soe'er thy will. 615
Orestes.
With guards beset is he, and spearmen's hands?
Old Man.
Thou sayest: he fears thee, that he cannot sleep.
Orestes.
Ay so:—what followeth, ancient, counsel thou.
Old Man.
Hear me—even now a thought hath come to me.
Orestes.
Be thy device good, keen to follow I! 620
Old Man.
Aegisthus saw I, hither as I toiled,—
Orestes.
Now welcome be the word! Thou saw'st him—where?
Old Man.
Nigh to these fields, by pastures of his steeds.
