ELECTRA.
221
Electra.
A shriek of Argives?—or of them I love? 755
Chorus.
I know not: all confused rang out the strain.
Electra.
Thine answer is my death!—why linger I?
Chorus.
Stay, till in certainty thou learn thy fate.
Electra.
No—vanquished!—where be they, his messengers?
Chorus.
They yet shall come; not lightly slain are kings. 760
Enter Messenger.
Messenger.
Victory! victory, maids Mycenian!
To all friends, tidings of Orestes' triumph!
Low lieth Agamemnon's murderer
Aegisthus: render thanks unto the Gods.
Electra.
Who art thou?—what attests thy tidings' truth? 765
Messenger.
Look,—dost thou know me not,—thy brother's henchman?
