The thrall, methinks, whose hand
Stole him from death--or so the story ran?

ELECTRA.

He taught my father, too, an old old man
Of other days than these.

ORESTES.

Thy father's grave...
He had due rites and tendance?

ELECTRA.

What chance gave,
My father had, cast out to rot in the sun.

ORESTES.

God, 'tis too much!... To hear of such things done
Even to a stranger, stings a man.... But speak,
Tell of thy life, that I may know, and seek
Thy brother with a tale that must be heard
Howe'er it sicken. If mine eyes be blurred,
Remember, 'tis the fool that feels not. Aye,
Wisdom is full of pity; and thereby
Men pay for too much wisdom with much pain.