ORESTES (_rousing himself_).

Aye, I am ready.... I will go my way,
If but some man will guide me.

OLD MAN.

Here am I,
To speed thee to the end, right thankfully.

ORESTES (_turning as he goes and raising his hands to heaven_).

Zeus of my sires, Zeus of the lost battle,

ELECTRA.

Have pity; have pity; we have earned it well!

OLD MAN.

Pity these twain, of thine own body sprung!

ELECTRA.

O Queen o'er Argive altars, Hera high,

ORESTES.

Grant us thy strength, if for the right we cry.