ORESTES.

'Tis my mother comes: my own
Mother, that bare me. [_He takes off his crown_.

ELECTRA (_springing, as it were, to life again, and moving where she can
see the road_).

Straight into the snare!
Aye, there she cometh,--Welcome in thy rare
Chariot! All welcome in thy brave array!

ORESTES.

What would we with our mother? Didst thou say
Kill her?

ELECTRA (_turning on him_).

What? Is it pity? Dost thou fear
To see thy mother's shape?

ORESTES.

'Twas she that bare
My body into life. She gave me suck.
How can I strike her?

ELECTRA.