_Enter from the right_ CLYTEMNESTRA _on a chariot, accompanied by richly
dressed Handmaidens_.

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Down from the wain, ye dames of Troy, and hold
Mine arm as I dismount.... [_Answering_ ELECTRA'S _thought_.
The spoils and gold
Of Ilion I have sent out of my hall
To many shrines. These bondwomen are all
I keep in mine own house.... Deemst thou the cost
Too rich to pay me for the child I lost--
Fair though they be?

ELECTRA.

Nay, Mother, here am I
Bond likewise, yea, and homeless, to hold high
Thy royal arm!

CLYTEMNESTRA.

Child, the war slaves are here;
Thou needst not toil.

ELECTRA.

What was it but the spear
Of war, drove me forth too? Mine enemies
Have sacked my father's house, and, even as these,