ORESTES.
Thine own hand wove that story on the loom...

IPHIGENIA.
How sweet! Thou movest near old memories.

ORESTES.
With a great Sun back beaten in the skies.

IPHIGENIA.
Fine linen threads I used. The memories come.

ORESTES.
And mother gave thee shrift-water from home
For Aulis ...

IPHIGENIA.
I remember. Not so fair
A day did drink that water!

ORESTES.
And thine hair
They brought us for thy dying gift, and gave
To mother.

IPHIGENIA.
Yes: for record on the grave
I sent it, where this head should never lie.

ORESTES.