Orestes: The son of Agamemnon and Clytemnestra, by name Orestes, on
ply way to the oracle of Zeus at Dodona. But now that I am come to
Phthia, I am resolved to inquire about my kinswoman, Hermione of Sparta;
is she alive and well? for though she dwells in a land far from my
own, I love her none the less.
Hermione: Son of Agamemnon, thy appearing is as a haven from the storm
to sailors; by thy knees I pray, have pity on me in my distress, on
me of whose fortunes thou art inquiring. About thy knees I twine my
arms with all the force of sacred fillets.
Orestes: Ha! what is this? Am I mistaken or do I really see before
me the queen of this palace, the daughter of Menelaus?
Hermione: The same, that only child whom Helen, daughter of Tyndareus,
bore my father in his halls; never doubt that.
Orestes: O saviour Phoebus, grant us respite from our woe! But what
is the matter? art thou afflicted by gods or men?
Hermione: Partly by myself, partly by the man who wedded me, and partly
by some god. On every side I see ruin.
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