Electra: (to Orestes) Thy work begins at once; thou hast drawn the
first lot in the tragedy.
Orestes: I will go, if some one will show me the way.
Old Man: I will myself conduct thee nothing loth.
Orestes: O Zeus, god of my fathers, vanquisher of my foes, have pity
on us, for a piteous lot has ours been.
Electra: Oh! have pity on thy own descendants.
Orestes: O Hera, mistress of Mycenae's altars, grant us the victory,
if we are asking what is right.
Electra: Yes, grant us vengeance on them for our father's death.
Orestes: Thou too, my father, sent to the land of shades by wicked
hands, and Earth, the queen of all, to whom I spread my suppliant
palms, up and champion thy dear children. Come with all the dead to
aid, all they who helped thee break the Phrygians' power, and all
who hate ungodly crime. Dost hear me, father, victim of my mother's
rage?
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