Orestes: I pray thee, mistress, make it known in the house that certain
men of Phocis seek Aegisthus.
Electra: Ah, woe is me! Surely ye are not bringing the visible proofs
of that rumour which we heard?
Orestes: I know nothing of thy 'rumour'; but the aged Strophius charged
me with tidings of Orestes.
Electra: What are they, sir? Ah, how I thrill with fear!
Orestes: He is dead; and in a small urn, as thou seest, we bring the
scanty relics home.
Electra: Ah me unhappy! There, at last, before mine eyes, I see that
woful burden in your hands
Orestes: If thy tears are for aught which Orestes hath suffered, know
that yonder vessel holds his dust.
Electra: Ah, sir, allow me, then, I implore thee, if this urn indeed
contains him, to take it in my hands,- that I may weep and wail, not
for these ashes alone, but for myself and for all our house therewith!
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