Full penalty.’  So harsh is her exclaim. 
And he at hand, the husband she extols,
Hounds on the cry, that prince of cowardice,
From head to foot one mass of pestilent harm. 
Tongue-doughty champion of this women’s-war. 
I, for Orestes ever languishing
To end this, am undone.  For evermore
Intending, still delaying, he wears out
All hope, both here and yonder.  How, then, friends,
Can I be moderate, or feel the touch
Of holy resignation?  Evil fruit
Cannot but follow on a life of ill.

CH.  Say, is Aegisthus near while thus you speak? 
Or hath he left the palace?  We would know.

EL.  Most surely.  Never think, if he were by,
I could stray out of door.  He is abroad.

CH.  Then with less fear I may converse with thee.

EL.  Ask what you will, for he is nowhere near.

CH.  First of thy brother I beseech thee tell,
How deem’st thou?  Will he come, or still delay?

EL.  His promise comes, but still performance sleeps.

CH.  Well may he pause who plans a dreadful deed.

EL.  I paused not in his rescue from the sword.

CH.  Fear not.  He will bestead you.  He is true.

EL.  But for that faith my life had soon gone by.

CH.  No more!  I see approaching from the house
Thy sister by both parents of thy blood,
Chrysothemis; in her hand an offering,
Such as old custom yields to those below.

Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHRYSOTHEMIS.  What converse keeps thee now beyond the gates,
Dear sister? why this talk in the open day? 
Wilt thou not learn after so long to cease
From vain indulgence of a bootless rage? 
I know in my own breast that I am pained
By what thou griev’st at, and if I had power,
My censure of their deeds would soon be known. 
But in misfortune I have chosen to sail
With lowered canvas, rather than provoke
With puny strokes invulnerable foes. 
I would thou didst the like:  though I must own
The right is on thy side, and not on mine. 
But if I mean to dwell at liberty,
I must obey in all the stronger will.

EL.  ’Tis strange and pitiful, thy father’s child
Can leave him in oblivion and subserve
The mother.  All thy schooling of me springs
From her suggestion, not of thine own wit. 
Sure, either thou art senseless, or thy sense
Deserts thy friends.  Treason or dulness then? 
Choose!—­You declared but now, if you had strength,
You would display your hatred of this pair. 
Yet, when I plan full vengeance for my sire,
You aid me not, but turn me from the attempt. 
What’s this but adding cowardice to evil? 
For tell me, or be patient till I show,
What should I gain by ceasing this my moan? 
I live to vex them:—­though my life be poor,
Yet that suffices, for I honour him,
My father,—­if affection touch the dead. 
You say you hate them, but belie your word,