EL.  You kill me.

CH. 4.  How?

EL.  To breathe
      A hope for one beneath
      So clearly sunk in death,
      ’Tis to afflict me more
      Already pining sore.

CH. 5.  One in a woman’s toils I 2
Was tangled[8], buried by her glittering coils,
Who now beneath—­

EL.  Ah woe!

CH. 6.  Rules with a spirit unimpaired and strong.

EL.  O dreadful!

CH. 7.  Dreadful was the wrong.

EL.  But she was quelled.

CH. 8.  Ay.

EL.  True! 
That faithful mourner knew
A brother’s aid.  But I
Have no man now.  The one
I had, is gone, is gone. 
Rapt into nothingness.

CH. 9.  Thou art wrung with sore distress.  II 1

EL.  I know it.  Too well I know,
Taught by a life of woe,
Where horror dwells without relief.

CH. 10.  Our eyes have seen thy grief.

EL.  Then comfort not again—­

CH. 11.  Whither now turns thy strain?

EL.  One utterly bereft,
Seeing no hope is left,
Of help from hands owning the same great sire.

CH. 12.  ’Tis nature’s debt.  II 2

EL.  To expire
    On sharp-cut dragging thongs,
    ’Midst wildly trampling throngs
    Of swiftly racing hoofs, like him,
    Poor hapless one?

CH. 13.  Vast, dim,
    And boundless was the harm.

EL.  Yea, severed from mine arm,
    By strangers kept—­

CH. 14.  O pain!

EL.  Hidden he must remain,
    Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.

Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHR.  Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come,
Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed. 
For news I bear of joy and sweet relief
From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.

EL.  Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes,
That close in darkness without hope of dawn?

CHR.  Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth,
As certainly as you now look on me.

EL.  What?  Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh
Over thine own calamity and mine?

CHR.  No, by our father’s hearth, I say not this
In mockery.  I tell you he is come.

EL.  Me miserable!  Who hath given thine ear
The word that so hath wrought on thy belief?

CHR.  Myself am the eyewitness, no one else
Gained my belief, but proofs I clearly saw.

EL.  What sign hath so engrossed thine eye, poor girl? 
What sight hath fired thee with this quenchless glow?

CHR.  But list to me, I pray thee, that henceforth
Thou mayest account me clear eyed, or a fool!