ORES.  My body is vanished, but my name has not left me.

MEN.  Alas, thy uncomeliness of form which has appeared to me beyond conception!

ORES.  I am he, the murderer of my wretched mother.

MEN.  I have heard; but spare a little the recital of thy woes.

ORES.  I spare it; but in woes the deity is rich to me.

MEN.  What dost thou suffer?  What malady destroys thee?

ORES.  The conviction that I am conscious of having perpetrated dreadful deeds.

MEN.  How sayest thou?  Plainness, and not obscurity, is wisdom.

ORES.  Sorrow is chiefly what destroys me,—­

MEN.  She is a dreadful goddess, but sorrow admits of cure.

ORES.  And fits of madness in revenge for my mother’s blood.

MEN.  But when didst first have the raging? what day was it then?

ORES.  That day in which I heaped the tomb on my mother.

MEN.  What? in the house, or sitting at the pyre?

ORES.  As I was guarding by night lest any one should bear off her bones.[9]

MEN.  Was any one else present, who supported thy body?

ORES.  Pylades, who perpetrated with me the vengeance and death of my mother.

MEN.  But by what visions art thou thus afflicted?

ORES.  I appear to behold three virgins like the night.

MEN.  I know whom thou meanest, but am unwilling to name them.

ORES.  Yes:  for they are awful; but forbear from speaking such high polished words.[10]

MEN.  Do these drive thee to distraction on account of this kindred murder?

ORES.  Alas me for the persecutions, with which wretched I am driven!

MEN.  It is not strange that those who do strange deeds should suffer them.

ORES.  But we have whereto we may transfer the criminality[11] of the mischance.

MEN.  Say not the death of thy father; for this is not wise.

ORES.  Phoebus who commanded us to perpetrate the slaying of our mother.

MEN.  Being more ignorant than to know equity, and justice.

ORES.  We are servants of the Gods, whatever those Gods be.

MEN.  And then does not Apollo assist thee in thy miseries?

ORES.  He is always about to do it, but such are the Gods by nature.

MEN.  But how long a time has thy mother’s breath gone from her?

ORES.  This is the sixth day since; the funeral pyre is yet warm.

MEN.  How quickly have the Goddesses come to demand of thee thy mother’s blood!

ORES.  I am not wise, but a true friend to my friends.

MEN.  But what then doth the revenge of thy father profit thee?

ORES.  Nothing yet; but I consider what is in prospect in the same light as a thing not done.

MEN.  But regarding the city how standest thou, having done these things?

ORES.  We are hated to that degree, that no one speaks to us.