Orestes. 
Why sighst thou?  Had he any link with thee?

Iphigenia. 
I did but think of his old joy and pride.

Orestes. 
His own wife foully stabbed him, and he died.

Iphigenia. 
O God! 
I pity her that slew ... and him that slew.

Orestes. 
Now cease thy questions.  Add no word thereto.

Iphigenia. 
But one word.  Lives she still, that hapless wife?

Orestes. 
No.  Her own son, her first-born, took her life.

Iphigenia. 
O shipwrecked house!  What thought was in his brain?

Orestes. 
Justice on her, to avenge his father slain.

Iphigenia. 
Alas! 
A bad false duty bravely hath he wrought.

Orestes. 
Yet God, for all his duty, helps him not.

Iphigenia. 
And not one branch of Atreus’ tree lives on?

Orestes. 
Electra lives, unmated and alone.

Iphigenia. 
The child they slaughtered ... is there word of her?

Orestes. 
Why, no, save that she died in Aulis there.

Iphigenia. 
Poor child!  Poor father, too, who killed and lied!

Orestes. 
For a bad woman’s worthless sake she died.

Iphigenia. 
The dead king’s son, lives he in Argos still?

Orestes. 
He lives, now here, now nowhere, bent with ill.

Iphigenia. 
O dreams, light dreams, farewell!  Ye too were lies.

Orestes. 
Aye; the gods too, whom mortals deem so wise,
Are nothing clearer than some winged dream;
And all their ways, like man’s ways, but a stream
Of turmoil.  He who cares to suffer least,
Not blind, as fools are blinded, by a priest,
Goes straight... to what death, those who know him know.

Leader. 
We too have kinsmen dear, but, being low,
None heedeth, live they still or live they not.

Iphigenia (with sudden impulse). 
Listen!  For I am fallen upon a thought,
Strangers, of some good use to you and me,
Both.  And ’tis thus most good things come to be,
When different eyes hold the same for fair.

Stranger, if I can save thee, wilt thou bear
To Argos and the friends who loved my youth
Some word?  There is a tablet which, in truth
For me and mine ill works, a prisoner wrote,
Ta’en by the king in war.  He knew ’twas not
My will that craved for blood, but One on high
Who holds it righteous her due prey shall die. 
And since that day no Greek hath ever come
Whom I could save and send to Argos home
With prayer for help to any friend:  but thou,
I think, dost loathe me not; and thou dost know
Mycenae and the names that fill my heart. 
Help me!  Be saved!  Thou also hast thy part,
Sending Completed Page, Please Wait ...