Yet when thou saw'st this lock of mourner's hair,
And did'st the foot-prints track my feet had made,
Agreeing with thine own, as brother's true,
Then did'st thou deem in hope thou looked'st on me.
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Fit then this lock where it was cut, and see;
See too this woven robe, thine own hands' work,
The shuttle's stroke, and forms of beasts[[414]] of chase.
[Electra starts, as if about to cry aloud for joy
Restrain thyself, nor lose thy head for joy: