Too sleep-oppressed art thou, nor pitiest me:
Orestes, murderer of his mother, 'scapes.
120
[Noises repeated
Dost snort? Dost drowse? Wilt thou not rise and speed?
What have ye ever done but work out ill?
[Noises as before
Yea, sleep and toil, supreme conspirators,
Have withered up the dreaded dragon's strength.
Chor. [starting up suddenly with a yell.] Seize him, seize, seize, yea, seize: look well to it.