CHORUS
Yet must thou tell the manner of thy deed.
ORESTES
Drawn sword in hand, I gashed her neck. ’Tis told.
CHORUS
But by whose word, whose craft, wert thou impelled?
ORESTES
By oracles of him who here attests me.
CHORUS
The prophet-god bade thee thy mother slay?
ORESTES
Yea, and thro’ him less ill I fared, till now.
CHORUS
If the vote grip thee, thou shalt change that word.
ORESTES
Strong is my hope; my buried sire shall aid.
CHORUS
Go to now, trust the dead, a matricide!
ORESTES
Yea, for in her combined two stains of sin.