Where thou wert least suspect! Thou hast me now
A helpless captive lorn, and reft of all
My trustiest friends. Orestes also gone,
Whose feet above the miry slough most sure
Seemed planted! Now our revelry of hope,
The fair account that should have surgeoned woe,
Is audited at nothing![n54]
Orestes.
Would the gods,
Where happy hosts, give welcome, I were guest