No voice it has to speak its fitful wants,
When hunger, thirst, or Nature’s need commands.
The infant’s belly asks no counsel. I
Was a wise prophetess to all his wants,
Though sometimes false, as others are. I was
Nurse to the child, and fuller to its clothes,
And both to one sad end. Alack the day!
This double trade with little fruit I plied,
What time I nursed Orestes for his father;
For he is dead, and I must live to hear it.