Thee next I seek. For him, he hath enough.
Clytemnestra.
Ah me! my lord, my loved Ægisthus dead!
Orestes.
Dost love this man? then thou shalt sleep with him,
In the same tomb. He was thy bedmate living,
Be thou his comrade, dead.
Clytemnestra.
Hold thee, my son!
Look on this breast, to which with slumbrous eyes