Clytemnestra.
Ah me! I nursed a serpent on my breast.
Orestes.[n62]
Thou hadst a prophet in thy dream, last night;
And since thou kill’d the man thou shouldst have spared,
The man, that now should spare thee, can but kill.
[He drives her into the house, and there murders her.
Chorus.
There’s food for sorrow here; but rather, since
Orestes could not choose but scale the height