Chorus.
The gods so will that, soon or late,
Each mortal taste of sorrow;
A frown to-day from surly Fate,
A biting blast to-morrow.
Orestes.
Others ’twixt hope and fear may sway, my fate
Is fixed and scapeless.[n71] Like a charioteer,
Dragged from his course by steeds that spurned the rein,
Thoughts past control usurp me. Terror lifts,