My face; and, lo,
My temples of their ancient glory shorn.
ORESTES.
Methinks thy brother haunts thee, being forlorn;
Aye, and perchance thy father, whom they slew…
ELECTRA.
What should be nearer to me than those two?
ORESTES.
And what to him, thy brother, half so dear
As thou?
ELECTRA.
His is a distant love, not near
At need.
ORESTES.
But why this dwelling place, this life
Of loneliness?