OLD MAN.
My son,
In thine adversity, there is not one
Will call thee friend. Nay, that were treasure-trove,
A friend to share, not faltering from love,
Fair days and foul the same. Thy name is gone
Forth to all Argos, as a thing o'erthrown
And dead. Thou hast not left one spark to glow
With hope in one friend's heart! Hear all, and know:
Thou hast God's fortune and thine own right hand,
Naught else, to conquer back thy fatherland.
ORESTES.
The deed, the deed! What must we do?
OLD MAN.
Strike down
Aegisthus … and thy mother.
ORESTES.
'Tis the crown
My race is run for. But how find him?
OLD MAN.
Not
Within the city walls, however hot
Thy spirit.