IPHIGENIA.
Therefore, an offence most high
It were to slay thee to the goddess!
ORESTES.
Why?
Though I half guess.
IPHIGENIA.
Thy body is unclean.—
Oh, I will fill them with the fear of sin!
ORESTES.
What help is that for the Image?
IPHIGENIA.
I will crave
To cleanse thee in the breaking of the wave.
ORESTES.
That leaves the goddess still inside her shrine,
And'tis for her we sailed.
IPHIGENIA.
A touch of thine
Defiled her. She too must be purified.
ORESTES.
Where shall it be? Thou knowest where the tide
Sweeps up in a long channel?
IPHIGENIA.
Yes! And where
Your ship, I guess, lies moored.
ORESTES.
Whose hand will bear—
Should it be thine?—the image from her throne?