ELECTRA. HELEN.
HEL. O daughter of Clytæmnestra and Agamemnon, O Electra, thou that hast remained a virgin a long time. How are ye, O wretched woman, both you, and your brother, the wretched Orestes (he was the murderer of his mother)? For by thy converse I am not polluted, transferring, as I do, the blame to Phœbus. And yet I groan the death of Clytæmnestra, whom, after that I sailed to Troy, (how did I sail, urged by the maddening fate of the Gods!) I saw not, but of her bereft I lament my fortune.
ELEC. Helen, why should I inform thee of things thou seest thyself here present, the race of Agamemnon in calamities. I indeed sleepless sit companion to the wretched corse, (for he is a corse, in that he breathes so little,) but at his fortune I murmur not. But thou a happy woman, and thy husband a happy man, have come to us, who fare most wretchedly.
HEL. But what length of time has he been lying on his couch?
ELEC. Ever since he shed his parent's blood.
HEL. Oh wretched, and his mother too, that thus she perished!
ELEC. These things are thus, so that he is unable to speak for misery.
HEL. By the Gods wilt thou oblige me in a thing, O virgin?
ELEC. As far as I am permitted by the little leisure I have from watching by my brother.
HEL. Wilt thou go to the tomb of my sister?