ELECTRA, ORESTES, PYLADES, CHORUS.
ELEC. Alas me! for I bewail thee, my brother, seeing thee before the tomb, and before the pyre of thy departed shade: alas me! again and again, how am I bereft of my senses, seeing with my eyes the very last sight of thee.
ORES. Wilt thou not in silence, ceasing from womanish groans, make up thy mind to what is decreed? These things indeed are lamentable, but yet we must bear our present fate.
ELEC. And how can I be silent? We wretched no longer are permitted to view this light of the God.
ORES. Do not thou kill me; I, the unhappy, have died enough already under the hands of the Argives; but pass over our present ills.
ELEC. O Orestes! oh wretched in thy youth, and thy fate, and thy untimely death, then oughtest thou to live, when thou art no more.
ORES. Do not by the Gods throw cowardice around me, bringing the remembrance of my woes so as to cause tears.
ELEC. We shall die; it is not possible not to groan our misfortunes; for the dear life is a cause of pity to all mortals.
ORES. This is the day appointed for us! but we must either fit the suspended noose, or whet the sword with our hand.
ELEC. Do thou then kill me, my brother; let none of the Argives kill me, putting a contumely on the offspring of Agamemnon.