By cruel tortures racked, will she give up990
Whom now she hides. Resourceless, starving there,
In dank and loathsome solitude immured,
Widowed, ere wedded, exiled, scorned of all—
Then will she, though too late, to fortune yield.
Electra: Oh, grant me death.
Aegisthus: If thou shouldst plead for life,
I'd grant thee death. A foolish ruler he,995
Who balances by death the score of sin.
Electra: Can any punishment be worse than death?