Then there follows an awful scene between Orestes and Clytemnestra, as she grieves over the body of Egisthus.
Ores. Was he so dear to thee? Then thou shalt lie
In the same grave with blameless constancy.
Clytem. Oh son, forbear! O child, respect and pity
This breast, whereat thou often, soothed to slumber,
Drainèdst with baby mouth the bounteous milk.[[16]]
For an instant these poignant words make Orestes waver; and he half turns to Pylades with an appeal for counsel. But the answer is a stern reminder of the oracular command; and the pitying moment passes.
Ores. How should I live with her who killed my sire?
Clytem. The destinies wrought there. My son! my son!
Ores. Destiny works a different doom to-day....
Clytem. Oh! Wilt thou kill thy mother? O my son!
Ores. I kill thee not. Thy sin destroyeth thee....
Clytem. Ah!