The country's pest, and that of gods o' the country,
Killed him! Orestes, where may he see light now?
That coming hither back, with gracious fortune,
Of both these he may be the all-conquering slayer?
Aig. But since this to do thou thinkest—and not talk—thou soon shalt know!
Up then, comrades dear! the proper thing to do—not distant this!
Cho. Up then! hilt in hold, his sword let every one aright dispose!
Aig. Ay, but I myself too, hilt in hold, do not refuse to die!
Cho. Thou wilt die, thou say'st, to who accept it. We the chance demand!
Klu. Nowise, O belovedest of men, may we do other ills!