EL. Yea, severed from mine arm,
By strangers kept—

CH. 14. O pain!

EL. Hidden he must remain,
Of me unsepulchred, unmourned, unwept.

[page 155][871-906]

Enter CHRYSOTHEMIS.

CHR. Driven by delight, dear sister, I am come,
Reckless of dignity, with headlong speed.
For news I bear of joy and sweet relief
From ills that drew from thee thy ceaseless moan.

EL. Whence couldst thou hear of succour for my woes,
That close in darkness without hope of dawn?

CHR. Here is Orestes, learn it from my mouth,
As certainly as you now look on me.

EL. What? Art thou mad, unhappy one, to laugh
Over thine own calamity and mine?

CHR. No, by our father’s hearth, I say not this
In mockery. I tell you he is come.