Do not incautiously condemn thyself.
IPHIGENIA
Oh, couldst thou see the struggle of my soul,
Courageously to ward the first attack
Of an unhappy doom, which threatens me!
Do I then stand before thee weaponless?
Prayer, lovely prayer, fair branch in woman's hand,
More potent far than instruments of war,
Thou dost thrust back. What now remains for me
Wherewith my inborn freedom to defend?
Must I implore a miracle from heaven?
Is there no power within my spirit's depths?
THOAS
Extravagant thy interest in the fate
Of these two strangers. Tell me who they are
For whom thy heart is thus so deeply mov'd.
IPHIGENIA
They are—they seem at least—I think them Greeks.
THOAS
Thy countrymen; no doubt they have renew'd
The pleasing picture of return.
IPHIGENIA (after a pause)