Orestes (93-143)

Yes, with such leisure as this watching over a brother leaves.

Will you go for me to my sister’s tomb?

Would you have me seek my mother’s tomb? Why?

To carry an offering of hair and a libation from me.

Isn’t it right for you to go to the tomb of one you love?

No, for I am ashamed to show myself in Argos.

A late repentance surely for one who left her home so shamefully then.

You have told the truth, but your telling is not kind to me.

What is this supposed shame before the eyes of Mycenae that possesses you?

I am afraid of the fathers of those who lie dead at Ilium.

Good cause for fear; your name is on every tongue in Argos.

Then free me of my fear and grant me this favor.

I could not bear to look upon my mother’s grave.

And yet it would be shame indeed for servants to bear these offerings.

Then why not send your daughter Hermione?

It is not good for maidens to go into a crowd.

And yet she would be repaying her dead foster-mother’s care.

You have told the truth and have convinced me, maiden. Yes, I will send my daughter for you are right. Calling. Hermione, my child, come out, before the palace. Take these libations and these tresses of mine in your hands, and go pour round Clytemnestra’s tomb

a mingled cup of honey, milk, and frothing wine; then stand upon the heaped-up grave, and say this: Helen, your sister, sends you these libations as her gift, fearing herself to approach your tomb from terror of the Argive mob and bid her harbor kindly thoughts

towards me and you and my husband; towards these two wretched sufferers, too, whom the gods have destroyed. And promise that I will pay in full whatever funeral gifts are due from me to a sister. Now go, my child, and hurry;

and soon as you have made the libations at the tomb, think of your return. Exit Helen.

O human nature, how great an evil you are in men! and what salvation, too, to those who have a goodly heritage there.

Did you see how she cut off her hair only at the ends, to preserve its beauty? She is the same woman as of old.

May the gods hate you! for you have proved the ruin of me and my brother and all Hellas.

Alas! here are my friends once more, coming to unite their plaintive dirge with mine; they will soon put an end to my brother’s peaceful sleep, and cause my tears to flow

when I see him in frenzy.

Dearest friends, step softly; not a sound; not a whisper! For though this kindness of yours is well-meant, rouse him and I shall rue it.