(whine) The Chorus continues to whine. Ghost of Clytaemestra You are too drowsy and do not pity my suffering. Orestes, the murderer of me, his mother, is gone!
 Chorus (moan) The Chorus begins to moan 
 
 Ghost of Clytaemestra You moan, you drowse—will you not get up at once? Is it your destiny to do anything other than cause harm? Chorus (moan) The Chorus continues to moan. 
 
 Ghost of Clytaemestra Sleep and toil, effective conspirators, have destroyed the force of the dreadful dragoness.
 Chorus With whining redoubled and intensified. Catch him! Catch him! Catch him! Catch him! Look sharp! Ghost of Clytaemestra In a dream you are hunting your prey, and are barking like a dog that never leaves off its keenness for the work. What are you doing? Get up; do not let fatigue overpower you, and do not ignore my misery because you have been softened by sleep. Sting your heart with merited reproaches; for reproach becomes a spur to the right-minded. Send after him a gust of bloody breath, shrivel him with the vapor, the fire from your guts, follow him, wither him with fresh pursuit! The Ghost of Clytaemestra disappears; the Furies, roused by their leader, awake one after the other. 
 
 Chorus Awake! Wake her up, as I wake you.Still asleep? Get up, shake off sleep, let us see if any part of this beginning The utterances of the Furies, as they rouse themselves to action, will be only a prelude to the fuller expression of their wrath. It is uncertain whether the first and second strophic groups were sung by single voices or by semi-choruses. is in vain.
 Chorus Oh, oh! Alas! We have suffered, friends.
 Indeed I have suffered much and all in vain. We have suffered very painfully, oh! an unbearable evil. The beast has escaped from our nets and is gone. Overcome by sleep, I have lost my prey.
 Chorus Oh! Child of Zeus, you have become a thief— you, a youth, have ridden down old divinities—by showing respect to your suppliant, a godless man and cruel to a parent; although you are a god, you have stolen away a man that killed his mother. What is there here that anyone shall call just?
 Chorus Reproach, coming to me in a dream, struck me like a charioteer with goad held tight, under my heart, under my vitals. I can feel the cruel, the very cruel chill of the executioner’s destroying scourge. Chorus They do such things, the younger gods, who rule, wholly beyond justice, a throne dripping blood, about its foot, about its head. I can see the center-stone of the earth defiled with a terrible pollution of blood.
 Chorus Although he is a prophet, he has stained his sanctuary with pollution at its hearth, at his own urging, at his own bidding; against the law of the gods, he has honored mortal things and caused the ancient allotments to decay.
 Chorus And he brings distress to me too, but he shall not win his release; even if he escapes beneath the earth, he is never set free. A suppliant, he will acquire another avenger from his family. As Agamemnon was slain by Clytaemestra and Clytaemestra by Orestes, so Orestes shall be slain by one of his own race. μιάστωρ is properly polluter. 
 
 Enters from the inner sanctuary. Apollo Out, I order you! Go away from this house at once, leave my prophetic sanctuary, so that you may not be struck by a winged glistening snake The arrow sped from Apollo’s gold-wrought string is called a winged glistening snake because it stings like a serpent’s bite. There is also a latent word-play: ὄφις snake suggests ἰός snake’s poison which also means arrow. shot forth from a golden bow-string, and painfully release black foam, vomiting the clots of blood you have drained from mortals. It is not right for you to approach this house; no, your place is where the punishments are beheading, gouging out of eyes, cutting of throats, and where young men’s virility is ruined by destruction of seed; where there is mutilation and stoning, and where those who are impaled beneath their spine moan long and piteously. Do you hear what sort of feast is your delight? You are detested by the gods for it. The whole fashion of your form sets it forth. Creatures like you should live in the den of a blood-drinking lion, and not inflict pollution on all near you in this oracular shrine. Be gone, you goats without a herdsman! No god loves such a flock.
 Chorus Lord Apollo, hear our reply in turn. You yourself are not partially guilty of this deed; you alone have done it all, and are wholly guilty. Apollo What do you mean? Draw out the length of your speech this much.