id="id00376">OLD MAN.

                                   My son,
In thine adversity, there is not one
Will call thee friend. Nay, that were treasure-trove,
A friend to share, not faltering from love,
Fair days and foul the same. Thy name is gone
Forth to all Argos, as a thing o'erthrown
And dead. Thou hast not left one spark to glow
With hope in one friend's heart! Hear all, and know:
Thou hast God's fortune and thine own right hand,
Naught else, to conquer back thy fatherland.

ORESTES.

The deed, the deed! What must we do?

OLD MAN.

                                     Strike down
Aegisthus … and thy mother.

ORESTES.

                              'Tis the crown
My race is run for. But how find him?

OLD MAN.

                                      Not
Within the city walls, however hot
Thy spirit.

ORESTES.

            Ha! With watchers doth he go
Begirt, and mailèd pikemen?

OLD MAN.

                            Even so:
He lives in fear of thee, and night nor day
Hath slumber.

ORESTES.