Thou art the first that I have known in deed True and my friend, and shelterer of my need. Thou only, Pylades, of all that knew, Hast held Orestes of some worth, all through These years of helplessness, wherein I lie Downtrodden by the murderer--yea, and by The murderess, my mother!... I am come, Fresh from the cleansing of Apollo, home To Argos--and my coming no man yet Knoweth--to pay the bloody twain their debt Of blood. This very night I crept alone To my dead father's grave, and poured thereon My heart's first tears and tresses of my head New-shorn, and o'er the barrow of the dead Slew a black lamb, unknown of them that reign In this unhappy land.... I am not fain To pass the city gates, but hold me here Hard on the borders. So my road is clear To fly if men look close and watch my way; If not, to seek my sister. For men say She dwelleth in these hills, no more a maid But wedded. I must find her house, for aid To guide our work, and learn what hath betid Of late in Argos.--Ha, the radiant lid Of Dawn's eye lifteth! Come, friend; leave we now This trodden path. Some worker of the plough, Or serving damsel at her early task Will presently come by, whom we may ask If here my sister dwells. But soft! Even now I see some bondmaid there, her death-shorn brow Bending beneath its freight of well-water. Lie close until she pass; then question her. A slave might help us well, or speak some sign Of import to this work of mine and thine.

Orestes Monologue from Electra

Rehearse Orestes's monologue