How dark lies honour hid! And what turmoil In all things human: sons of mighty men Fallen to naught, and from ill seed again Good fruit: yea, famine in the rich man's scroll Writ deep, and in poor flesh a lordly soul. As, lo, this man, not great in Argos, not With pride of house uplifted, in a lot Of unmarked life hath shown a prince's grace. All that is here of Agamemnon's race, And all that lacketh yet, for whom we come, Do thank thee, and the welcome of thy home Accept with gladness.--Ho, men; hasten ye Within!--This open-hearted poverty Is blither to my sense than feasts of gold. Lady, thine husband's welcome makes me bold; Yet would thou hadst thy brother, before all Confessed, to greet us in a prince's hall! Which may be, even yet. Apollo spake The word; and surely, though small store I make Of man's divining, God will fail us not.

Orestes Monologue from Electra

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