Orestes
Euripides
Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. II. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1891.
- away from his couch; let him enjoy his sleep in peace, my dear!
- Tell me, what end of troubles awaits him.
- Death, death; what else? For he has no desire for food.
- Then his destiny is already clear.
- Phoebus offered us up for sacrifice, when he ordered the pitiable, unnatural murder of our mother, who killed our father.
- It was just.
- But it was not well done.
- You killed and were killed, my mother! and you have slain a father and your own children;
- for we are dead or as good as dead. You are in your grave, and the greater part of my life is spent in weeping and wailing,
- and tears at night; unmarried, childless, I drag out forever a joyless existence.
- Electra, you are nearby; see whether your brother has not died without your knowing it;
- for I do not like his utter prostration.
- Sweet charm of sleep, savior in sickness, how sweetly you came to me, how needed! Revered forgetfulness of troubles, how wise a goddess you are, and invoked by every suffering soul!
- Addressing Electra.Where have I come from? How am I here? For I have lost all previous recollection and remember nothing.
- My dearest, how glad I was to see you fall asleep! Do you want me take you in my arms and lift your body?
- Take, oh! take me in your arms, and from this sufferer’s mouth
- and eyes wipe off the flakes of foam.
- There! The service is sweet, and I do not refuse to tend a brother’s limbs with a sister’s hand.
- Prop me up, your side to mine; brush the matted hair from my face, for I see dimly.
- Ah, poor head, how dirty your hair! How savage you look, remaining so long unwashed!