ORESTES The doom is set; and yet I fain would ask— Not swerving from the course of my resolve,— Wherefore she sent these offerings, and why She softens all too late her cureless deed? An idle boon it was, to send them here Unto the dead who recks not of such gifts. I cannot guess her thought, but well I ween Such gifts are skilless to atone such crime. Be blood once spilled, an idle strife he strives Who seeks with other wealth or wine outpoured To atone the deed. So stands the word, nor fails. Yet would I know her thought; speak, if thou knowest. CHORUS I know it, son; for at her side I stood. ’Twas the night-wandering terror of a dream That flung her shivering from her couch, and bade her— Her, the accursed of God—these offerings send. ORESTES Heard ye the dream, to tell it forth aright? CHORUS Yea, from herself; her womb a serpent bare. ORESTES What then the sum and issue of the tale? CHORUS Even as a swaddled child, she lull’d the thing. ORESTES What suckling craved the creature, born full-fanged? CHORUS Yet in her dreams she proffered it the breast. ORESTES How? did the hateful thing not bite her teat? CHORUS Yea, and sucked forth a blood-gout in the milk. ORESTES Not vain this dream—it bodes a man’s revenge. CHORUS Then out of sleep she started with a cry, And thro’ the palace for their mistress’ aid Full many lamps, that erst lay blind with night, Flared into light; then, even as mourners use, She sends these offerings, in hope to win A cure to cleave and sunder sin from doom. ORESTES Earth and my father’s grave, to you I call— Give this her dream fulfilment, and thro’ me. I read it in each part coincident, With what shall be; for mark, that serpent sprang From the same womb as I, in swaddling bands By the same hands was swathed, lipped the same breast, And sucking forth the same sweet mother’s-milk Infused a clot of blood; and in alarm She cried upon her wound the cry of pain. The rede is clear: the thing of dread she nursed, The death of blood she dies; and I, ’tis I, In semblance of a serpent, that must slay her. Thou art my seer, and thus I read the dream. CHORUS So do; yet ere thou doest, speak to us, Siding some act, some, by not acting, aid.