ELECTRA

Brother, look up, have not I lost a father? Yes, and would a river of fresh tears Turn Lethes stream, and bring him from the wharf, With a North gale of windy blowing sighs, I would expire my soul, become all tears. Mother, pray where's my father, where's your husband, Hail to my gracious Queen, here's one at door Enter Strophius, and speaks. Brings you a message, he will not relate To any, but your self, he says 'tis sad. Good mother do your worst, No plague can ever make me more accursed, Nothing is worse then death, that I'll not fly. Oh my Orestes, Oh my dearest brother It's he, it's he that thus hath drowned himself. Fear not good uncle, there will be a time To pull him down, although he yet does climb: I hope our gracious mother cannot think We do suspect her love, witness this charge, Which you have blessed my arms and soul withal, And as your love committed it with care, My care shall still defend it with my love. You never herd from my brother, Uncle, Nor from your son, they have been long away? Uncle, his long delays make me surmise, Or he will never come, or come with prize; He, if now come, he must not show himself, But live unknown, unnamed, or change his name. Come Nurse. Exeunt. In truth I had, but I can hear no news. They discover themselves Our brother, our Orestes is come home. What silent place hath smothered you so long! Of what great power have you counsel taken, Concerning the great plot you had in hand. Why brother, is the child in any fault, That was unborn when that our Father died? And it's a lusty boy: Oh hurt not that. Shalt not, indeed. Why Grandsire, I herin no wrong do find, Since all these go, I would not stay behind. THus never less alone, then when alone, Where to ourselves we sweetly tell our woes, Thou Uncle, chief companion to our griefs, And sole partaker of our Misery's, Why do we live, when now it's come to pass, It is scarce known that Agamemnon was, He die far easier, who at first does drown, Then he which long does swim, and then sinks down. Oh envious Fates could you not use me thus? Have not I grief enough to burst my heart? Was my life's thread twisted and knit so strong? That the keen edge of all these Misery's Can never cut it off; Must I bear more? It's all my safety now not to be safe, Are there so many ways to rid ones life? And can I hit on none? they say that death Is every where, and yet I find him not: Tush, but I seek him not, why my own hand Might grasp him to me, if I did but strive. Now hand help ease my heart, and make a way Stabs her self To let out grief, that hath so long dwelled here, Now knife tha'st done good service, there lie by, Heaven well decreed it, nothing life can give, But every thing can make us not live. Now Priam's ghost, haste, haste, I say to look, With cheerful eyes on the sinister book, And there to Hecuba my mother show The tragic story of thy conquered foe. And let Andromacha my sister see, What Agamemnon's raze is come to be. Now Troy gratify that most sad doom, Conquered by those that thus themselves overcome, Let Greece so flourish still, let Argos be Puffed with the pride of their great victory. Let it bear Soldiers, so withal it bear Orestes too; now mother never fear Argos makes me to laugh, which made thee weep, The Trojans in the graven now sweetly sleep. Their sorrow hath the end, now these begin To overflow themselves with mutual sin: And after all, Orestes, we may see, Hath lost his reason, men sole property. Yes, Nurse, fit down and sing, look to the Babe, I'll only with my Uncle change a word. Lullaby, lullaby Baby, Great Argos joy, The King of Greece thou art born to be, In despite of Troy. Rest ever wait upon thy head, Sleep close thine eyes, The blessed guard tend on thy bed Of Deities. Oh, how this brow will beseem a crown! How these locks will shine! Like the rays of the Sun on the ground, These locks of thine. The Nurse of heaven still send thee milk, Mayest thou suck a Queen. Thy drink Jove's Nectar and clothes of silk, A God mayest thou seem. Cupid fit on this Rosean cheek, On these Ruby lips May thy mind Like a Lamb be meek, In the vales which trips, Lullaby, Lullaby Baby, &c. Yes, great Aegystheus, were't but our mother's will, What she thinks good of, I must not think ill: Beside, your love e'r since my father's death, As am from his departing soul, And with had revived again in you, prospectiu for me, to see oubled, though the object's changed, a brother, if you please, That I may challenge in your royal blood, Here do I tie with all affections bans, My self unto this Babe, which is as deer Unto my soul, as were Orestes here. Yes, Uncle, and you happy in my favour.