Choephori.
89
Electra.
These earth-drained off'rings hath my sire received.
[She perceives the lock of hair laid by Orestes.]
Ha! this new wonder ponder now with me.
Chorus.
Speak on; yet palpitates my heart with fear?
Electra.
Laid on the tomb this lock new shorn I see. 160
Chorus.
Shorn from what man, or what deep-girdled maid?
Electra.
Who here will guess may easily divine.
Chorus.
Although the elder, I from thee would learn.
Electra.
There is but one who could have shorn this hair.
Chorus.
True, foes are they who with the lock should mourn.
Electra.
And further, it is like, yea, very like—
Chorus.
Like what? Like whose? That I am fain to learn.
