No More Learning

. . Stay; the robe was thine,
Work of thy loom, wherein I wrapt him o'er
That night and stole him through the murderers' door.

ELECTRA.

Thou knowest, when Orestes was cast out
I was a child. . . . If I did weave some clout
Of raiment, would he keep the vesture now
He wore in childhood? Should my weaving grow
As his limbs grew? . . . 'Tis lost long since. No more!
O, either 'twas some stranger passed, and shore
His locks for very ruth before that tomb:
Or, if he found perchance, to seek his home,
Some spy. . .

OLD MAN.

The strangers! Where are they? I fain
Would see them, aye, and bid them answer plain. . .

ELECTRA.

Here at the door! How swift upon the thought!

_Enter_ ORESTES _and_ PYLADES.

OLD MAN.

High-born: albeit for that I trust them not.
The highest oft are false.