View:
By Card
Electra
558
Hast thou not confessed
That thou didst slay my father ? Whether justice
Approve or not, 'twas horrid to confess it :
But justice never could persuade thee — no !
I'll tell thee who it was, it was ^gisthus.
The wretch wdth whom thou liv'st. Go ask the goddess.
The immortal huntress, why the winds were stayed
So long at Aiilis. But thou must not ask
The chaste Diana ! Take it, then, from me.
My father once, as for the chase prepared,
Cai'eless he wandered through her wecret grove,
Forth from its covert roused a spotted hind
Of fairest form, with towering antlers graced,
Pursued and slew her. Of the deity
Something with pride elate he uttered then
Disdainful. Quick resenting the affront,
Latona's daughter stayed the Grecian fleet,
Nor would forgive, till for her slaughtered beast
560
Th' offending father sacrificed his child.
560
Thus Iphigenia fell ; and but for her
560
Greece ne'er had seen or Ilion's lofty towers,
560
Or her own native soil. The father strove
560
In vain to save, and not for Menelaus
560
He gave her up at last, but for his country.
560
Suppose a brother's fondness had prevailed,
560
And she was given for him, would that excuse
560
Thy horrid deed? What laAv required it of thee ?
That law alone by w^hich thyself must fall ;
If blood for blood be due, thy doom is fixed.
Plead not so poorly then, but tell me why
Thou liv'st adultrous thus with a vile ruflian,
Thy base assistant ? Why are those who sprung
From thy first nuptials cast unkindly forth
For his new race ? Was this thy piety ?
Was this, too, to revenge thy daughter's death ?
In pure revenge to wed her deadhest foe
Was noble, was it not ? But I forget :
You are my mother — so it seems you say —
And I must hold my peace. But I deny it ;
I say your are my mistress, not my mother —
A cruel mistress that afliicts my soul,
And makes this weary life a burthen to me.
Orestes too, the hapless fugitive.
Who once escaped thy fatal hand, now drags
A loathsome being. Him, thou sayst, I looked for
To join in my revenge, and so I did ;
T would have been revenged, I tell thee so.
Say, I am base, malicious, impudent,
Abusive, what thou wilt ; for if I am
It speaks my birth, and I resemble thee.
Chob. Kesentment deep hath fired the virgin's
breast ;
Whether with truth and justice on her side
She speak, I know not.
Cly. Can they plead for her ?
What care, what love, or tenderness is due
To an abandoned child, who shameless thus
Keviles a pai-ent ? I*-tttere, iifteF^isT^
A criTQft in nature shajgould blush to act ?
Hast thou not confessed
That thou didst slay my father ? Whether justice
Approve or not, 'twas horrid to confess it :
But justice never could persuade thee — no !
I'll tell thee who it was, it was ^gisthus.
The wretch wdth whom thou liv'st. Go ask the goddess.
The immortal huntress, why the winds were stayed
So long at Aiilis. But thou must not ask
The chaste Diana ! Take it, then, from me.
My father once, as for the chase prepared,
Cai'eless he wandered through her wecret grove,
Forth from its covert roused a spotted hind
Of fairest form, with towering antlers graced,
Pursued and slew her. Of the deity
Something with pride elate he uttered then
Disdainful. Quick resenting the affront,
Latona's daughter stayed the Grecian fleet,
Nor would forgive, till for her slaughtered beast
560
Th' offending father sacrificed his child.
560
Thus Iphigenia fell ; and but for her
560
Greece ne'er had seen or Ilion's lofty towers,
560
Or her own native soil. The father strove
560
In vain to save, and not for Menelaus
560
He gave her up at last, but for his country.
560
Suppose a brother's fondness had prevailed,
560
And she was given for him, would that excuse
560
Thy horrid deed? What laAv required it of thee ?
That law alone by w^hich thyself must fall ;
If blood for blood be due, thy doom is fixed.
Plead not so poorly then, but tell me why
Thou liv'st adultrous thus with a vile ruflian,
Thy base assistant ? Why are those who sprung
From thy first nuptials cast unkindly forth
For his new race ? Was this thy piety ?
Was this, too, to revenge thy daughter's death ?
In pure revenge to wed her deadhest foe
Was noble, was it not ? But I forget :
You are my mother — so it seems you say —
And I must hold my peace. But I deny it ;
I say your are my mistress, not my mother —
A cruel mistress that afliicts my soul,
And makes this weary life a burthen to me.
Orestes too, the hapless fugitive.
Who once escaped thy fatal hand, now drags
A loathsome being. Him, thou sayst, I looked for
To join in my revenge, and so I did ;
T would have been revenged, I tell thee so.
Say, I am base, malicious, impudent,
Abusive, what thou wilt ; for if I am
It speaks my birth, and I resemble thee.
Chob. Kesentment deep hath fired the virgin's
breast ;
Whether with truth and justice on her side
She speak, I know not.
Cly. Can they plead for her ?
What care, what love, or tenderness is due
To an abandoned child, who shameless thus
Keviles a pai-ent ? I*-tttere, iifteF^isT^
A criTQft in nature shajgould blush to act ?
Electra. Sophocles. Thomas Francklin (Translator). London. 1758–1759.