I know not what that is; old Strophius
Has charged me of Orestes news to bring.

ELECTRA.

Stranger, what is it? fear comes over me.

ORESTES.

He is no more, and here behold we bear
His poor remains, gathered in this small urn.

ELECTRA.

Alas! for me all doubt is over now;
Here is the sorrow present to my touch.

ORESTES.

If for Orestes thou hast cause to mourn
Know that whate'er is left of him is here.

ELECTRA.

Friend, if that urn indeed Orestes holds,
Give it, I do conjure thee, to my hands,
That I may weep my own calamities,
And those of our whole race, with this dear dust.

ORESTES.