Electra . Do not you mark how passionate , how wild
Distressed Lady she bewayls her child?
That he is dead , and that he thus should die ?
No: she unnat'rall laughs. Unhappy I!
I, who deare Brother , perish in thy fall,
While thou hast bury'd at thy Funerall ,
My remnant of low hopes to see the day,
When thy just hand full vengeance should display ,
A Fathers death , and Sisters wrongs to pay.
Now where shall I my dolefull footsteps turn,
Who am all desolate, and twice forlorn?
Brotherlesse Orphan . Once more to their check
Whom I most hate, I must submit my neck,
My Fathers Headsmen serve. With me is't well?
But 'tis resolv'd, I will no longer dwell
In these curs'd walls, but here before this gate
Laying me down , will fade disconsolate,
And let them, if they take this ill within
Kill me, my slaughter were a courteous sinne ,
To live is pain , the light I hate to spinne .