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Enter Electra, from the house.


[86] O you pure sunlight, and you air, light's equal partner over earth, how often have you heard the chords of my laments [90] and the thudding blows against this bloodied breast at the time of gloomy night's leaving off! My accursed bed in that house of suffering there knows well already how I observe my night-long rites—how often I bewail my miserable [95] father, whom bloody Ares did not welcome with deadly gifts in a foreign land, but my mother and her bedfellow Aegisthus split his head with murderous axe, just as woodmen chop an oak. [100] And for this crime no pitying cry bursts from any lips but mine, when you, Father, have died a death so cruel and so deserving of pity!

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    • Sir Richard C. Jebb, Commentary on Sophocles: Philoctetes, 322
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