Leader: What dreams can whirl you so? You of all men, you have your father's love. Steady, nothing to fear with all you've won. Orestes: No dreams, these torments, not to me, they're clear, real - the hounds of mother's hate. Leader: The blood's still wet on your hands. It puts a kind of frenzy in you ... Orestes: God Apollo! Here they come, thick and fast, their eyes dripping hate - Leader: One thing will purge you. Apollo's touch will set you free from all your... torments. Orestes: You can't see them I can, they drive me on! I must move on - He rushes out; pylades follows close behind.