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.