PYLADES Were thy breath venom, I had been the first To die, that death, Orestes.

PYLADES If we should perish, bitter self-reproach, Forerunner of despair, will be thy portion.

PYLADES In vain thou dost refuse; with iron hand Necessity commands; her stern decree Is law supreme, to which the gods themselves Must yield submission.

PYLADES Far other are my thoughts, and not unskill'd Have I the future and the past combin'd In quiet meditation.

PYLADES That 'tis a woman, is a ground for hope!

PYLADES Yet happy are the thousands who receiv'd Their bitter death-blow from a hostile hand!

Sir ROGER hearing a Cluster of them praise Orestes, struck in with them, and told them, that he thought his Friend Pylades was a very sensible Man; as they were afterwards applauding Pyrrhus, Sir ROGER put in a second time; And let me tell you, says he, though he speaks but little, I like the old Fellow in Whiskers as well as any of them.