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Start: Dear sister, do not let what you are holding touch our father鈥檚 tomb. Piety and custom do not permit you to bring burial gifts to our dead father from his hateful wife or pour libations. Throw them to the winds, or hide them in a deep and dusty hole, where no offering of hers is ever near our father鈥檚 resting place. When she is dead, let those treasures be there, preserved for her deep in the earth. If she were not by nature the most reckless of all women, she would never have such detestable libations offered to the man she killed. And consider this鈥攄o you believe the dead man in his grave will accept such tributes and feel affection for the woman who dishonored him in death, treating him as one might treat an enemy with mutilation鈥攁nd who, to cleanse herself, wiped the bloodstained ax on her victim鈥檚 head. Surely you do not think those offerings can possibly absolve her of the murder? That will not happen. Set those gifts aside, and trim a lock of hair on your own head. Take some of mine as well. As an offering, it鈥檚 not worth much, but in my wretched state it鈥檚 all I have. Offer him this unwashed hair and this plain, unembroidered belt of mine. Kneel down, and beg him to return to us鈥� to come in person from beneath the earth, a welcome help against our enemies. And pray his son Orestes is alive and will prevail and trample underfoot all those who stand against him, so that we, in days to come, may decorate his grave with wealthier hands than we have now, as we offer him these gifts. The way I feel, it may well be our father played a part in sending her this terrifying dream. But even so, dear sister, do as I ask鈥損erform this service for yourself and me, and help the mortal man we love the most, the father we two share, now lying in Hades.

For full extended monologue, please refer to clips or the script edition cited here: Sophocles, Translated by Ian Johnston, Electra Public domain.

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