Orestes. 
How if we slew your savage king?

Iphigenia. 
                                Ah, no: 
He sheltered me, a stranger.

Orestes. 
                            Even so,
If it bring life for me and thee, the deed
May well be dared.

Iphigenia. 
                  I could not ...  Nay; indeed
I thank thee for thy daring.

Orestes. 
                            Canst thou hide
My body in the shrine?

Iphigenia. 
                      There to abide
Till nightfall, and escape?

Orestes. 
                           Even so; the night
Is the safe time for robbers, as the light
For just men.

Iphigenia. 
                There be sacred watchers there
Who needs must see us.

Orestes. 
                      Gods above!  What prayer
Can help us then?

Iphigenia. 
                 I think I dimly see
One chance.

Orestes. 
           What chance?  Speak out thy fantasy.

Iphigenia’. 
On thine affliction I would build my way.

Orestes. 
Women have strange devices.

Iphigenia. 
                           I would say
Thou com’st from Hellas with thy mother’s blood
Upon thee.

Orestes. 
          Use my shame, if any good
Will follow.

Iphigenia. 
            Therefore, an offence most high
It were to slay thee to the goddess!

Orestes. 
                                    Why? 
Though I half guess.

Iphigenia. 
                    Thy body is unclean.—­
Oh, I will fill them with the fear of sin!

Orestes. 
What help is that for the Image?

Iphigenia. 
                                I will crave
To cleanse thee in the breaking of the wave.

Orestes. 
That leaves the goddess still inside her shrine,
And’tis for her we sailed.

Iphigenia. 
                          A touch of thine
Defiled her.  She too must be purified.

Orestes. 
Where shall it be?  Thou knowest where the tide
Sweeps up in a long channel?

Iphigenia. 
                            Yes!  And where
Your ship, I guess, lies moored.

Orestes. 
                                Whose hand will bear—­
Should it be thine?—­the image from her throne?

Iphigenia. 
No hand of man may touch it save mine own.

Orestes. 
And Pylades—­what part hath he herein?

Iphigenia. 
The same as thine.  He bears the self-same sin.

Orestes. 
How wilt thou work the plan—­hid from the king
Or known?

Iphigenia. 
         To hide it were a hopeless thing.. 
Oh, I will face him, make him yield to me.