Andromache.
What is it? Evil things
Are on thy lips!
Talthybius.
'Tis ordered, this child . . . Oh,
How can I tell her of it?
Andromache.
Doth he not go
With me, to the same master?
Talthybius.
There is none
In Greece, shall e'er be master of thy son.
Andromache.
How? Will they leave him here to build again
The wreck? . . .