Hect. Did you, my lord? you answer indirectly;
Just when I said, that I would put our fate
Upon the extremest proof, you fetched a groan;
And, as you checked yourself for what you did,
You stifled it and stopt. Come, you are sad.
Andr. The gods forbid!
Hect. What should the gods forbid?
Andr. That I should give you cause of just offence.
Hect. You say well; but you look not chearfully.
I mean this day to waste the stock of war,
And lay it prodigally out in blows.
Come, gird my sword, and smile upon me, love;
Like victory, come flying to my arms,
346 And give me earnest of desired success.
Andr. The gods protect you, and restore you to me!
Hect. What, grown a coward! Thou wert used, Andromache,
To give my courage courage; thou would'st cry,—
Go Hector, day grows old, and part of fame
Is ravished from thee by thy slothful stay.
Andr. [Aside.] What shall I do to seem the same I was?—
Come, let me gird thy fortune to thy side,
And conquest sit as close and sure as this. [She goes to gird his sword, and it falls.
Now mercy, heaven! the gods avert this omen!
Hect. A foolish omen! take it up again,
And mend thy error.
Andr. I cannot, for my hand obeys me not;
But, as in slumbers, when we fain would run
From our imagined fears, our idle feet
Grow to the ground, our struggling voice dies inward;
So now, when I would force myself to chear you,
My faltering tongue can give no glad presage:
Alas, I am no more Andromache.