This did old Priam rear in days of power,485
Whose grief no stinted sepulture bestowed.
Then to his father let me trust the child.—
But at the very thought a chilling sweat
Invades my trembling limbs, for much I fear
The gruesome omen of the place of death.490
Old Man: In danger, haste to shelter where ye may;
In safety, choose.
Andromache: What hiding-place is safe
From traitor's eyes?