Andromache: My son, why dost thou cling upon my robes,
And seek the vain protection of my hand?
As when the hungry lion's roar is heard,
The frightened calf for safety presses close795
Its mother's side; but that remorseless beast,
Thrusting away the mother's timid form,
With ravenous jaws doth grasp the lesser prey,
And, crushing, drag it hence: so shalt thou, too,
Be snatched away from me by heartless foes.
Then take my tears and kisses, O my son,