Of thy captivity for festal robes,
And straight forget that thou wast e'er a slave.
Thy wild, disheveled locks confine; permit
That I, with skilful hands, adorn thy head.885
This chance, mayhap, shall place thee on a throne
More lofty far than ever Priam saw.
The captive's lot full oft a blessing proves.
Andromache: This was the one thing lacking to our woes—
That they should bid us smile when we would weep.