To bear? This grievous yoke have I endured,
Ten years a captive. Doth your Ilium lie
In dust, your gods o'erthrown? I know 'tis hard
To lose one's native land, but harder still
To fear the land that gave you birth. Your woes
Are lightened by community of grief;
But friend and foe are foes alike to me.
Long since, the fated lot has hung in doubt915
That sorts you to your lords; but I alone,
Without the hand of fate am claimed at once.