Helen: To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.
Andromache: O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,
For by thy madness art thou held exempt
From fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.
Helen: Not so, for even now the Grecian king
Doth hold her as his prize.
Hecuba [to Polyxena]: Rejoice, my child.
How gladly would thy sisters change their lot
For thy death-dooming marriage.
[To Helen.]