Andromache. The sword must first slay me.—Ah, woe is me,
They drive me back. Hector, come forth the tomb; 700
Break through the fate's delay, and overwhelm
The Grecian chief—thy shade would be enough!
The weapon clangs and flashes in his hand;
Greeks, see you Hector? Or do I alone
Perceive him?
Ulysses. I will lay it in the dust. 705
Andromache [aside]. What have I done? To ruin I have brought
Father and son together; yet, perchance,
With supplications I may move the Greeks.
The tomb's great weight will presently destroy
Its hidden treasure; O my wretched child, 710
Die wheresoe'er the fates decree,—not here!
Oh, may the father not o'erwhelm the son,
The son fall not upon his father's dust!
[She casts herself at the feet of Ulysses.
Ulysses, at thy feet a suppliant
I fall, and with my right hand clasp thy knees; 715
Never before a suppliant, here I ask
Thy pity on a mother; hear my prayer
With patience; on the fallen, lightly press,
Since thee the gods lift up to greater heights!
The gifts thou grantst the wretched are to fate 720
A hostage; so again thou mayst behold
Thy wife; and old Laertes' years endure
Until once more he see thee; so thy son
Succeed thee and outrun thy fairest hopes
In his good fortune, and his age exceed 725
Laertes', and his gifts outnumber thine.
Have pity on a mother to whose grief
Naught else remains of comfort.
Ulysses. Bring forth the boy, then thou mayst ask for grace.
Andromache. Come hither from thy hiding-place, my son,730
Thy wretched mother's lamentable theft.
Scene III
Ulysses, Andromache, Astyanax.