Hecuba. Lives Achilles still
To vex the Trojans? Still pursues his foes?
Light was the hand of Paris; but the tomb
And ashes of Achilles drink our blood. 985
Once I was circled by a happy throng
Of children, by their kisses weary made,
Parted my mother love amongst them all.
She, now, alone is left; for her I pray,
Companion, solace, healer of my grief, 990
The only child of Hecuba, her voice
Alone may call me mother! Bitter life,
Pass from me, slip away, spare this last blow!
Tears overflow my cheeks—a storm of tears
Falls from her eyes! 995
Andromache. We are the ones should weep,
We, Hecuba, whom, scattered here and there,
The Grecian ships shall carry far away.
The maid will find at least a sepulcher
In the dear soil of her loved native land.
Helen. Thy own lot known, yet more thou'lt envy hers.1000
Andromache. Is any portion of my lot unknown?
Helen. The fatal urn has given thee a lord.
Andromache. Whom call I master? Speak, who bears me hence
A slave?
Helen. Lot gave thee to the Scyrian king.
Andromache. Happy Cassandra, whom Apollo's wrath 1005
Spared from such fate!
Helen. The prince of kings claims her.
Hecuba. Be glad, rejoice, my child; Andromache
Desires thy bridals, and Cassandra, too,
Desires them. Is there any one would choose
Hecuba for his bride? 1010