My cheek to his lips, my body to his arms;
And thinking him a maid as I myself,
Have loved, kissed, and embraced him as a maid.
O wretched, not to have seen what was so plain!
Here on this bank no later than this morn
Was I beguiled. There is no cure, no cure.
I’ll close my eyes for ever, nor see again
The things I have seen, nor be what I have been.
[Covers her face weeping.
Enter Achilles.