CH. Who then will tell me, who? What hard sea-liver,1
What toiling fisher in his sleepless quest,
What Mysian nymph, what oozy Thracian river,
Hath seen our wanderer of the tameless breast?
Where? tell me where!
’Tis hard that I, far-toiling voyager,
Crossed by some evil wind,
Cannot the haven find,
Nor catch his form that flies me, where? ah! where?
TEC. (behind). Oh, woe is me! woe, woe!
CH. A. Who cries there from the covert of the grove?
TEC. O boundless misery!
CH. B. Steeped in this audible sorrow I behold
Tecmessa, poor fate-burdened bride of war.
TEC. Friends, I am spoiled, lost, ruined, overthrown!
CH. A. What ails thee now?
TEC. See where our Aias lies, but newly slain,
Fallen on his sword concealed within the ground,
CH. Woe for my hopes of home!
Aias, my lord, thou hast slain
[page 68][902-938] Thy ship-companion on the salt sea foam.
Alas for us, and thee,
Child of calamity!
TEC. So lies our fortune. Well may’st thou complain.