Shall this, the common scourge of friend and foe,
Unscathed, behold her native land again?
Her husband, home, her sire and children see?
Shall she as conquering queen go proudly back,
Attended by a throng of Trojan slaves?
Shall Troy have burned for this, old Priam die,
And all the Trojan plain have reeked with blood?
It shall not be. No fame, I know, is earned
By woman’s punishment; such victory
Has little praise; but yet I shall be praised