Enter Cassandra.
CASSANDRA.
Where is my brother Hector?
ANDROMACHE.
Here, sister, arm’d, and bloody in intent.
Consort with me in loud and dear petition,
Pursue we him on knees; for I have dreamt
Of bloody turbulence, and this whole night
Hath nothing been but shapes and forms of slaughter.
CASSANDRA.
O, ’tis true!
HECTOR.
Ho! bid my trumpet sound.
CASSANDRA.
No notes of sally, for the heavens, sweet brother!
HECTOR.
Be gone, I say. The gods have heard me swear.
CASSANDRA.
The gods are deaf to hot and peevish vows;
They are polluted off’rings, more abhorr’d
Than spotted livers in the sacrifice.
ANDROMACHE.
O, be persuaded! Do not count it holy
To hurt by being just. It is as lawful,
For we would give much, to use violent thefts
And rob in the behalf of charity.
CASSANDRA.
It is the purpose that makes strong the vow;
But vows to every purpose must not hold.
Unarm, sweet Hector.