Andromache[in scorn]:Now great indeedMust be the evil when our Helen weeps!But dry thy tears, and tell what IthacusIs plotting now, what latest deed of shame?Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?Must she be flung into the cruel sea930That roars beneath this lofty precipice,Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.In all our ills there's none so great as this,That any princess of our royal houseShould wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;935What further suffering remains to bear?To compensate our woes, this grace impart,That we may know the worst that can befall.Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.Helen:Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bondsWhich bind me to this life I hate; to dieBy Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb940Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,O poor Polyxena. For even now,The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,Within the borders of Elysium.Andromache[observing the joy with whichPolyxenareceives these tidings]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy945At thought of death; she seeks the festal robesWherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.[ObservingHecuba.]But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate.950[ToHecuba.]Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,And gird thy fainting spirit up.[Hecubafalls fainting.]Behold,By what a slender thread her feeble lifeIs held to earth. How slight the barrier nowThat doth remove our Hecuba from joy.But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,For from the wretched, death is first to flee.Hecuba[reviving]: Still dost thou live, Achilles, for our bane?955Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.For see, the very ashes and the tombOf that insatiate chieftain still do thirstFor Trojan blood. But lately did a throngOf happy children press me round; and I,With fond endearment and the sweet caressThat mother love would shower upon them all,Was oft forespent. But now this child alone960Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.Hers are the only lips still left to meTo call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy,965A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.Andromache:We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea;970Whilesheshall rest beneath the soil she loves.Helen:Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,If thou didst know thine own.Andromache:Remains there stillSome punishment that I must undergo?Helen:The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.Andromache:To whom hath fate allotted me a slave?975Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.Helen:To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.Andromache:O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,For by thy madness art thou held exemptFrom fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.Helen:Not so, for even now the Grecian kingDoth hold her as his prize.Hecuba[toPolyxena]:Rejoice, my child.How gladly would thy sisters change their lotFor thy death-dooming marriage.[ToHelen.]Tell me now,Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?Helen:The Ithacan, though much against his will,980Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.Hecuba:What cruel, ruthless providence hath givenA royal slave to serve unkingly[50]men?What hostile god divides our captive band?What heartless arbiter of destinySo carelessly allots our future lords,That Hector's mother is assigned to him985Who hath by favor gained th' accursed armsWhich laid my Hector low? And must I thenObey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,And sore beset by all my woes at once.Now must I blush, not for my slavery,990But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,That barren land by savage seas beset,Shall not receive my bones.Then up, Ulysses,And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuseTo follow thee as lord; for well I knowThat my untoward fates shall follow me.No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails,995But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,While yet those ills delay, hast thou receivedSome punishment. For I usurped thy lot,And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.[EnterPyrrhus.]But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,Stern Pyrrhus comes.1000[ToPyrrhus.]Why dost thou hesitate?Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,And join the parents of Achilles' bride.Make haste, thou murderer of agéd men,My blood befits thee too.[Pointing toPolyxena.]Away with her;Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,Defile the shades.—But why make prayer to you?1005I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rageBefits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,And so may evil fate engulf them all.
Andromache[in scorn]:Now great indeedMust be the evil when our Helen weeps!But dry thy tears, and tell what IthacusIs plotting now, what latest deed of shame?Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?Must she be flung into the cruel sea930That roars beneath this lofty precipice,Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.In all our ills there's none so great as this,That any princess of our royal houseShould wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;935What further suffering remains to bear?To compensate our woes, this grace impart,That we may know the worst that can befall.Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.Helen:Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bondsWhich bind me to this life I hate; to dieBy Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb940Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,O poor Polyxena. For even now,The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,Within the borders of Elysium.Andromache[observing the joy with whichPolyxenareceives these tidings]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy945At thought of death; she seeks the festal robesWherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.[ObservingHecuba.]But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate.950[ToHecuba.]Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,And gird thy fainting spirit up.[Hecubafalls fainting.]Behold,By what a slender thread her feeble lifeIs held to earth. How slight the barrier nowThat doth remove our Hecuba from joy.But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,For from the wretched, death is first to flee.Hecuba[reviving]: Still dost thou live, Achilles, for our bane?955Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.For see, the very ashes and the tombOf that insatiate chieftain still do thirstFor Trojan blood. But lately did a throngOf happy children press me round; and I,With fond endearment and the sweet caressThat mother love would shower upon them all,Was oft forespent. But now this child alone960Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.Hers are the only lips still left to meTo call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy,965A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.Andromache:We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea;970Whilesheshall rest beneath the soil she loves.Helen:Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,If thou didst know thine own.Andromache:Remains there stillSome punishment that I must undergo?Helen:The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.Andromache:To whom hath fate allotted me a slave?975Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.Helen:To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.Andromache:O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,For by thy madness art thou held exemptFrom fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.Helen:Not so, for even now the Grecian kingDoth hold her as his prize.Hecuba[toPolyxena]:Rejoice, my child.How gladly would thy sisters change their lotFor thy death-dooming marriage.[ToHelen.]Tell me now,Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?Helen:The Ithacan, though much against his will,980Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.Hecuba:What cruel, ruthless providence hath givenA royal slave to serve unkingly[50]men?What hostile god divides our captive band?What heartless arbiter of destinySo carelessly allots our future lords,That Hector's mother is assigned to him985Who hath by favor gained th' accursed armsWhich laid my Hector low? And must I thenObey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,And sore beset by all my woes at once.Now must I blush, not for my slavery,990But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,That barren land by savage seas beset,Shall not receive my bones.Then up, Ulysses,And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuseTo follow thee as lord; for well I knowThat my untoward fates shall follow me.No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails,995But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,While yet those ills delay, hast thou receivedSome punishment. For I usurped thy lot,And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.[EnterPyrrhus.]But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,Stern Pyrrhus comes.1000[ToPyrrhus.]Why dost thou hesitate?Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,And join the parents of Achilles' bride.Make haste, thou murderer of agéd men,My blood befits thee too.[Pointing toPolyxena.]Away with her;Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,Defile the shades.—But why make prayer to you?1005I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rageBefits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,And so may evil fate engulf them all.
Andromache[in scorn]:Now great indeedMust be the evil when our Helen weeps!But dry thy tears, and tell what IthacusIs plotting now, what latest deed of shame?Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?Must she be flung into the cruel sea930That roars beneath this lofty precipice,Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.In all our ills there's none so great as this,That any princess of our royal houseShould wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;935What further suffering remains to bear?To compensate our woes, this grace impart,That we may know the worst that can befall.Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.Helen:Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bondsWhich bind me to this life I hate; to dieBy Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb940Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,O poor Polyxena. For even now,The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,Within the borders of Elysium.Andromache[observing the joy with whichPolyxenareceives these tidings]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy945At thought of death; she seeks the festal robesWherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.[ObservingHecuba.]But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate.950[ToHecuba.]Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,And gird thy fainting spirit up.[Hecubafalls fainting.]Behold,By what a slender thread her feeble lifeIs held to earth. How slight the barrier nowThat doth remove our Hecuba from joy.But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,For from the wretched, death is first to flee.
Andromache[in scorn]:Now great indeedMust be the evil when our Helen weeps!But dry thy tears, and tell what IthacusIs plotting now, what latest deed of shame?Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?Must she be flung into the cruel sea930That roars beneath this lofty precipice,Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.In all our ills there's none so great as this,That any princess of our royal houseShould wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;935What further suffering remains to bear?To compensate our woes, this grace impart,That we may know the worst that can befall.Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.
Andromache[in scorn]:Now great indeed
Must be the evil when our Helen weeps!
But dry thy tears, and tell what Ithacus
Is plotting now, what latest deed of shame?
Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights,
Or from the top of Ilium's citadel?
Must she be flung into the cruel sea930
That roars beneath this lofty precipice,
Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears?
Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief.
In all our ills there's none so great as this,
That any princess of our royal house
Should wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent;935
What further suffering remains to bear?
To compensate our woes, this grace impart,
That we may know the worst that can befall.
Behold us ready for the stroke of fate.
Helen:Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bondsWhich bind me to this life I hate; to dieBy Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb940Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,O poor Polyxena. For even now,The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,Within the borders of Elysium.
Helen:Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bonds
Which bind me to this life I hate; to die
By Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb940
Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate,
O poor Polyxena. For even now,
The ghost doth bid that thou be sacrificed,
And that thy blood be spilt upon his tomb;
That thus thy parting soul may mate with his,
Within the borders of Elysium.
Andromache[observing the joy with whichPolyxenareceives these tidings]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy945At thought of death; she seeks the festal robesWherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.
Andromache[observing the joy with whichPolyxenareceives these tidings]: Behold, her soul leaps up with mighty joy945
At thought of death; she seeks the festal robes
Wherewith to deck her for the bridal rites,
And yields her golden locks to Helen's hands.
Who late accounted wedlock worse than death,
Now hails her death with more than bridal joy.
[ObservingHecuba.]
But see, her mother stands amazed with woe,
Her spirit staggers 'neath the stroke of fate.950
[ToHecuba.]
Arise, O wretched queen, stand firm in soul,
And gird thy fainting spirit up.
[Hecubafalls fainting.]
Behold,
By what a slender thread her feeble life
Is held to earth. How slight the barrier now
That doth remove our Hecuba from joy.
But no, she breathes, alas! she lives again,
For from the wretched, death is first to flee.
Hecuba[reviving]: Still dost thou live, Achilles, for our bane?955Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.For see, the very ashes and the tombOf that insatiate chieftain still do thirstFor Trojan blood. But lately did a throngOf happy children press me round; and I,With fond endearment and the sweet caressThat mother love would shower upon them all,Was oft forespent. But now this child alone960Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.Hers are the only lips still left to meTo call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy,965A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.
Hecuba[reviving]: Still dost thou live, Achilles, for our bane?955
Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris,
Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound.
For see, the very ashes and the tomb
Of that insatiate chieftain still do thirst
For Trojan blood. But lately did a throng
Of happy children press me round; and I,
With fond endearment and the sweet caress
That mother love would shower upon them all,
Was oft forespent. But now this child alone960
Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes,
For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul.
Hers are the only lips still left to me
To call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul,
Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life?
Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last,
The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep;
And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy,965
A sudden rain of grieving tears descends.
Andromache:We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea;970Whilesheshall rest beneath the soil she loves.
Andromache:We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned,
Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea;970
Whilesheshall rest beneath the soil she loves.
Helen:Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,If thou didst know thine own.
Helen:Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot,
If thou didst know thine own.
Andromache:Remains there stillSome punishment that I must undergo?
Andromache:Remains there still
Some punishment that I must undergo?
Helen:The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.
Helen:The whirling urn hath given you each her lord.
Andromache:To whom hath fate allotted me a slave?975Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.
Andromache:To whom hath fate allotted me a slave?975
Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord.
Helen:To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.
Helen:To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot.
Andromache:O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,For by thy madness art thou held exemptFrom fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.
Andromache:O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven,
For by thy madness art thou held exempt
From fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks.
Helen:Not so, for even now the Grecian kingDoth hold her as his prize.
Helen:Not so, for even now the Grecian king
Doth hold her as his prize.
Hecuba[toPolyxena]:Rejoice, my child.How gladly would thy sisters change their lotFor thy death-dooming marriage.[ToHelen.]Tell me now,Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?
Hecuba[toPolyxena]:Rejoice, my child.
How gladly would thy sisters change their lot
For thy death-dooming marriage.
[ToHelen.]
Tell me now,
Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?
Helen:The Ithacan, though much against his will,980Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.
Helen:The Ithacan, though much against his will,980
Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.
Hecuba:What cruel, ruthless providence hath givenA royal slave to serve unkingly[50]men?What hostile god divides our captive band?What heartless arbiter of destinySo carelessly allots our future lords,That Hector's mother is assigned to him985Who hath by favor gained th' accursed armsWhich laid my Hector low? And must I thenObey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,And sore beset by all my woes at once.Now must I blush, not for my slavery,990But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,That barren land by savage seas beset,Shall not receive my bones.Then up, Ulysses,And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuseTo follow thee as lord; for well I knowThat my untoward fates shall follow me.No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails,995But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,While yet those ills delay, hast thou receivedSome punishment. For I usurped thy lot,And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.[EnterPyrrhus.]But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,Stern Pyrrhus comes.1000[ToPyrrhus.]Why dost thou hesitate?Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,And join the parents of Achilles' bride.Make haste, thou murderer of agéd men,My blood befits thee too.[Pointing toPolyxena.]Away with her;Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,Defile the shades.—But why make prayer to you?1005I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rageBefits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,And so may evil fate engulf them all.
Hecuba:What cruel, ruthless providence hath given
A royal slave to serve unkingly[50]men?
What hostile god divides our captive band?
What heartless arbiter of destiny
So carelessly allots our future lords,
That Hector's mother is assigned to him985
Who hath by favor gained th' accursed arms
Which laid my Hector low? And must I then
Obey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,
Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,
And sore beset by all my woes at once.
Now must I blush, not for my slavery,990
But for my master's sake. Yet Ithaca,
That barren land by savage seas beset,
Shall not receive my bones.
Then up, Ulysses,
And lead thy captive home. I'll not refuse
To follow thee as lord; for well I know
That my untoward fates shall follow me.
No gentle winds shall fill thy homeward sails,995
But stormy blasts shall rage; destructive wars,
And fires, and Priam's evil fates and mine,
Shall haunt thee everywhere. But even now,
While yet those ills delay, hast thou received
Some punishment. For I usurped thy lot,
And stole thy chance to win a fairer prize.
[EnterPyrrhus.]
But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,
Stern Pyrrhus comes.1000
[ToPyrrhus.]
Why dost thou hesitate?
Come pierce my vitals with thy impious sword,
And join the parents of Achilles' bride.
Make haste, thou murderer of agéd men,
My blood befits thee too.
[Pointing toPolyxena.]
Away with her;
Defile the face of heaven with murder's stain,
Defile the shades.—But why make prayer to you?1005
I'll rather pray the sea whose savage rage
Befits these bloody rites; the selfsame doom,
Which for my ship I pray and prophesy,
May that befall the thousand ships of Greece,
And so may evil fate engulf them all.