ACT III
[Enter Andromache, leading the little Astyanax.]
Andromache: What do ye here, sad throng of Phrygian dames?
Why tear your hair and beat your wretched breasts? 410
Why stream your cheeks with tears? Our ills are light
If we endure a grief that tears can soothe.
You mourn a Troy whose walls but now have fall'n;
Troy fell for me long since, when that dread car
Of Peleus' son, urged on at cruel speed,
With doleful groanings 'neath his massive weight,
Dragged round the walls my Hector's mangled corse. 415
Since then, o'erwhelmed and utterly undone,
With stony resignation do I bear
Whatever ills may come. But for this child,
Long since would I have saved me from the Greeks
And followed my dear lord; but thought of him
Doth check my purpose and forbid my death.
For his dear sake there still remaineth cause 420
To supplicate the gods, an added care.
Through him the richest fruit of woe is lost—
The fear of naught; and now all hope of rest
From further ills is gone, for cruel fate
Hath still an entrance to my grieving heart.
Most sad his fear, who fears in hopelessness. 425
An Old Man: What sudden cause of fear hath moved thee so?
Andromache: Some greater ill from mighty ills doth rise.
The fate of fallen Troy is not yet stayed.
Old Man: What new disasters can the fates invent?
Andromache: The gates of deepest Styx, those darksome realms
(Lest fear be wanting to our overthrow), 430
Are opened wide, and forth from lowest Dis
The spirit of our buried foeman comes.
(May Greeks alone retrace their steps to earth?
For death at least doth come to all alike.)
That terror doth invade the hearts of all;
But what I now relate is mine alone— 435
A terrifying vision of the night.
Old Man: What was this vision? Speak, and share thy fears.
Andromache: Now kindly night had passed her middle goal,
