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; 970
While she shall 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 still
Some punishment that I must undergo?
Helen: The whirling urn hath given you each her 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.
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 king
Doth hold her as his prize.
Hecuba [to Polyxena]: Rejoice, my child.
How gladly would thy sisters change their lot
For thy death-dooming marriage.
[To Helen.]
Tell me now,
Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba?
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 given
A royal slave to serve unkingly[1] 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 him 985
Who hath by favor gained th' accursed arms
Which laid my Elector low? And must I then
Obey the Ithacan? Now conquered quite,
Alas, and doubly captive do I seem,
- ↑ Reading, haud regibus.
