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.
[Enter Pyrrhus.]
But see, with hurried step and lowering brow,
Stern Pyrrhus comes. 1000
[To Pyrrhus.]
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 to Polyxena.]
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.
Chorus: 'Tis sweet for one in grief to know
That he but feels a common woe; 1010
And lighter falls the stroke of care
Which all with equal sorrow bear;
