HECUBA
Alas! my child, for thy unhallowed sacrifice! and yet again, ah

me! for this thy shameful death!
ANDROMACHE

Her death was even as it was, and yet that death of hers was after
all a happier fate than this my life.

HECUBA
Death and life are not the same, my child; the one is

annihilation, the other keeps a place for hope.
ANDROMACHE

Hear, O mother of children give ear to what I urge so well, that I
may cheer my drooping spirit. 'Tis all one, I say, ne'er to have

been born and to be dead, and better far is death than life with
misery. For the dead feel no sorrow any more and know no grief; but he

who has known prosperity and has fallen on evil days feels his
spirit straying from the scene of former joys. Now that child of thine

is dead as though she ne'er had seen the light, and little she recks
of her calamity; whereas I, who aimed at a fair repute, though I won a

higher lot than most, yet missed my lick in life. For all that
stamps the wife a woman chaste, I strove to do in Hector's home. In

the first place, whether there is a slur upon a woman, or whether
there is not, the very fact of her not staying at home brings in its

train an evil name; therefore I gave up any wish to do so, and abode
ever within my house, nor would I admit the clever gossip women

love, but conscious of a heart that told an honest tale I was
content therewith. And ever would I keep a silent tongue and modest

eye before my lord; and well I knew where I might rule my lord, and
where 'twas best to yield to him; the fame whereof hath reached the

Achaean host, and proved my ruin; for when I was taken captive,
Achilles' son would have me as his wife, and I must serve in the house

of murderers. And if I set aside my love for Hector, and ope my
heart to this new lord, I shall appear a traitress to the dead, while,

if I hate him, I shall incur my master's displeasure. And yet they say
a single night removes a woman's dislike for her husband; nay, I do

hate the woman who, when she hath lost her former lord, transfers
her love by marrying another. Not e'en the horse, if from his fellow

torn, will cheerfully draw the yoke; and yet the brutes have neither
speech nor sense to help them, and are by nature man's inferiors. O

Hector mine! in thee I found a husband amply dowered with wisdom,
noble birth and fortune, a brave man and a mighty; whilst thou didst

take me from my father's house a spotless bride, thyself the first
to make this maiden wife. But now death hath claimed thee, and I to

Hellas am soon to sail, a captive doomed to wear the yoke of
slavery. Hath not then the dead Polyxena, for whom thou wailest,

less evil to bear than I? I have not so much as hope, the last
resource of every human heart, nor do I beguile myself with dreams

of future bliss, the very thought whereof is sweet.
CHORUS

Thou art in the self-same plight as I; thy lamentations for
thyself remind me of my own sad case.

HECUBA
I never yet have set foot on a ship's deck, though I have seen

such things in pictures and know of them from hearsay. Now sailors, if
there come a storm of moderate force, are all eagerness to save

themselves by toil; one at the tiller stands, another sets himself
to work the sheets, a third meantime is baling out the ship; but if

tempestuous waves arise to overwhelm them, they yield to fortune and
commit themselves to the driving billows. Even so I, by reason of my

countless troubles, am dumb and forbear to say a word; for Heaven with
its surge of misery is too strong for me. Cease, Oh cease, my

darling child, to speak of Hector's fate; no tears of thine can save
him; honour thy present lord, offering thy sweet nature as the bait to

win him. If thou do this, thou wilt cheer thy friends as well as
thyself, and thou shalt rear my Hector's child to lend stout aid to

Ilium, that so thy children in the after-time may build her up
again, and our city yet be stablished. But lo! our talk must take a

different turn; who is this Achaean menial I see coming hither, sent
to tell us of some new design?

Enter TALTHYBIUS.
TALTHYBIUS

Oh hate me not, thou that erst wert Hector's wife, the bravest
of the Phrygians! for my tongue would fain not tell that which the

Danai and sons of Pelops both command.
ANDROMACHE

What is it? Thy prelude bodeth evil news.
TALTHYBIUS

'Tis decreed thy son is-how can I tell my news?
ANDROMACHE

Surely not to have a different master from me?
TALTHYBIUS

None of all Achaea's chiefs shall ever lord it over him.
ANDROMACHE

Is it their will to leave him here, a remnant yet of Phrygia's
race?

TALTHYBIUS
I know no words to break the sorrow lightly to thee.

ANDROMACHE
I thank thee for thy consideration, unless indeed thou hast good

news to tell.
TALTHYBIUS

They mean to slay thy son; there is my hateful message to thee.
ANDROMACHE

O God! this is worse tidings than my forced marriage.
TALTHYBIUS

So spake Odysseus to the assembled Hellenes, and his word
prevails.

ANDROMACHE
Oh once again ah me there is no measure in the woes I bear.

TALTHYBIUS
He said they should not rear so brave a father's son.

ANDROMACHE
May such counsels yet prevail about children of his!

TALTHYBIUS
From Troy's battlements he must be thrown. Let it be even so,

and thou wilt show more wisdom; cling not to him, but bear thy sorrows
with heroic heart, nor in thy weakness deem that thou art strong.

For nowhere hast thou any help; consider this thou must; thy husband
and thy city are no more, so thou art in our power, and I alone am

match enough for one weak woman; wherefore I would not see thee bent
on strife, or any course to bring thee shame or hate, nor would I hear

thee rashly curse the Achaeans. For if thou say aught whereat the host
grow wroth, this child will find no burial nor pity either. But if

thou hold thy peace and with composure take thy fate, thou wilt not
leave his corpse unburied, and thyself wilt find more favour with

the Achaeans.
ANDROMACHE

My child! my own sweet babe and priceless treasure! thy death
the foe demands, and thou must leave thy wretched mother. That which

saves the lives of others, proves thy destruction, even thy sire's
nobility; to thee thy father's valiancy has proved no boon. O the

woeful wedding rites, that brought me erst to Hector's home, hoping to
be the mother of a son that should rule o'er Asia's fruitful fields

instead of serving as a victim to the sons of Danaus! Dost weep, my
babe? dost know thy hapless fate? Why clutch me with thy hands and

to my garment cling, nestling like a tender chick beneath my wing?
Hector will not rise again and come gripping his famous spear to bring

thee salvation; no kinsman of thy sire appears, nor might of
Phrygian hosts; one awful headlong leap from the dizzy height and thou

wilt dash out thy life with none to pity thee Oh to clasp thy tender
limbs, a mother's fondest joy! Oh to breathe thy fragrant breath! In

vain it seems these breasts did suckle thee, wrapped in thy
swaddling-clothes; all for naught I used to toil and wore myself away!