Hecuba, do you see Andromache advancing here on a foreign chariot? and with her, clasped to her throbbing breast, is her dear Astyanax, Hector’s child. Where are you being carried, unhappy wife, mounted on that chariot, side by side with Hector’s brazen arms and Phrygian spoils of war, with which Achilles’ son will deck the shrines of Phthia on his return from Troy?

AndromacheMy Achaean masters are leading me away.HecubaAh me!AndromacheWhy do you in note of woe utter the dirge that is mine?HecubaAlas—AndromacheFor these sorrows—