Ah, hapless wife! you call on my son who lies in the tomb.AndromacheYour wife’s defender!

HecubaOh, you, who before made the Achaeans grieve, eldest of the sons I bore to Priam, take me to your rest in Hades’ halls!

AndromacheThese great griefs—HecubaUnhappy one, bitter these woes to bear.AndromacheOur city ruined—HecubaAnd sorrow to sorrow added.AndromacheThrough the will of angry heaven, since the day that son i.e., Paris, who had been exposed to die on account of an oracle foretelling the misery he would cause if he grew to man’s estate; but shepherds had found him on the hills and reared him. of yours escaped death, he that for a hated bride brought destruction on the Trojan citadel. There lie the gory corpses of the slain by the shrine of Pallas for vultures to carry off; and Troy has come to slavery’s yoke.

HecubaO my country, O unhappy land—AndromacheI weep for you now left behind.HecubaNow do you behold your piteous end.AndromacheAnd you, my house, where I gave birth.HecubaO my children! bereft of her city as your mother is, she now is losing you. Oh, what mourning and what sorrow! . . . oh, what endless streams of tears in our houses! The dead alone forget their griefs ~~and never shed a tear~~.Chorus LeaderWhat sweet relief to sufferers it is to weep, to mourn, lament, and chant the dirge that tells of grief!AndromacheDo you see this, mother of that man, Hector, who once laid low in battle many a son of Argos?HecubaI see that it is heaven’s way to exalt what men accounted nothing, and ruin what they most esteemed.