Oh, 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—