Andromache

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. II. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1891.

  1. I know not, but thus much of their schemes I heard myself; and Menelaus has left the house to fetch him.
Andromache
  1. Then am I lost; ah, my child! those
  2. vultures twain will take and slay thee; while he who is called thy father lingers still in Delphi.
Maid
  1. True, for had he been here thou wouldst not have fared so hardly, I am sure; but, as it is, thou art friendless.
Andromache
  1. Have no tidings come of the possible arrival of Peleus?
Maid
  1. He is too old to help thee if he came.
Andromache
  1. And yet I sent for him more than once.
Maid
  1. Surely thou dost not suppose that any of thy messengers heed thee?
Andromache
  1. Why should they? Wilt thou then go for me?
Maid
  1. How shall I explain my long absence from the house?
Andromache
  1. Thou art a woman; thou canst invent a hundred ways.
Maid
  1. There is a risk, for Hermione keeps no careless guard.
Andromache
  1. Dost look to that? Thou art disowning thy friends in distress.
Maid
  1. Not so; never taunt me with that. I will go, for
    of a truth a
  2. woman and a slave is not of much account, e’en if aught befall, me.
Andromache
  1. Go then, while I will tell to heaven the lengthy tale of lamentation, mourning, and weeping, that has ever been my hard lot; for ’tis woman’s way to delight in present misfortunes
  2. even to keeping them always on her tongue and lips. But I have many reasons, not merely one for tears,–my city’s fall, my Hector’s death, the hardness of the lot to which I am bound, since I fell on slavery’s evil days undeservedly.
  3. ’Tis never right to call a son of man happy, till thou hast seen his end, to judge from the way he passes it how he will descend to that other world.
Andromache
  1. ’Twas no bride Paris took with him to the towers of Ilium, but a curse to his bed when he brought Helen to her bower.
  2. For her sake, O Troy, did eager warriors, sailing from Hellas in a thousand ships, capture and make thee a prey to fire and sword; and the son of sea-born Thetis mounted on his chariot dragged my husband Hector round the walls, ah woe is me! while I was hurried from my chamber to the beach,