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. 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.
  2. ’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,
  3. with slavery’s hateful pall upon me. And many a tear I shed as I left my city, my bridal bower, and my husband in the dust. Woe, woe is me! why should I prolong my life, to serve Hermione? Her cruelty it is that drives me hither
  4. to the image of the goddess to throw my suppliant arms about it, melting to tears as doth a spring that gushes from the rock.
Chorus
  1. Lady, thus keeping thy weary station without pause upon the floor of Thetis’ shrine, Phthian though I am, to thee a daughter of Asia I come,
  2. to see if I can devise some remedy for these perplexing troubles, which have involved thee and Hermione in fell discord, because to thy sorrow thou
  3. sharest with her the love of Achilles’ son.
Chorus
  1. Recognize thy position, weigh the present evil into the which thou art come. Thou art a Trojan captive; thy rival is thy mistress, a true-born daughter of Sparta. Leave
    then
  2. this home of sacrifice, the shrine of our sea-goddess. How can it avail thee to waste thy comeliness and disfigure it by weeping by reason of a mistress’s harsh usage? Might will prevail against thee; why vainly toil in thy feebleness?
Chorus
  1. Come, quit the bright sanctuary of the Nereid divine. Recognize that thou art in bondage on a foreign soil, in a strange city, where thou seest none of all thy friends, luckless lady,