The Trojan Women

Euripides

Euripides. The Plays of Euripides, Translated into English Prose from the Text of Paley. Vol. I. Coleridge, Edward P., translator. London: George Bell and Sons, 1906.

  1. and by your speedy death requite the weary toils of the Achaeans, so that you may learn not to bring shame on me!
Helen
  1. Oh, by your knees, I implore you, do not impute that heaven-sent affliction to me, or slay me; forgive me!
Hecuba
  1. Do not betray your allies, whose death this woman caused;
  2. on their behalf, and for my children’s sake, I entreat you.
Menelaus
  1. Peace, revered lady; to her I pay no heed. I bid my servants take her away, aboard the ship, in which she is to sail.
Hecuba
  1. Oh never let her set foot within the same ship as you.
Menelaus
  1. Why is that? is she heavier than before?
Hecuba
  1. The one who loves once, must love always.
Menelaus
  1. Why, that depends how those we love are minded. But your wish shall be granted; she shall not set foot upon the same ship with me; for your advice is surely sound;
  2. and when she comes to Argos she shall die a shameful death as is her due, and impress the need of chastity on all women. No easy task; yet shall her fate strike their foolish hearts with terror, even though they are more lost to shame than she. Exit Menelaus, dragging Helen with him.
Chorus
  1. So then you have delivered into Achaea’s hand, O Zeus, your shrine in Ilium and your fragrant altar, the offerings of burnt sacrifice with smoke of myrrh to heaven uprising,
  2. and holy Pergamos, and glens of Ida tangled with the ivy’s growth, where rills of melting snow pour down their flood, a holy sun-lit land that bounds the world
  3. and takes the god’s first rays!
Chorus
  1. Gone are your sacrifices! gone the dancer’s cheerful shout! gone the vigils of the gods as night closed in! your images of carven gold are now no more;
  2. and Phrygia’s holy festivals, twelve times a year, at each full moon, are ended now. It is this, it is this that fills me with anxious thought whether you, lord, seated on the sky, your heavenly throne, care at all that my city is destroyed,
  3. a prey to the furious fiery blast.
Chorus
  1. Ah! my loved husband, you are a wandering spectre;
  2. unwashed, unburied lies your corpse, while over the sea the ship sped by wings will carry me to Argos, land of steeds, where stand Cyclopian walls of stone reaching to heaven. There in the gate the children gather,