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.
- The sorrow, the sorrow of that cry!
- To dwell beneath a master’s roof!
- From my own country!
- Woe is me! O Priam, Priam, slain, unburied, left without a friend, nothing do you know of my cruel fate.
- No, for over his eyes black death has drawn his pall, a pure man slain by the impure.
- Woe for the temples of the gods and for our dear city!
- Ah, ah!
- Murderous flame and enemy spear are now your lot.
- Soon will you tumble to your own loved soil, and be forgotten.
- And the dust, mounting to heaven on wings like smoke, will rob me of the sight of my home.
- The name of my country wiII pass into obscurity; all is scattered far and wide, and hapless Troy has ceased to be.
- Did you know, did you hear?
- Yes, it was the crash of the citadel.
- The shock, the shock—
- Will overwhelm our city utterly.
- O woe is me! trembling, quaking limbs, support my footsteps! away! to face
- the day that begins your slavery.
- Woe for our unhappy town! And yet let us advance to the Achaean fleet.