Nor now, nor ever after will; and therefore hangs, I fear, A plague above him. But come near, good brother; rest you here, Who, of the world of men, stands charg’d with most unrest for me, (Vile wretch) and for my lover’s wrong; on whom a destiny So bitter is impos’d by Jove, that all succeeding times Will put, to our unended shames, in all men’s mouths our crimes.” He answer’d: “Helen, do not seek to make me sit with thee; I must not stay, though well I know thy honour’d love of me. My mind calls forth to aid our friends, in whom my absence breeds Longings to see me; for whose sakes, importune thou to deeds This man by all means, that your care may make his own make hast, And meet me in the open town, that all may see at last He minds his lover. I myself will now go home, and see My household, my dear wife, and son, that little hope of me; For, sister, ’tis without my skill, if I shall evermore Return, and see them, or to earth, her right in me, restore. The Gods may stoop me by the Greeks.” This said, he went to see The virtuous princess, his true wife, white-arm’d Andromache. She, with her infant son and maid, was climb’d the tow’r about The sight of him that sought for her, weeping and crying out. Hector, not finding her at home, was going forth; retir’d; Stood in the gate; her woman call’d, and curiously inquir’d Where she was gone; bad tell him true, if she were gone to see His sisters, or his brothers’ wives; or whether she should be At temple with the other dames, t’ implore Minerva’s ruth. Her woman answer’d: Since he ask’d, and urg’d so much the truth, The truth was she was neither gone, to see his brothers’ wives, His sisters, nor t’ implore the ruth of Pallas on their lives; But she (advertis’d of the bane Troy suffer’d, and how vast Conquest had made herself for Greece) like one distraught, made hast To ample Ilion with her son, and nurse, and all the way Mourn’d, and dissolv’d in tears for him. Then Hector made no stay, But trod her path, and through the streets, magnificently built, All the great city pass’d, and came where, seeing how blood was spilt, Andromache might see him come: who made as he would pass The ports without saluting her, not knowing where she was. She, with his sight, made breathless haste, to meet him; she, whose grace Brought him withal so great a dow’r; she that of all the race Of king Aëtion only liv’d; Aëtion, whose house stood Beneath the mountain Placius, environ’d with the wood Of Theban Hypoplace, being court to the Cilician land. She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand, Her son, borne in his nurse’s arms; when, like a heav’nly sign, Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine, Whom Hector call’d Scamandrius, but whom the town did name Astyanax, because his sire did only prop the same. Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smil’d upon his joy. Andromache cried out, mix’d hands, and to the strength of Troy Thus wept forth her affectión: “O noblest in desire!