_Andromache_ [_with a final appealing look toward the tomb_]: Yawn deep, O earth, and thou, my husband, rend To even greater depths thy tomb's deep cave, 520 And hide the sacred trust I gave to thee Within the very bosom of the pit. Now comes Ulysses, grave and slow of tread; Methinks he plotteth mischief in his heart. [_Enter_ Ulysses.] _Ulysses:_ As harsh fate's minister, I first implore That, though the words are uttered by my lips, 525 Thou count them not my own. They are the voice Of all the Grecian chiefs, whom Hector's son Doth still prohibit from that homeward voyage So long delayed. And him the fates demand. A peace secure the Greeks can never feel, And ever will the backward-glancing fear 530 Compel them on defensive arms to lean, While on thy living son, Andromache, The conquered Phrygians shall rest their hopes. So doth the augur, Calchas, prophesy. Yet, even if our Calchas spake no word, Thy Hector once declared it, and I fear Lest in his son a second Hector dwell; 535 For ever doth a noble scion grow Into the stature of his noble sire. Behold the little comrade of the herd, His budding horns still hidden from the sight: Full soon with arching neck and lofty front, He doth command and lead his father's flock. 540 The slender twig, just lopped from parent bough, Its mother's height and girth surpasses soon, And casts its shade abroad to earth and sky. So doth a spark within the ashes left, Leap into flame again before the wind. Thy grief, I know, must partial judgment give; 545 Still, if thou weigh the matter, thou wilt grant That after ten long years of grievous war. A veteran soldier doeth well to fear Still other years of slaughter, and thy Troy Still unsubdued. This fear one cause alone 550 Doth raise--another Hector. Free the Greeks From dread of war. For this and this alone Our idle ships still wait along the shore. And let me not seem cruel in thy sight, For that, compelled of fate, I seek thy son: I should have sought our chieftain's son as well. Then gently suffer what the victor bids. 555