_Andromache:_ Oh, that I had just cause of dread. But now, My old habitual fear instinctive starts; The mind ofttimes forgets a well-conned woe. _Ulysses:_ Now since thy boy hath shunned the sacrifice That to the walls was due, and hath escaped 635 By grace of better fate, our priest declares That only can our homeward way be won If Hector's ashes, scattered o'er the waves, Appease the sea, and this his sepulcher Be leveled with the ground. Since Hector's son Has failed to pay the debt he owed to fate, 640 Then Hector's sacred dust must be despoiled. _Andromache_ [_aside_]: Ah me, a double fear distracts my soul! Here calls my son, and here my husband's dust. Which shall prevail? Attest, ye heartless gods, And ye, my husband's shades, true deities: 645 Naught else, O Hector, pleased me in my son, Save only thee; then may he still survive To bring thine image back to life and me.-- Shall then my husband's ashes be defiled? Shall I permit his bones to be the sport Of waves, and lie unburied in the sea? Oh, rather, let my only son be slain!-- 650 And canst thou, mother, see thy helpless child To awful death given up? Canst thou behold His body whirling from the battlements? I can, I shall endure and suffer this, Provided only, by his death appeased, The victor's hand shall spare my Hector's bones.-- But he can suffer yet, while kindly fate 655 Hath placed his sire beyond the reach of harm. Why dost thou hesitate? Thou must decide Whom thou wilt designate for punishment. What doubts harass thy troubled soul? No more Is Hector here.--Oh, say not so; I feel He is both here and there. But sure am I That this my child is still in life, perchance To be the avenger of his father's death. But both I cannot spare. What then? O soul, 660 Save of the two, whom most the Greeks do fear. _Ulysses_ [_aside_]: Now must I force her answer. [_To_ Andromache.] From its base Will I this tomb destroy. _Andromache:_ The tomb of him Whose body thou didst ransom for a price? _Ulysses:_ I will destroy it, and the sepulcher From its high mound will utterly remove. 665 _Andromache:_ The sacred faith of heaven do I invoke, And just Achilles' plighted word: do thou, O Pyrrhus, keep thy father's sacred oath. _Ulysses:_ This tomb shall soon lie level with the plain.