_Hecuba_ [_reviving_]: Still dost thou live, Achilles, for our bane? 955 Dost still prolong the bitter strife? O Paris, Thine arrow should have dealt a deadlier wound. For see, the very ashes and the tomb Of that insatiate chieftain still do thirst For Trojan blood. But lately did a throng Of happy children press me round; and I, With fond endearment and the sweet caress That mother love would shower upon them all, Was oft forespent. But now this child alone 960 Is left, my comrade, comfort of my woes, For whom to pray, in whom to rest my soul. Hers are the only lips still left to me To call me mother. Poor, unhappy soul, Why dost thou cling so stubbornly to life? Oh speed thee out, and grant me death at last, The only boon I seek. Behold, I weep; And from my cheeks, o'erwhelmed with sympathy, 965 A sudden rain of grieving tears descends. _Andromache:_ We, Hecuba, Oh, we should most be mourned, Whom soon the fleet shall scatter o'er the sea; 970 While _she_ shall rest beneath the soil she loves. _Helen:_ Still more wouldst thou begrudge thy sister's lot, If thou didst know thine own. _Andromache:_ Remains there still Some punishment that I must undergo? _Helen:_ The whirling urn hath given you each her lord. _Andromache:_ To whom hath fate allotted me a slave? 975 Proclaim the chief whom I must call my lord. _Helen:_ To Pyrrhus hast thou fallen by the lot. _Andromache:_ O happy maid, Cassandra, blest of heaven, For by thy madness art thou held exempt From fate that makes us chattels to the Greeks. _Helen:_ Not so, for even now the Grecian king Doth hold her as his prize. _Hecuba_ [_to_ Polyxena]: Rejoice, my child. How gladly would thy sisters change their lot For thy death-dooming marriage. [_To_ Helen.] Tell me now, Does any Greek lay claim to Hecuba? _Helen:_ The Ithacan, though much against his will, 980 Hath gained by lot a short-lived prize in thee.