Hec. Yea, as I stretch my aged limbs upon the ground, and beat upon the earth with both my hands.
Cho. I follow thee and kneel, invoking from the nether world my hapless husband.
Hec. I am being dragged and hurried away—
Cho. O the sorrow of that cry!
Hec. From my own dear country, to dwell beneath a master's roof. Woe is me! O Priam, Priam, slain, unburied, left without a friend, naught dost thou know of my cruel fate.
Cho. No, for o'er his eyes black death hath drawn his pall,—a holy man by sinners slain!
Hec. Woe for the temples of the gods! Woe for our dear city!
Cho. Woe!
Hec. Murderous flame and foeman's spear are now your lot.
Cho. Soon will ye tumble to your own loved soil, and be forgotten.
Hec. And the dust, mounting to heaven on wings like smoke, will rob me of the sight of my home.
Cho. The name of my country will pass into obscurity; all is scattered far and wide, and hapless Troy has ceased to be.
Hec. Did ye hear that and know its purport?
Cho. Aye, 'twas the crash of the citadel.
Hec. The shock will whelm our city utterly. O woe is me! trembling, quaking limbs, support my footsteps! away! to face the day that begins thy slavery.
Cho. Woe for our unhappy town! And yet to the Achæan fleet advance.
Hec. Woe for thee, O land that nursed my little babes!
Cho. Ah! woe!
