Andromache.
Thou shalt find many pleas—a woman thou. 85
Handmaid.
'Twere peril: keen watch keeps Hermionê.
Andromache.
Lo there!—thy friends in woe dost thou renounce.
Handmaid.
No—no! Cast thou no such reproach on me!
Lo, I will go. What matter is the life
Of a bondwoman, though I light on death? 90
Andromache.
Go then: and I to heaven will lengthen out
My lamentations and my moans and tears,
Wherein I am ever whelmed. [Exit Handmaid.
'Tis in the heart
Of woman with a mournful pleasure aye
To bear on lip and tongue her present ills. 95
Not one have I, but many an one to moan—
The city of my fathers, Hector slain,
The ruthless lot whereunto I am yoked,
Who fell on thraldom's day unmerited,
Never may'st thou call any mortal blest, 100
Or ever thou hast seen his dying day,
Seen how he passed therethrough and came on death.
No bride was the Helen with whom unto steep-built Ilium hasted
