Andromache (440-490)

Whene’er that comes, I am ready to bear it. But thy life will I have.

Wilt likewise slay this tender chick, whom thou hast snatched from ’neath my wing?

Not I, but I will give him to my daughter to slay if she will.

Ah me! why not begin my mourning then for thee, my child?

Of a truth ’tis no very sure hope that he has left.

O citizens of Sparta, the bane of all the race of men, schemers of guile, and masters in lying, devisers of evil plots, with crooked minds and tortuous methods and ne’er one honest thought, ’tis wrong that ye should thrive in Hellas.

What crime is wanting in your list? How rife is murder with you! How covetous ye are! One word upon your lips, another in your heart, this is what men always find with you. Perdition catch ye! Still death is not so grievous, as[*] thou thinkest, to me. No! for my life ended

in the day that hapless Troy was destroyed with my lord, that glorious warrior, whose spear oft made a coward like thee quit the field and seek thy ship. But now against a woman hast thou displayed the terrors of thy panoply, my would-be murderer. Strike then! for this

my tongue shall never flatter thee or that daughter of thine. For though thou wert of great account in Sparta, why so was I in Troy. And if I am now in sorry plight, presume not thou on this; thou too mayst be so yet.