for her son too must die. First then for you we sisters must chant our dirge, and then for Achilles when Thetis mourns some day. Pallas, your slayer, shall not save him; so true the shaft Loxias keeps in his quiver for him. Oh, the sorrows that a mother feels! the troubles of mortals! whoever fairly reckons you up will live and die childless and will have no children to bury. Chorus Leader His mother now must see to this man’s burial; but for you, Hector, if you will carry out any scheme, now is the time, for day is dawning.