Quick! take him: drag him: cast him from the wall,
If cast ye will! Tear him, ye beasts, be swift!
God hath undone me, and I cannot lift
One hand, one hand, to save my child from death . . .
O, hide my head for shame: fling me beneath
Your galleys' benches! . . .
[She swoons: then half-rising.
Quick: I must begone
To the bridal. . . . I have lost my child, my own!
Leader.
O Troy ill-starred; for one strange woman, one
Abhorrèd kiss, how are thine hosts undone!
Talthybius (bending over Andromache and gradually taking the Child from her).
Come, Child: let be that clasp of love
Outwearied! Walk thy ways with me,
Up to the crested tower, above
Thy father's wall . . . where they decree
Thy soul shall perish.—Hold him: hold!—
Would God some other man might ply
These charges, one of duller mould,
And nearer to the iron than I!
Hecuba.
O Child, they rob us of our own,
Child of my Mighty One outworn:
Ours, ours thou art!—Can aught be done
