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Hecuba About your body now I swathe this Phrygian robe of honor, which should have clad you on your marriage-day, wedded to the noblest of Asia's daughters. You too, dear shield of Hector, victorious parent of countless triumphs past, accept your crown, for though you share the dead child's tomb, death cannot touch you; for you merit honors far beyond those arms the arms of Achilles, which were set up as a prize, and won by Odysseus from Aias. that the crafty villain Odysseus won.
Andromache My dearest! my own sweet child and priceless treasure! your death the foe demands, and you must leave your wretched mother. That which saves the lives of others, proves your destruction—your father's nobility; to you your father's valiancy has proved no gift. O my unlucky bed and marriage, that brought me once to Hector's home, hoping to be the mother of a son that should rule over Asia's fruitful fields instead of serving as a victim to the Danaids! Do you weep, my child? do you know your hapless fate? Why clutch me with your hands and to my garment cling, nestling like a tender chick beneath my wing? Hector will not rise from the earth and come gripping his famous spear to bring you salvation; no kinsman of your father appears, nor might of Phrygian hosts; one dreadful headlong leap from the dizzy height and you will dash out your life with none to pity you! Oh to clasp your tender limbs, a mother's fondest joy! Oh to breathe your fragrant breath! In vain it seems th