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O my country, O unhappy land— Andromache
I weep for you now left behind. Hecuba
Now do you behold your piteous end. Andromache
And you, my house, where I gave birth. Hecuba
O my children! bereft of her city as your mother is, she now is losing you. Oh, what mourning and what sorrow! . . .  oh, what endless streams of tears in our houses! The dead alone forget their griefs [and never shed a tear].
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