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O my dear Hector, in you I found a husband amply dowered with wisdom, noble birth and fortune, a brave man and a mighty;  while you took from my father's house a spotless bride, yourself the first to make this maiden wife. But now death has claimed you, and I am soon to sail to Hellas, a captive doomed to wear the yoke of slavery. Has not then the dead Polyxena,  for whom you wail, less evil to bear than I? I have not so much as hope, the last resource of every human heart, nor do I beguile myself with dreams of future bliss, the very thought of which is sweet. Chorus Leader
You are in the same plight as I; your lamentations  for yourself remind me of my own sad case. Hecuba
I never yet have set foot on a ship's deck, though I have seen such things in pictures and know of them from hearsay. Now sailors, if there comes a storm of moderate force, are all eagerness to save themselves by toil;  one stands at the tiller, another sets himself to work the sheets, a third meanwhile is baling out the ship; but if tempestuous waves arise to overwhelm them, they yield to fortune and commit themselves to the driving billows. Even so I, by reason of my countless troubles,  am speechless and forbear to say a word; for this surge of misery from the gods is too strong for me. Cease, my darling child, to speak of Hector's fate; no tears of yours can save him; honor your present master,  offering your sweet nature as the bait to win him. If you do this, you will cheer your friends as well as yourself and you shalt rear my Hector's child to lend stout aid to Ilium, that so your children in the aftertime  may build her up again, and our city yet be established. But our talk must take a different turn; who is this Achaean servant I see coming here again, sent to tell us of some new design?
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