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Come, child, leave fond embracing of your woeful mother, and mount the high coronal of your ancestral towers, [785] there to draw your parting breath, as is ordained. Take him away. His should the duty be to do such herald's work, whose heart knows no pity and who loves ruthlessness more than my soul does.Exeunt Andromache and Talthybius with Astyanax.

[790] O child, son of my hapless boy, an unjust fate robs me and your mother of your life. How is it with me? What can I do for you, luckless one? For you I strike upon my head and beat my breast, my only gift; [795] for that is in my power. Woe for my city! woe for you! What sorrow do we not have? What is wanting now to our utter and immediate ruin?

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