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First Semi-Chorus
O Hecuba! why these cries, these piercing shrieks? What do your words mean? For I heard your piteous wail [155] echo through the building, and a pang of terror shoots through each captive Trojan's breast, as within these walls they mourn their slavish lot.

My child, even now at the ships of the Argives—

First Semi-Chorus
[160] The rower's hand is busy?

Ah, woe is me! what is their intent? Will they really carry me away from my country in their fleet?

I do not know, though I guess our doom.

First Semi-Chorus
O misery! [165] woe to us Trojan women, soon to hear of our troubles: “Come out of the house, the Argives are preparing to return”.

Oh! please do not bid the [170] wild Cassandra leave her chamber, the frantic prophetess, for Argives to insult, nor to my griefs add yet another. Woe to you, ill-fated Troy, Troy, your sun is set; and woe to your unhappy children, living and dead alike, [175] who are leaving you behind!

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