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What sweet relief to sufferers it is to weep, to mourn, lament, and chant the dirge that tells of grief! Andromache
 Do you see this, mother of that man, Hector, who once laid low in battle many a son of Argos? Hecuba
I see that it is heaven's way to exalt what men accounted nothing, and ruin what they most esteemed. Andromache
Hence with my child as booty am I borne; the noble  are brought to slavery—a bitter change. Hecuba
This is necessity's grim law; it was just now that Cassandra was torn with brutal violence from my arms. Andromache
Alas, alas! it seems a second Aias has appeared to wrong your daughter; but there are other ills for you. Hecuba
 Yes, beyond all count or measure are my sorrows; evil vies with evil in the struggle to be first. Andromache
Your daughter Polyxena is dead, slain at Achilles' tomb, an offering to his lifeless corpse. Hecuba
O woe is me! This is that riddle Talthybius  long ago told me, a truth obscurely uttered. Andromache
I saw her myself; so I alighted from the chariot, and covered her corpse with a mantle, and struck upon my breast. Hecuba
Alas! my child, for your unhallowed sacrifice! and yet again, alas! for your shameful death! Andromache
 Her death was even as it was, and yet that death of hers was after all a happier fate than my life. Hecuba
Death and life are not the same, my child; the one is annihilation, the other keeps a place for hope.
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