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Hecuba, with the captive woman-throng,

Destroyed me—nay, destroyed not—O, far worse!

What say'st thou?—Thine the deed, as he hath said?

Thou, Hecuba, dare this thing impossible!

Ha! what say'st thou?—and is she nigh at hand?

Tell where is she, that I may in mine hands

Clutch her and rend, and bathe her flesh in blood.

Ho thou, what ails thee?

By the Gods I pray thee,

Unhand me—loose my frenzied hand on her!

Forbear: cast out the savage from thine heart.

Speak, let me hear first thee, then her, and judge

Justly for what cause thus thou sufferest.

Yea, I will speak. 'Twas Priam's youngest son

Polydorus, Hecuba's child—from Troy to me

Him his sire sent to nurture in mine halls,

Misdoubting, ye may guess, the fall of Troy.

Him slew I. For what cause I slew him, hear:

Mark how I dealt well, wisely, prudently:—