Page:Tragedies of Seneca (1907) Miller.djvu/387

Rh Without the hand of fate am claimed at once. Think you that I have been the cause of war, And Troy's great overthrow? Believe it true If in a Spartan vessel I approached Your land; but if, sped on by Phrygian oars, I came a helpless prey; if to the judge Of beauty's rival claims I fell the prize By conquering Venus' gift, then pity me, The plaything of the fates. An angry judge Full soon my cause shall have—my Grecian lord. Then leave to him the question of my guilt, And judge me not. But now forget thy woes A little space, Andromache, and bid This royal maid—but as I think on her My tears unbidden flow. [She stops, overcome by emotion.] Andromache [in scorn]: Now great indeed Must be the evil when our Helen weeps! But dry thy tears, and tell what Ithacus Is plotting now, what latest deed of shame? Must this poor maid be hurled from Ida's heights, Or from the top of Ilium's citadel? Must she be flung into the cruel sea That roars beneath this lofty precipice, Which our Sigeum's rugged crag uprears? Come, tell what thou dost hide with mimic grief. In all our ills there's none so great as this, That any princess of our royal house Should wed with Pyrrhus. Speak thy dark intent; What further suffering remains to bear? To compensate our woes, this grace impart, That we may know the worst that can befall. Behold us ready for the stroke of fate. Helen: Alas! I would 'twere mine to break the bonds Which bind me to this life I hate; to die By Pyrrhus' cruel hand upon the tomb Of great Achilles, and to share thy fate, O poor Polyxena. For even now,