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I and my babe are driven among the droves

Of plundered cattle. O, when fortune moves

So swift, the high heart like a slave beats low.

'Tis fearful to be helpless. Men but now

Have taken Cassandra, and I strove in vain.

Ah, woe is me; hath Ajax come again?

But other evil yet is at thy gate.

Nay, Daughter, beyond number, beyond weight

My evils are! Doom raceth against doom.

Polyxena across Achilles' tomb

Lies slain, a gift flung to the dreamless dead.

My sorrow! 'Tis but what Talthybius said:

So plain a riddle, and I read it not.

I saw her lie, and stayed this chariot;

And raiment wrapt on her dead limbs, and beat

My breast for her.

O the foul sin of it!

The wickedness! My child. My child! Again

I cry to thee. How cruelly art thou slain!