Hecuba

Not one Exists, whose sorrows equal mine, unless You of Calamity herself would speak. Yet hear the motive why I clasp your knees. If I appear to merit what I suffer, I must be patient; but if not, avenge My wrongs upon the man who 'gainst his guest Such treachery could commit, who, nor the gods Of Erebus beneath, nor those who rule In Heaven above regarding, this vile deed Did perpetrate, e'en he with whom I oft Partook the feast, on whom I showered each bounty, Esteeming him the first of all my friends; Yet, when at Ilion's palace with respect He had been treated, a deliberate scheme Of murder forming, he destroyed my son, On whom he deigned not to bestow a tomb, But threw his corse into the briny deep. Though I indeed am feeble, and a slave, Yet mighty are the gods, and by their law The world is ruled: for by that law we learn That there are gods, and can mark out the bounds Of justice and injustice; if such law To you transmitted, be infringed, if they Who kill their guests, or dare with impious hand To violate the altars of the gods, Unpunished 'scape, no equity is left Among mankind. Deeming such base connivance Unworthy of yourself, revere my woes, Have pity on me, like a painter take Your stand to view me, and observe the number Of my afflictions; once was I a queen, But now am I a slave; in many a son I once was rich, but now am I both old And of my children reft, without a city, Forlorn, and of all mortals the most wretched. That band of my heroic sons is now no more, Myself a captive, am led forth to tasks Unseemly, and e'en now these eyes behold The air obscured by Ilion's rising smoke. It might be vain perhaps, were I to found A claim to your assistance on your love: Yet must I speak: my daughter, who in Troy Was called Cassandra, the prophetic dame, Partakes your bed; and how those rapturous nights Will you acknowledge, or to her show Your gratitude for all the fond embraces Which she bestows, O king, or in her stead To me her mother? In the soul of man Th' endearments of the night, by darkness veiled, Create the strongest interest. To my tale Now listen: do you see that breathless corse? Each act of kindness which to him is shown, Upon a kinsman of the dame you love Will be conferred. But, in one point my speech Is yet deficient. By the wondrous arts Of Daedalus, or some benignant god, Could I give voice to each arm, hand, and hair, And each extremest joint, they round your knees Should cling together, and together weep, At once combining with a thousand tongues. O monarch, O thou light of Greece, comply, And stretch forth that avenging arm to aid An aged woman, though she be a thing Of nought, O succour: for the good man's duty Is to obey the dread behests of justice, And ever punish those who act amiss. Credits: Reprinted from The Plays of Euripides in English, vol. i. Trans. Shelley Dean Milman. London: J.M. Dent & Sons, 1920.

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