Chorus
Thy tale with pity fills me; for every man alike, stranger though he be, feels pity for another’s distress. Menelaus, ’tis thy duty to reconcile thy daughter and this captive, giving her a respite from sorrow.
Menelaus Ho! sirrahs, catch me this woman; hold her fast; for ’tis no welcome story she will have to hear. It was to make thee leave the holy altar of the goddess that I held thy child’s death before thy eyes, and so induced thee to give thyself up to me to die. So stands thy case, be well assured; but as for this child, my daughter shall decide whether she will slay him or no. Get thee hence into the house, and there learn to bridle thy insolence in speaking to the free, slave that thou art.
Andromache Alas! thou hast by treachery beguiled me; I was deceived.
Menelaus Proclaim it to the world; I do not deny it
Andromache Is this counted cleverness amongst you who dwell by the Eurotas?
Menelaus Yes, and amongst Trojans too, that those who suffer should retaliate.
Andromache Thinkest thou God’s hand is shortened, and that thou wilt not be punished?
Menelaus Whene’er that comes, I am ready to bear it. But thy life will I have.
Andromache Wilt likewise slay this tender chick, whom thou hast snatched from ’neath my wing?
Menelaus Not I, but I will give him to my daughter to slay if she will.
Andromache Ah me! why not begin my mourning then for thee, my child?
Menelaus Of a truth ’tis no very sure hope that he has left.
Andromache O citizens of Sparta, the bane of all the race of men, schemers of guile, and masters in lying, devisers of evil plots, with crooked minds and tortuous methods and ne’er one honest thought, ’tis wrong that ye should thrive in Hellas. What crime is wanting in your list? How rife is murder with you! How covetous ye are! One word upon your lips, another in your heart, this is what men always find with you. Perdition catch ye! Still death is not so grievous, as thou thinkest, to me. No! for my life ended in the day that hapless Troy was destroyed with my lord, that glorious warrior, whose spear oft made a coward like thee quit the field and seek thy ship. But now against a woman hast thou displayed the terrors of thy panoply, my would-be murderer. Strike then! for this my tongue shall never flatter thee or that daughter of thine. For though thou wert of great account in Sparta, why so was I in Troy. And if I am now in sorry plight, presume not thou on this; thou too mayst be so yet.
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