Odysseus: Not if thou wilt hearken to those who are wiser than thyself.
Hecuba: Be sure I will never willingly relinquish my child.
Odysseus: Well, be equally sure I will never go away and leave her
here.
Polyxena: Mother, hearken to me; and thou, son of Laertes, make allowance
for a parent's natural wrath. My poor mother, fight not with our masters.
Wilt thou be thrown down, be roughly thrust aside and wound thy aged
skin, and in unseemly wise be torn from me by youthful arms? This
wilt thou suffer; do not so, for 'tis not right for thee. Nay, dear
mother mine give me thy hand beloved, and let me press thy cheek to
mine; for never, nevermore, but now for the last time shall I behold
the dazzling sun-god's orb. My last farewells now take! O mother,
mother mine! beneath the earth I pass.
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