ATT. Where is the wretched Hecuba, my friends,
Who in her woes surpasses all, or male,
Or of the female race? her none can rob
Of her just claim, pre-eminence in grief.
CHOR. With the harsh sounds of that ill-boding tongue,
O wretch, what mean’st thou? wilt thou never cease
To be th’ unwelcome herald of affliction?
ATT. Most grievous are the tidings which I bring
To Hecuba, nor easy were the task
In words auspicious to make known to mortals
Such dire calamities.
CHOR. From her apartment
She seasonably comes forth to give thee audience.