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PYRRHUS.
Pity of the boy!--'Tis a plot--a plot to shame me past all enduring!
FIRST MAID.
She witched the gold out of him!
PRIEST.
King, King, hear me! She has witched the Queen's womb long ago, and witched the whole harvest. She has this day witched your own boy to consent to your dishonour; she has witched this mad stranger to give her gold worth twenty oxen; yea, she has witched both him and you, so that he stands up and flouts you in your hall. You are stripped naked, O King, for men and dogs to walk upon, that Hector in his grave may be merry!--Judgment, O son of Achilles, judgment!
ANDROMACHE.
Yea, judgment, my King! I, too, crave judgment. Only let not these be my judges.
PRIEST.
Who is she to say how she shall be judged?
ANDROMACHE.
Judge me yourself, O Pyrrhus, son of Achilles! even now, in your anger; and I fear not. Oh, my King, you who know me, say if I have hated you!
PRIEST.
A witch has no right to speak. Let her be bound outside at the gate till she is judged.
ALCIMEDON.
Not speak? What law is this, Priest?
PRIEST.
Not a witch! She will bind the King's heart, so that he cannot judge her.
PYRRHUS.
[_After a moment's hesitation._] By Zeus in heaven, it is the truth! I cannot judge her while she stands looking at me. Begone, woman!--Nay, touch her not!--Let her go to her own house.
ANDROMACHE.
I go, my King. Yet if you slay me and to-morrow wake sorrowful, bethink you there is no cure for that sorrow! [_Exit_ ANDROMACHE.
MOLOSSUS.
Mother, I will come too!
ALCIMEDON.
[_Stopping_ MOLOSSUS _at the door_.] To sanctuary! Not to your own house! Take sanctuary, both, at the altar of Thetis, till his fury is over.
[_Exit_ MOLOSSUS.
ORESTES.
[_Who during the interruption has mounted on the bench, taken the suit of arms from the wall, and armed himself, here leaps down, picks up the lyre, and sings again--_
"The son is viler, viler than the sire!"
ALCIMEDON.
The man is armed!
ORESTES.
[_Continuing amid general confusion._
"Achilles' son slew women and slew babes, But quailed before the blood-wrath of a churl; And stole another's bride; and fled, fled, fled!"
[_Tumult in hall._
ALCIMEDON.
Down with him!
PYRRHUS.
Slay him not! Break his spear and thrust him out!
ORESTES.
Will nothing sting you? Lo, mine was the bride he stole, and from me he fled! For he dared not face the wrath of Orestes, nor the spear of Agamemnon's son.
PYRRHUS.
Orestes!
PRIEST.
Is it Orestes?
ALCIMEDON.
He must have men behind him! To the watch-tower quick! [_Two retainers run out_, R.
HERMIONE.
He lies, he lies! Do I not know Orestes?
