Chorus (cont.)
The derelict nor come anigh.
Tecmessa
Woe, woe is me!
Chorus
Whose was that cry from out the covert’s fringe?
Tecmessa
Me miserable:
Chorus
My hapless mistress, Ajax’ spear-won bride,
Teemessa, whelmed in anguish I behold.
Tecmessa
I’m lost, undone, of all bereft, my friends.
Chorus
What aileth thee?
Tecmessa
Here lies our Ajax, newly slain, impaled
Upon his sword, new planted in the ground.
Chorus
O for my hope of return!
O my chief, thou hast slain
Me thy shipmate! my heart
Bleeds for thee, lady forlorn.
Tecmessa
Thus lies he overthrown; ’tis ours to wail.
Chorus
By whose hand did he thus procure his death?