Had not mine eyes been dazed, my mind distraught

And wrested from its purpose, they had never

Procured false sentence ’gainst a second man.

Alas! the grim-eyed goddess, unsubdued

Daughter of Zeus⁠—as I was at their heels,

Almost at grips with them, in act to strike⁠—

Foiled me, abused me by a frenzy fit,

Imbrued my hands with blood of these poor beasts.

And thus my foes exult in their escape,

Albeit I willed it not, and mock at me.

But if some god or goddess intervene,

Even a knave may worst the better man.

And now what’s left me? By the gods, ’tis clear,

I am detested, hated by the host

Of Greeks, abhorred by Troy and all the camp.

Shall I sail homeward o’er the Aegean, leave

The sons of Atreus to fight on alone,

This roadstead undefended? Then how face

My father Telamon? How will he endure

To look on me returning empty-handed

Without the meed of valour that he held

Himself, a crown of everlasting fame?

That were intolerable. Am I then

Alone to storm the Trojan battlements,

And facing single-handed a whole host,

Do some high deed of prowess⁠—and so die?

Nay, that methinks would give the Atridae joy.

It may not be; some emprise must be found

That shall convince my aged sire his son

Is not degenerate from his father’s breed.

Base were it that a man should want long life

When all he gets is long unchanging trouble.