How true the saw, each labours for himself.

And who deserves my labour more than I?

Well, let it seem thy doing, friend, not mine.

Howe’er ’tis done, ’twill prove thee good and kind.

To thee, my friend, of this be well assured,

I’d grant a favour greater e’en than this.

But that man, as in living so in death,

Shall have my hate. So do as pleaseth thee.

Whoe’er, Odysseus, having proof like this,

Denies thy wisdom is himself a fool.

And now to Teucer, once my foe, henceforth

I proffer friendship staunch and true as was

Mine enmity; and I would ask to share

With you in obsequies and ritual

To grace his grave; no service would I stint

That man can render to the mighty dead.

Noblest Odysseus, I have naught but praise

For thy good words that all belie my fears.

Of all the Greeks thou wast his deadliest foe,