“If Heaven, my lords, had heard our common prayer, These arms had caused no quarrel for an heir; Still great Achilles had his own possess’d, And we with great Achilles had been bless’d: But since hard fate, and Heaven’s severe decree, Have ravish’d him away from you and me,” (At this he sigh’d, and wiped his eyes, and drew, Or seem’d to draw, some drops of kindly dew,) “Who better can succeed Achilles lost, Than he who gave Achilles to your host? This only I request, that neither he May gain, by being what he seems to be, A stupid thing, nor I may lose the prize, By having sense, which Heaven to him denies; Since great or small, the talent I enjoy’d Was ever in the common cause employ’d: Nor let my wit, and wonted eloquence, Which often has been used in your defence, And in my own, this only time be brought To bear against myself, and deem’d a fault: Make not a crime where nature made it none; For every man may freely use his own. The deeds of long-descended ancestors Are but by grace of imputation ours,