“But you, oh Grecian chiefs, reward my care, Be grateful to your watchman of the war: For all my labours in so long a space, Sure I may plead a title to your grace: Enter the town; I then unbarr’d the gates, When I removed their tutelary fates. By all our common hopes, if hopes they be Which I have now reduced to certainty; By falling Troy, by yonder tottering towers, And by their taken gods, which now are ours; Or if there yet a farther task remains, To be perform’d by prudence, or by pains; If yet some desperate action rests behind, That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind; If aught be wanting to the Trojan doom, Which none but I can manage and o’ercome, Award those arms I ask, by your decree: Or give to this, what you refuse to me.”