Then Paris, of the godlike presence, spake In answer: “Hector, thy rebuke is just; Thou dost not wrong me. Dauntless is thy heart; ’Tis like an axe when, wielded by the hand That hews the shipwright’s plank, it cuts right through, Doubling the wielder’s force. Such tameless heart Dwells in thy bosom. Yet reproach me not With the fair gifts which golden Venus gave. Whatever in their grace the gods bestow Is not to be rejected: ’tis not ours To choose what they shall give us. But if thou Desirest to behold my prowess shown In combat, cause the Trojans and the Greeks To pause from battle, while, between the hosts, as I and the warlike Menelaus strive In single fight for Helen and her wealth. Whoever shall prevail and prove himself The better warrior, let him take with him The treasure and the woman, and depart; While all the other Trojans, having made A faithful league of amity, shall dwell On Ilium’s fertile plain, and all the Greeks Return to Argos, famed for noble steeds, And to Achaia, famed for lovely dames.”