“Dear brother, when I sent thee forth alone To combat with the Trojans for the Greeks, I ratified a treaty for thy death, Since now the Trojans smite and under foot Trample the league. Yet not in vain shall be The treaty, nor the blood of lambs, nor wine Poured to the gods, nor right hands firmly pledged; For though it please not now Olympian Jove To make the treaty good, he will in time Cause it to be fulfilled, and they shall pay Dearly with their own heads and with their wives And children for this wrong. And this I know In my undoubting mind⁠—a day will come When sacred Troy and Priam and the race Governed by Priam, mighty with the spear, Shall perish all. Saturnian Jove, who sits On high, a dweller of the upper air, Shall shake his dreadful aegis in the sight Of all, indignant at this treachery. Such the event will be; but I shall grieve Bitterly, Menelaus, if thou die, Thy term of life cut short. I shall go back To my dear Argos with a brand of shame Upon me. For the Greeks will soon again