“O Argives! Let not your hot courage cool, For Father Jove will never take the part Of treachery. Whosoe’er have been the first To break the league, upon their lifeless limbs Shall vultures feast; and doubt not we shall bear Away in our good ships the wives they love And their young children, when we take their town.”

But whomsoe’er he saw that kept afar From the dread field, he angrily rebuked:⁠—

“O Argives! Who with arrows only fight, Base as ye are, have ye no sense of shame? Why stand ye stupefied, like fawns, that, tired With coursing the wide pastures, stop at last, Their strength exhausted! Thus ye stand amazed, Nor think of combat. Wait ye for the hour When to your ships, with their fair-sculptured prows, Moored on the borders of the hoary deep, The Trojans come, that haply ye may see If the great hand of Jove will shield you then?”