Ulysses, and the rest, How to drive back the enemy and save The fleet from flames. Already has he done Much without me; a rampart he has raised, And round it dug a deep, broad trench, and filled The trench with palisades. Yet can he not Resist the man-destroyer Hector thus. This Hector, when I fought among the Greeks, Never would fight at distance from the walls, And ventured not beyond the Scaean gates And beechen tree. There waited he for me Upon a time, and scarce escaped with life From my assault. Now, since I do not choose To fight with noble Hector, I shall pay, Tomorrow, sacrifice to Jupiter And all the gods, and load my galleys well, And draw them to the water. Then shalt thou See⁠—if thou care for such a sight⁠—my ships Sailing upon the fishy Hellespont At early morning, with their crews on board Eager to pull the oar; and if the god Of ocean grant a prosperous voyage, then On the third day we reach the fertile coast Of Phthia. Large possessions left I there When I came hither in an evil hour; And thither I shall carry with me gold And ruddy brass, and women of fair forms, And burnished steel⁠—the spoils I won in war. The prize he gave me, Agamemnon, son Of Atreus, takes, with many insults, back. Bear him this message⁠—give it openly, That others of the Greeks may be like me Indignant should he impudently dare To wrong them also:⁠—Let him ne’er again, Though shameless, dare to look me in the face. I will not join in council or in act With him: he has deceived and wronged me once, And now he cannot wheedle me with words. Let once suffice. I leave him to himself, To perish. All-providing Jupiter Hath made him mad. I hate his gifts; I hold In utter scorn the giver. Were his gifts Tenfold⁠—nay, twenty-fold⁠—the worth of all That he possesses, and with added wealth From others⁠—all the riches that flow in Upon Orchomenus, or Thebes, the pride Of Egypt, where large treasures are laid up, And through whose hundred gates rush men and steeds, Two hundred through each gate;⁠—nay, should he give As many gifts as there are sands and dust Of earth⁠—not even then shall Atreus’ son Persuade me, till I reap a just revenge For his foul contumelies. I will wed No child of Agamemnon. Even though She vied with golden Venus in her charms,