“Son of Laertes, nobly born, and skilled In sage devices, let us now depart, Since, as it seems, the end for which we came Cannot be compassed thus, and we must bear With speed the unwelcome answer to the Greeks, Who sit expecting us; while in his breast The implacable Achilles bears a fierce And haughty heart, nor doth he heed the claim Of that close friendship of his fellow-chiefs, Which at the Grecian fleet exalted him Above all others. Unrelenting one! Even for a brother’s death a price is paid, Or when a son is slain: the slayer dwells At home among his people, having made The appointed expiation. He to whom The fine is offered takes it, and his thirst Of vengeance is appeased. But in thy heart The gods have kindled an unquenchable rage, All for a single damsel⁠—and behold, Seven more we offer, passing beautiful, With many gifts beside. Let, then, thy mood Be softened: have respect to thine own roof; For we are guests beneath it, sent from all The assembled host, and strong is our desire