“Stop, or my spear o’ertakes thee, nor wilt thou Escape a certain death from this right hand.”

He spake, and hurled his spear⁠—but not to smite⁠— At Dolon, over whose right shoulder passed The polished weapon, and, descending, pierced The ground. Then Dolon, pale and fear-struck, stopped, And quaked, with chattering teeth and stammering speech. They, breathless with the chase, came up and seized His hands, while, bursting into tears, he spake:⁠—

“Take me alive, and ye shall have from me A ransom: there is store of brass and gold And well-wrought steel, of which a princely share My father will bestow when he shall hear Of me alive and at the Grecian fleet.”

The crafty chief Ulysses answered thus:⁠— “Take heart, and cease to think of death, but tell, And truly, why thou camest to our fleet: Was it to strip the bodies of the dead? Camest thou, sent by Hector, as a spy Among our ships, or of thine own accord?”