Then sternly spake the gallant Diomed:⁠— “Once in our hands a prisoner, do not think, O Dolon! to escape, though thou hast told Things that shall profit us. For if we now Release thee thou wilt surely come again To the Greek fleet, a spy, or openly To fight against us. If I take thy life, ’Tis certain thou wilt harm the Greeks no more.”

He spake. And as the suppliant took his chin In his large hand, and had begun a prayer, He smote him with his sword at the mid-neck, And cut the tendons both; the severed head, While yet he spake, fell, rolling in the dust. And then they took his helm of otter-skin The wolf’s-hide, sounding bow, and massive spear. The nobly born Ulysses in his hand Lifted the trophies high, devoting them To Pallas, deity of spoil, and prayed:⁠—

“Delight thyself, O goddess, in these arms, For thee we first invoke, of all the gods Upon Olympus. Guide us now to find The camp and coursers of the sons of Thrace.”