Then the fleet-footed Iris spake again:⁠— “O dark-haired Neptune, shall I bear from thee This harsh, defiant answer back to Jove, Or shall it yet be changed? The prudent mind Yields to the occasion, and thou knowest well The Furies wait upon the elder-born.”

Then spake in turn the god who shakes the shores:⁠— “O goddess Iris, thou hast wisely said. An excellent thing it is when messengers Know how to counsel well. But in my heart And soul a wrathful sense of injury Arises when he chides with insolent words Me, who was equal with him in my lot, And born to equal destinies. Yet now, Although offended, I give way; but this I tell thee, and ’tis from my heart⁠—if he, In spite of me and Pallas, spoiler-queen, And Juno, Mercury, and Vulcan, spare The towers of Troy⁠—if he refuse to bring Ruin on her, and glory on the Greeks, Then let him know that hatred without end Or intermission is between us two.”