And thou, O knight Patroclus, with a sigh Deep drawn, didst answer thus: “Be not displeased, Achilles, son of Peleus, bravest far Of all the Achaian army! For the Greeks Endure a bitter lot. The chiefs who late Were deemed their mightiest are within the ships, Wounded or stricken down. There Diomed, The gallant son of Tydeus, lies, and there Ulysses, the great spearman, wounded both; And Agamemnon; and Eurypylus, Driven from the field, an arrow in his thigh. Round them the healers, skilled in remedies, Attend and dress their painful wounds, while thou, Achilles, sittest here implacable. O, never be such fierce resentments mine As thou dost cherish, who art only brave For mischief! Whom wilt thou hereafter aid, If now thou rescue not the perishing Greeks? O merciless! It cannot surely be That Peleus was thy father, or the queen Thetis thy mother; the green sea instead And rugged precipices brought thee forth, For savage is thy heart. But if thou heed The warning of some god, if thou hast heard