“Give ear, O king! wherever thou abide, In the opulent realm of Lycia, or in Troy; For everywhere thou nearest those who cry To thee in sorrow, and great sorrow now Is on me. Grievous is the wound I bear; Sharp are the pains that pierce my hand; the blood Cannot be stanched; my very arm becomes A burden; I can wield the spear no more With a firm grasp, nor combat with the foe. A mighty chief⁠—Sarpedon, son of Jove⁠— Has perished, and the father came not nigh To aid his son. Yet come thou to my aid, O monarch-god! and heal this painful wound, And give me strength to rally to the fight The Lycian warriors, and myself contend Valiantly for the rescue of the dead.”