Ulysses, the sagacious, thus rejoined: “Achilles, son of Peleus, bravest far Of all the Achaians, mightier with the spear By no small odds than I, yet do I stand In prudence much above thee; I have lived More years, and more have learned. Let then thy mind Accept what I shall say. Men soon become Weary of warfare, even when the sword Lays its most ample harvest on the earth. But fewer sheaves are reaped when Jupiter, The arbiter of battles, turns the scale. It is not well that we of Greece should mourn The dead with fasting, since from day to day Our warriors fall in numbers. Where were then Respite from daily fasts? Lay we our slain In earth and mourn a day. We who outlive The cruel combat should refresh ourselves With food and wine, that we may steadily Maintain in arms the conflict with the foe. And then let no man idly wait to hear A further call to war⁠—for it will come Freighted with evil to the man who skulks Among the ships⁠—but let us all go forth To wage fierce battle with the knights of Troy.”