“Achilles, loved of Jove, thou biddest me Explain the wrath of Phoebus, monarch-god, Who sends afar his arrows. Willingly Will I make known the cause; but covenant thou, And swear to stand prepared, by word and hand, To bring me succor. For my mind misgives That he who rules the Argives, and to whom The Achaian race are subject, will be wroth. A sovereign is too strong for humbler men, And though he keep his choler down awhile, It rankles, till he sate it, in his heart. And now consider: wilt thou hold me safe?”