“Godlike Achilles, thou hast missed thy mark; Nor hast thou learned my doom from Jupiter, As thou pretendest. Thou art glib of tongue. And cunningly thou orderest thy speech, In hope that I who hear thee may forget My might and valor. Think not I shall flee, That thou mayst pierce my back; for thou shalt send Thy spear, if God permit thee, through my breast As I rush on thee. Now avoid in turn My brazen weapon. Would that it might pass Clean through thee, all its length! The tasks of war For us of Troy were lighter for thy death, Thou pest and deadly foe of all our race!”

He spake, and brandishing his massive spear, Hurled it, nor missed, but in the centre smote The buckler of Pelides. Far away It bounded from the brass, and he was vexed To see that the swift weapon from his hand Had flown in vain. He stood perplexed and sad; No second spear had he. He called aloud On the white-bucklered chief, Deïphobus, To bring another; but that chief was far, And Hector saw that it was so, and said:⁠—