And gave his welcome to Idomeneus, And took him to his tent. On such a day 560 Our little boat rowed where we would unmarked: We were but Chalcian pilots. So I saw Whate’er I wished to see, and came away Across the strait that night, and the next day Was home by sundown. _Ab._ All this could you see Without the wish to join? _Lyc._ I say not that; For wish I did that I was young again. Then, sir, I would have left whate’er I had, My kingdom to another, for the pride, Of high place in such war; now I am old. 570 _Ab._ But older men than thou have joined us, sire. War needs experience. _Lyc._ Concerning war I am divided in opinion, Abas: But lean to think it hath a wholesome root Supportive to our earthly habit. I see The noblest beasts will love to fight, and man Is body as well as spirit: his mind that’s set In judgment o’er those twain must oft admit The grosser part hath a preponderant claim. But I regret this, and my discontent 580 Puts me this question, Shall man never come To a better state with his desire? What think you? What if our race yet young should with the time Throw off the baser passions, as I find Myself by age affected? I know not... I have a little statue in my house, Which, if you look on’t long, begets belief Of absolute perfectionment; the artist Should have been present when man’s clay was mixed. Prometheus, or whoever ’twas that made us, 590 Had his head turned with natural history: All excellent contrivance, but betraying Commonness and complexity. Well! well! No need of my philosophies in Scyros— War must have motive, and the men I rule Are simple and contented with their lot. None in my land would wish an atom changed: Were even Achilles here ’twould be no wonder If he had caught our temper. _Ab._ All men witness To thy good rule, O king: but in the wars 600 Fame may be won. _Lyc._ Nor do I ask for fame. Come that to whom it will; to Agamemnon, To Ajax or Ulysses or Achilles. _Ab._ To Achilles no: ’tis not in the gods’ grace To succour pigritude. To him, a lad, The prize of honour above all the Greeks Was offered: by the poor effeminacy With which he hath rejected it, he is judged Meanest of all. But since we cannot win Without him, we must have him. Little glory 610 To him, except to be Fate’s dullest tool. _Lyc._ Maybe. Now come we on. I had thought to find My daughter and her train. I’ll take thee round Another way to the palace: thither no doubt She is now returned. [_Exeunt._ _Enter Achilles from the bushes._