_Ach._ Villain, I thank the gods that sent thee hither. But thou wast near thy death. Walk off secure, Not knowing that I heard. _Effeminate! The meanest of the Greeks!_ were he the best, I’d slay him in this garment. Yet he is but 620 A tongue to troll opinion of me, a slave, Fetcher and carrier of others’ tales, and doth The drudgery honestly; for that I’ll thank him And profit by his slander. Ay, so I’ll do— Now in good time—I’ll get me a man’s dress And meet them here, ere they suspect me:—or, stay! I can outwit them better. I’ll take a boat, Cross o’er to Aulis, like good Lycomede, This very night, and there to Agamemnon Declare myself; and men shall never know 630 How I was hid, nor whence I came. _Enter Thetis._ _Th._ My son! _Ach._ My goddess mother, welcome! yet I am shamed That thou shouldst find me thus. _Th._ How art thou shamed? _Ach._ This dress. O thou canst help me: thou art ready At every need. And here hath been a man Who, thinking not I heard, spake to the king Of thy Achilles with such scorn, that I Should have leaped forth upon him in my rage, And strangled him, but that he seemed to be Another’s servant. 640 _Th._ Then thou hast seen them, son? _Ach._ Who are they? _Th._ Those I came to warn thee of; Ulysses and his friends. Knowst thou ’tis they Are come unto the isle to seek thee? _Ach._ Ay. But thou art ready to outwit their wile. As thou didst bring me hither on that night When all thy nymphs, assembling ’neath the moon Upon the Achæan shore, bore me away Across the sea, even so to Aulis now Convey me secretly, and set me there, Ere men know whence I come. _Th._ What hear I, son? 650 To Aulis? to thy foes? _Ach._ A thousand ships Moored idle in the bay wait but for me: And round the shore the captains of the Greeks Impatient in their tents but call for me. Be they my foes to speak or wish me ill, ’Tis only that I come not. I must go. _Th._ There let them tarry till the sea-worm bore Their ships to rottenness; or, sail they forth, Let them be butchered by the sword of Hector, Ere thou be snared to serve their empty pride. 660 _Ach._ But louder than their need my honour calls: Hast thou no thought of this in all thy love? _Th._ Who then is honoured more or more desired Than thou art now? but they, if once they had thee, Would slight thee, and pretend they were the men. _Ach._ But those are honoured best that hear their praise.