_Ach._ See now what shame I bear! _Th._ Why make so much of shame? If thou despise The pleasure of the earth, why not the shame? _Ach._ I wrong, too, this old king. _Th._ His daughter more, If thou desert her. _Ach._ But ’twould hurt her less To lose me now than know me when disgraced. _Th._ I plead not in her name, nor charge thee, son, With loving her in my contempt. A dream Of mortal fancy or honour may becloud Thy mind awhile, but ne’er canst thou forget Thy bond to me; the care that never left thee 730 Till thou wert out of hand; the love that dared To send thee from my sight when thou wast able, And to strange lands; my secret visitings There, and revisitings; the dreams I sent thee, Warnings of ill, and ecstasies of pride; The thousand miracles I wrought to save thee, And guard thee to thy prime;—and now men say Thou art the first of the Greeks: their homaged kings The gods condemn to death if thou withhold 739 Thy single arm. Why so? What hast thou done? Where have men seen thee? Hast thou ruled like Nestor? Conquered like Agamemnon, fought like Ajax? What is thy prowess, what thy skill but this, That thou art son of Thetis? Disobey not, Nor question now my bidding. Must I kneel, Embrace thy knees, or melt before thy face In supplicating tears? O if thy birth Did cost the tenderest tears that god e’er shed, Make not those bitter drops to have flowed in vain. Whate’er fate portion thee my joy is this— 750 That thou dost love me. Dost thou cease to love, I am most miserable. _Ach._ O fear not that, Mother and goddess! Pardon me, weep not. Let all men curse me, be my name abhorred, Rather than thou be grieved. ’Twas anger moved me: I will forget this, and obey thee. Say What I must do, how best avoid these men: And how refuse their call if I be found.