And his right thigh transfix’d; the injur’d limb Disabling, in the wound the arrow broke. He ’mid his friends, escaping death, withdrew, And to the Greeks with piercing shout he call’d: “O friends, the chiefs and councillors of Greece, Turn yet again, and from the doom of death Great Ajax save, hard press’d by hostile spears: Scarce can I hope he may escape with life The desp’rate fight; yet bravely stand, and aid The mighty Ajax, son of Telamon.” Thus spoke the wounded hero: round him they With sloping shields and spears uplifted stood: Ajax to meet them came; and when he reach’d The friendly ranks, again he turn’d to bay. So rag’d, like blazing fire, the furious fight. Meanwhile the mares of Neleus, drench’d with sweat, Bore Nestor and Machaon from the field; Achilles saw, and mark’d them where he stood Upon his lofty vessel’s prow, and watch’d The grievous toil, the lamentable rout. Then on his friend Patroclus from the ship He call’d aloud; he heard his voice, and forth, As Mars majestic, from the tent he came: (That day commenc’d his evil destiny) And thus Menoetius’ noble son began: “Why call’st thou me? what wouldst thou, Peleus’ son?” To whom Achilles, swift of foot, replied: “Son of Menoetius, dearest to my soul, Soon, must the suppliant Greeks before me kneel, So insupportable is now their need. But haste thee now, Patroclus, dear to Jove: Enquire of Nestor, from the battle field Whom brings he wounded: looking from behind Most like he seem’d to Æsculapius’ son, Machaon; but his face I could not see, So swiftly past the eager horses flew.” He said: obedient to his friend’s command, Quick to the tents and ships Patroclus ran.