To whom the Cretan King, Idomeneus: “Thoas, on none, so far as I may judge, May blame be cast; we all our duties know; Nor see I one by heartless fear restrain’d, Nor hanging back, and flinching from the war: Yet by th’ o’erruling will of Saturn’s son It seems decreed that here the Greeks should fall, And far from Argos lie in nameless graves. But, Thoas, as thyself art ever staunch, Nor slow the laggards to reprove, thy work Remit not now; but rouse each sev’ral man.” To whom Earth-shaking Neptune thus replied: “Idomeneus, may he from Troy return No more, but here remain to glut the dogs, If such there be, from this day’s fight who shrinks. But haste thee, don thine arms; great need is now To hasten, if in aught we two may serve: E’en meaner men, united, courage gain; But we the bravest need not fear to meet.” He said, and to the strife of men return’d. Within his well-constructed tent arriv’d, Straight donn’d Idomeneus his armour bright: Two spears he took; and, like the lightning’s flash, Which, as a sign to men, the hand of Jove Hurls downwards from Olympus’ glitt’ring heights; Whose dazzling radiance far around is thrown; Flash’d, as the warrior ran, his armour bright. Him met Meriones, his follower brave, Close to the tent; to seek a spear he came; To whom Idomeneus: “Meriones, Swift-footed son of Molus, comrade dear, Why com’st thou here, and leav’st the battle field? Hast thou some wound receiv’d, whereof the pain Subdues thy spirit? or com’st thou, to the field To summon me? unsummon’d, well thou know’st I better love the battle than the tent.” Whom answer’d thus the sage Meriones: “Idomeneus, the brass-clad Cretans’ King, I come to seek a spear, if haply such Within thy tent be found; for, in the fight, That which I lately bore, e’en now I broke Against the shield of brave Deiphobus.” To whom Idomeneus, the Cretan King: “Of spears, or one, or twenty, if thou list, Thou there mayst find against the polish’d wall. The spoil of Trojans slain; for with my foes ’Tis not my wont to wage a distant war. Thence have I store of spears, and bossy shields, And crested helms, and breastplates polish’d bright.” Whom answer’d thus the sage Meriones: “Nor are my tent and dark-ribb’d ship devoid Of Trojan spoils; but they are far to seek; Nor deem I that my hand is slack in fight; For ’mid the foremost in the glorious strife I stand, whene’er is heard the battle cry. My deeds by others of the brass-clad Greeks May not be noted; but thou know’st them well.”