To whom in answer Priam, godlike sire: “Seek not to hinder me; nor be thyself A bird of evil omen in my house; For thou shalt not persuade me. If indeed This message had been brought by mortal man, Prophet, or seer, or sacrificing priest, I should have deem’d it false, and laugh’d to scorn The idle tale; but now (for I myself Both saw and heard the Goddess) I must go; Nor unfulfill’d shall be the words I speak: And if indeed it be my fate to die Beside the vessels of the brass-clad Greeks, I am content! by fierce Achilles’ hand Let me be slain, so once more in my arms I hold my boy, and give my sorrow vent.” Then raising up the coffer’s polish’d lid, He chose twelve gorgeous shawls, twelve single cloaks. As many rugs, as many splendid robes, As many tunics; then of gold he took Ten talents full; two tripods, burnish’d bright, Four caldrons; then a cup of beauty rare, A rich possession, which the men of Thrace Had giv’n, when there he went ambassador; E’en this he spar’d not, such his keen desire His son to ransom. From the corridor With angry words he drove the Trojans all: “Out with ye, worthless rascals, vagabonds! Have ye no griefs at home, that here ye come To pester me? or is it not enough That Jove with deep affliction visits me, Slaying my bravest son? ye to your cost Shall know his loss: since now that he is gone, The Greeks shall find you easier far to slay. But may my eyes be clos’d in death, ere see The city sack’d, and utterly destroy’d.” He said, and with his staff drove out the crowd; Before the old man’s anger fled they all; Then to his sons in threat’ning tone he cried; To Paris, Helenus, and Agathon, Pammon, Antiphonus, Polites brave, Deiphobus, and bold Hippothous, And godlike Dius; all these nine with threats And angry taunts the aged sire assail’d: “Haste, worthless sons, my scandal and my shame! Would that ye all beside the Grecian ships In Hector’s stead had died! Oh woe is me, Who have begotten sons, in all the land The best and bravest; now remains not one; Mestor, and Troilus, dauntless charioteer, And Hector, who a God ’mid men appear’d, Nor like a mortal’s offspring, but a God’s: All these hath Mars cut off; and left me none, None but the vile and refuse; liars all, Vain skipping coxcombs, in the dance alone, And in nought else renown’d; base plunderers, From their own countrymen, of lambs and kids. When, laggards, will ye harness me the car Equipp’d with all things needed for the way?”