“Thou sot, with eye of dog, and heart of deer! Who never dar’st to lead in armed fight Th’ assembled host, nor with a chosen few To man the secret ambush—for thou fear’st To look on death—no doubt ’tis easier far, Girt with thy troops, to plunder of his right Whoe’er may venture to oppose thy will! A tyrant King, because thou rul’st o’er slaves! Were it not so, this insult were thy last. But this I say, and with an oath confirm, By this my royal staff, which never more Shall put forth leaf nor spray, since first it left Upon the mountain-side its parent stem, Nor blossom more; since all around the axe Hath lopp’d both leaf and bark, and now ’tis borne Emblem of justice, by the sons of Greece, Who guard the sacred ministry of law Before the face of Jove! a mighty oath! The time shall come, when all the sons of Greece Shall mourn Achilles’ loss; and thou the while, Heart-rent, shalt be all-impotent to aid, When by the warrior-slayer Hector’s hand Many shall fall; and then thy soul shall mourn The slight on Grecia’s bravest warrior cast.” Thus spoke Pelides; and upon the ground He cast his staff, with golden studs emboss’d, And took his seat; on th’ other side, in wrath, Atrides burn’d; but Nestor interpos’d; Nestor, the leader of the Pylian host, The smooth-tongued chief, from whose persuasive lips Sweeter than honey flowed the stream of speech. Two generations of the sons of men For him were past and gone, who with himself Were born and bred on Pylos’ lovely shore, And o’er the third he now held royal sway. He thus with prudent words the chiefs address’d: