Obey’d his friend, and ran to know. They now descended were, And Nestor’s squire, Eurymedon, the horses did ungear; Themselves stood near th’ extremest shore, to let the gentle air Dry up their sweat; then to the tent where Hecamed the fair Set chairs, and for the wounded prince a potion did prepare. This Hecamed, by war’s hard fate, fell to old Nestor’s share, When Thetis’ son sack’d Tenedos; she was the princely seed Of worthy king Arsinous, and by the Greeks decreed The prise of Nestor, since all men in counsel he surpass’d. First, a fair table she appos’d, of which the feet were grac’d With bluish metal mix’d with black; and on the same she put A brass fruit-dish, in which she serv’d a wholesome onion cut For pittance to the potion, and honey newly wrought, And bread, the fruit of sacred meal. Then to the board she brought A right fair cup with gold studs driv’n, which Nestor did transfer From Pylos; on whose swelling sides four handles fixéd were, And upon ev’ry handle sat a pair of doves of gold, Some billing, and some pecking meat; two gilt feet did uphold The antique body; and withal so weighty was the cup That, being propos’d brimful of wine, one scarce could lift it up, Yet Nestor drunk in it with ease, spite of his years’ respect. In this the goddess-like fair dame a potion did confect With good old wine of Pramnius, and scrap’d into the wine Cheese made of goat’s milk, and on it spers’d flour exceeding fine. In this sort for the wounded lord the potion she prepar’d, And bad him drink. For company, with him old Nestor shar’d. Thus physically quench’d they thirst, and then their spirits reviv’d With pleasant conference. And now Patroclus, being arriv’d, Made stay at th’ entry of the tent. Old Nestor, seeing it, Rose, and receiv’d him by the hand, and fain would have him sit. He set that courtesy aside, excusing it with haste, Since his much-to-be-rev’renced friend sent him to know who past, Wounded with him in chariot, so swiftly through the shore; “Whom now,” said he, “I see and know, and now can stay no more; You know, good father, our great friend is apt to take offence, Whose fi’ry temper will inflame sometimes with innocence.” He answer’d: “When will Peleus’ son some royal pity show On his thus wounded countrymen? Ah! is he yet to know How much affliction tires our host? How our especial aid, Tainted with lances, at their tents are miserably laid? Ulysses, Diomed, our king, Eurypylus, Machaon, All hurt, and all our worthiest friends; yet no compassion Can supple thy friend’s friendless breast! Doth he reserve his eye Till our fleet burn, and we ourselves one after other die? Alas, my forces are not now as in my younger life. Oh would to God I had that strength I uséd in the strife Betwixt us and the Elians, for oxen to be driv’n, When Itymonius’ lofty soul was by my valour giv’n As sacrifice to destiny, Hypirochus’ strong son, That dwelt in Elis, and fought first in our contention!