A cup of gold, crown’d with red wine, he held On th’ holy incensory pour’d. You, when the ox was fell’d, Were dressing his divided limbs; we in the portal stood. Achilles seeing us come so near, his honourable blood Was strook with a respective shame, rose, took us by the hands, Brought us both in, and made us sit, and us’d his kind commands For seemly hospitable rites, which quickly were appos’d. Then, after needfulness of food, I first of all disclos’d The royal cause of our repair; mov’d you and your great friend To consort our renown’d designs; both straight did condescend. Your fathers knew it, gave consent, and grave instruction To both your valours. Peleus charg’d his most unequall’d son To govern his victorious strength, and shine past all the rest In honour, as in mere main force. Then were thy partings blest With dear advices from thy sire; ‘My lovéd son,’ said he, ‘Achilles, by his grace of birth, superior is to thee, And for his force more excellent, yet thou more ripe in years; Then with sound counsels, age’s fruits, employ his honour’d years, Command and overrule his moods; his nature will obey In any charge discreetly giv’n, that doth his good assay.’ “Thus charg’d thy sire, which thou forgett’st. Yet now at last approve, With forcéd reference of these, th’ attraction of his love; Who knows if sacred influence may bless thy good intent, And enter with thy gracious words, ev’n to his full consent? The admonition of a friend is sweet and vehement. If any oracle he shun, or if his mother-queen Hath brought him some instinct from Jove, that fortifies his spleen, Let him resign command to thee of all his Myrmidons, And yield by that means some repulse to our confusions, Adorning thee in his bright arms, that his resembled form May haply make thee thought himself, and calm this hostile storm; That so a little we may ease our overchargéd hands, Draw some breath, not expire it all. The foe but faintly stands Beneath his labours; and your charge being fierce, and freshly giv’n, They eas’ly from our tents and fleet may to their walls be driv’n.” This mov’d the good Patroclus’ mind; who made his utmost haste T’ inform his friend; and as the fleet of Ithacus he past, (At which their markets were dispos’d, councils, and martial courts, And where to th’ altars of the Gods they made divine resorts) He met renown’d Eurypylus, Evemon’s noble son, Halting, his thigh hurt with a shaft, the liquid sweat did run Down from his shoulders and his brows, and from his raging wound Forth flow’d his melancholy blood, yet still his mind was sound. His sight in kind Patroclus’ breast to sacred pity turn’d, And (nothing more immartial for true ruth) thus he mourn’d: “Ah wretched progeny of Greece, princes, dejected kings, Was it your fates to nourish beasts, and serve the outcast wings Of savage vultures here in Troy? Tell me, Evemon’s fame, Do yet the Greeks withstand his force, whom yet no force can tame?