Not wine, nor feasts, could lay their soft chains on old Nestor’s ear To this high clamour, who requir’d Machaon’s thoughts to bear His care in part, about the cause; “For, methink, still,” said he, “The cry increases. I must needs the watchtow’r mount, to see Which way the flood of war doth drive. Still drink thou wine, and eat, Till fair-hair’d Hecamed hath giv’n a little water heat To cleanse the quitture from thy wound.” This said, the goodly shield Of warlike Thrasymed, his son, who had his own in field, He took, snatch’d up a mighty lance, and so stept forth to view Cause of that clamour. Instantly th’ unworthy cause he knew, The Grecians wholly put in rout, the Trojans routing still, Close at the Greeks’ backs, their wall raz’d. The old man mourn’d this ill; And, as when with unwieldy waves the great sea fore-feels winds That both ways murmur, and no way her certain current finds, But pants and swells confusedly, here goes, and there will stay, Till on it air casts one firm wind, and then it rolls away; So stood old Nestor in debate, two thoughts at once on wing In his discourse, if first to take direct course to the king, Or to the multitude in fight. At last he did conclude To visit Agamemnon first. Mean time both hosts imbrued Their steel in one another’s blood, nought wrought their healths but harms, Swords, huge stones, double-headed darts, still thumping on their arms. And now the Jove-kept kings, whose wounds were yet in cure, did meet Old Nestor, Diomed, Ithacus, and Atreus’ sons, from fleet Bent for the fight which was far off, the ships being drawn to shore On heaps at first, till all their sterns a wall was rais’d before, Which, though not great, it yet suffic’d to hide them, though their men Were something straited; for whose scope, in form of battle then, They drew them through the spacious shore, one by another still, Till all the bosom of the strand their sable bulks did fill, Ev’n till they took up all the space ’twixt both the promont’ries. These kings, like Nestor, in desire to know for what those cries Became so violent, came along, all leaning on their darts, To see, though not of pow’r to fight, sad and suspicious hearts Distemp’ring them; and, meeting now Nestor, the king in fear Cried out: “O Nestor our renown! Why shows thy presence here, The harmful fight abandoned? Now Hector will make good The threat’ning vow he made, I fear, that, till he had our blood, And fir’d our fleet, he never more would turn to Ilion. Nor is it long, I see, before his whole will will be done. O Gods! I now see all the Greeks put on Achilles’ ire Against my honour; no mean left to keep our fleet from fire.” He answer’d: “’Tis an evident truth, not Jove himself can now, With all the thunder in his hands, prevent our overthrow. The wall we thought invincible, and trusted more than Jove, Is scal’d, raz’d, enter’d; and our pow’rs (driv’n up) past breathing, prove A most inevitable fight; both slaughters so commix’d,