That is no city libertine, nor capable of their gown. But bear we this as out of date; ’tis past, nor must we still Feed anger in our noblest parts; yet thus, I have my will As well as our great king of men, for I did ever vow Never to cast off my disdain till, as it falls out now, Their miss of me knock’d at my fleet, and told me in their cries I was reveng’d, and had my wish of all my enemies. And so of this repeat enough. Take thou my fame-blaz’d arms, And my fight-thirsty Myrmidons lead to these hot alarms. Whole clouds of Trojans circle us with hateful eminence; The Greeks shut in a little shore, a sort of citizens Skipping upon them; all because their proud eyes do not see The radiance of my helmet there, whose beams had instantly Thrust back, and all these ditches fill’d with carrion of their flesh, If Agamemnon had been kind; where now they fight as fresh, As thus far they had put at ease, and at our tents contend. And may; for the repulsive hand of Diomed doth not spend His raging darts there, that their death could fright out of our fleet; Nor from that head of enmity, can my poor hearers meet The voice of great Atrides now. Now Hector’s only voice Breaks all the air about both hosts, and, with the very noise Bred by his loud encouragements, his forces fill the field, And fight the poor Achaians down. But on, put thou my shield Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet. Rush bravely on, and turn War’s tide as headlong on their throats. No more let them ajourn Our sweet home-turning. But observe the charge I lay on thee To each least point, that thy rul’d hand may highly honour me, And get such glory from the Greeks, that they may send again My most sweet wench, and gifts to boot, when thou hast cast a rein On these so headstrong citizens, and forc’d them from our fleet. With which grace if the God of sounds thy kind egression greet;[1] Retire, and be not tempted on (with pride to see thy hand Rain slaughter’d carcasses on earth) to run forth thy command As far as Ilion, lest the Gods, that favour Troy, come forth To thy encounter, for the Sun much loves it; and my worth, In what thou suffer’st, will be wrong’d, that I would let my friend Assume an action of such weight without me, and transcend His friend’s prescription. Do not then affect a further fight Than I may strengthen. Let the rest, when thou hast done this right, Perform the rest. O would to Jove, thou Pallas, and thou Sun, That not a man hous’d underneath those tow’rs of Ilion, Nor anyone of all the Greeks, how infinite a sum Soever all together make, might live unovercome; But only we two, ’scaping death, might have the thund’ring down Of ev’ry stone stuck in the walls of this so sacred town!” Thus spake they only ’twixt themselves. And now the foe no more Could Ajax stand, being so oppress’d with all the iron store The Trojans pour’d on; with whose darts, and with Jove’s will beside, His pow’rs were cloy’d, and his bright helm did deaf’ning blows abide,