Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv’d with rev’rend ears The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth His wish’d acceptance. Atreus’ son yet (vex’d) commanded forth With rude terms Phœbus’ rev’rend priest; who, angry, made retreat, And pray’d to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great Got his petitión. The God an ill shaft sent abroad That tumbled down the Greeks in heaps. The host had no abode That was not visited. We ask’d a prophet that well knew The cause of all; and from his lips Apollo’s prophecies flew, Telling his anger. First myself exhorted to appease The anger’d God; which Atreus’ son did at the heart displease, And up he stood, us’d threats, perform’d. The black-eyed Greeks sent home Chryseis to her sire, and gave his God a hecatomb. Then, for Briseis, to my tents Atrides’ heralds came, And took her that the Greeks gave all. If then thy pow’rs can frame Wreak for thy son, afford it. Scale Olympus, and implore Jove (if by either word, or fact, thou ever didst restore Joy to his griev’d heart) now to help. I oft have heard thee vaunt, In court of Peleus, that alone thy hand was conversant In rescue from a cruel spoil the black-cloud-gath’ring Jove, Whom other Godheads would have bound (the Pow’r whose pace doth move The round earth, heav’n’s great Queen, and Pallas); to whose bands Thou cam’st with rescue, bringing up him with the hundred hands To great Olympus, whom the Gods call Briarëus, men Ægæon, who his sire surpass’d, and was as strong again, And in that grace sat glad by Jove. Th’ immortals stood dismay’d At his ascension, and gave free passage to his aid. Of all this tell Jove; kneel to him, embrace his knee, and pray, If Troy’s aid he will ever deign, that now their forces may Beat home the Greeks to fleet and sea; embruing their retreat In slaughter; their pains pay’ng the wreak of their proud sov’reign’s heat; And that far-ruling king may know, from his poor soldier’s harms His own harm falls; his own and all in mine, his best in arms.” Her answer she pour’d out in tears: “O me, my son,” said she, “Why brought I up thy being at all, that brought thee forth to be Sad subject of so hard a fate? O would to heav’n, that since Thy fate is little, and not long, thou might’st without offence And tears perform it! But to live, thrall to so stern a fate As grants thee least life, and that least so most unfortunate, Grieves me t’ have giv’n thee any life. But what thou wishest now, If Jove will grant, I’ll up and ask; Olympus crown’d with snow I’ll climb; but sit thou fast at fleet, renounce all war, and feed Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt need A little patience. Jupiter went yesterday to feast Amongst the blameless Æthiops, in th’ ocean’s deepen’d breast, All Gods attending him; the twelfth, high heav’n again he sees, And then his brass-paved court I’ll scale, cling to his pow’rful knees, And doubt not but to win thy wish.” Thus, made she her remove,