Lord Hector, Prince of Ilion, noble son Of noble sires, all hail! Long years have run Since last we greeted, and 'tis joy this day To see thy fortunes firm and thine array Camped at the foe's gate. Here am I to tame That foe for thee, and wrap his ships in flame. HECTOR. Thou child of Music and the Thracian flood, Strymonian Rhesus, truth is alway good In Hector's eyes. I wear no double heart. Long, long ago thou shouldst have borne thy part [vv. 396-421] In Ilion's labours, not have left us here, For all thy help, to sink beneath the spear. Why didst thou--not for lack of need made plain!-- Not come, not send, not think of us again? What grave ambassadors prayed not before Thy throne, what herald knelt not at thy door? What pride of gifts did Troy not send to thee? And thou, a lord of Barbary even as we, Thou, brother of our blood, like one at sup Who quaffs his fill and flings away the cup, Hast flung to the Greeks my city! Yet, long since, 'Twas I that found thee but a little prince And made thee mighty, I and this right hand; When round Pangaion and the Paiôn's land, Front against front, I burst upon the brood Of Thrace and broke their targes, and subdued Their power to thine. The grace whereof, not small, Thou hast spurned, and when thy kinsmen, drowning, call, Comest too late. Thou! Others there have been These long years, not by nature of our kin . . . Some under yon rough barrows thou canst see Lie buried; they were true to Troy and me; And others, yet here in the shielded line Or mid the chariots, parching in the shine Of noonday, starving in the winds that bite Through Ilion's winter, still endure and fight On at my side. 'Twas not their way, to lie On a soft couch and, while the cups go by, Pledge my good health, like thee, in Thracian wine. I speak as a free man. With thee and thine Hector is wroth, and tells thee to thy face. RHESUS. [vv. 422-448]