Thy instruments of death, and tools of war. Thine is the triumph; ours the toil alone; We bear thee on our backs, and mount thee on the throne. For thee we fall in fight; for thee redress Thy baffled[65] brother,--not the wrongs of Greece. And now thou threaten'st, with unjust decree, To punish thy affronting heaven on me; To seize the prize which I so dearly bought, By common suffrage given, confirmed by lot. Mean match to thine; for, still above the rest, Thy hooked rapacious hands usurp the best; Though mine are first in fight, to force the prey, And last sustain the labours of the day. Nor grudge I thee the much the Grecians give, Nor murmuring take the little I receive; Yet even this little, thou, who wouldst ingross The whole, insatiate, enviest as thy loss. Know, then, for Phthia fixed is my return; } Better at home my ill-paid pains to mourn, } Than from an equal here sustain the public scorn. } The king, whose brows with shining gold were bound, Who saw his throne with sceptered slaves encompassed round, Thus answered stern:--Go, at thy pleasure, go; We need not such a friend, nor fear we such a foe. There will not want to follow me in fight; Jove will assist, and Jove assert my right: But thou of all the kings (his care below) Art least at my command, and most my foe. Debates, dissensions, uproars are thy joy; Provoked without offence, and practised to destroy. Strength is of brutes, and not thy boast alone; At least 'tis lent from heaven, and not thy own. Fly then, ill-mannered, to thy native land, And there thy ant-born Myrmidons command.