What madness, wretched citizens, is this? Can you believe your enemies have fled, Or can you think that any gifts of Greeks Are innocent of guile? So have you learned To judge Ulysses? No, within this horse The crafty Greeks are lying even now, Or else its towering bulk has been contrived To give them spying place upon our homes, Or chance to scale our city’s battlements. Be sure some dark design is hidden here. Trust not the horse, my friends; whate’er it is, I fear the Greeks, though armed with gifts alone. He hurls his spear, which sticks fast in the wooden horse and stands quivering there. SCENE 2 Enter Trojan shepherds, dragging in a man bound with thongs. They approach the king. The bystanders jibe at and mock the captive. The unknown stands as if bewildered and distraught, and at last cries (69-72): Where now, alas, can I a refuge find On land or sea? What chance of life remains For one who can no longer claim a place Among the Greeks? and now his bloody death The vengeful sons of Dardanus demand. The Trojans in wonder and with growing pity urge him to explain himself. He at last proceeds, having with an apparent effort regained his self control (77-104): All things and truly will I tell to thee, O king, whatever comes, nor will I seek To hide that I am Grecian born. This first; For though in woe my fate has plunged me deep It shall not make me false and faithless too. If any chance report has touched your ears With Palamedes’ name, great Belus’ son, Whom, though he was all innocent of guile, Yet still, because his voice was ever raised Against the war, by accusations false The Greeks condemned, and sent to gloomy death; But whom they now with fruitless grief lament: To him my sire, while yet the war was young, By poverty impelled, consigned his son To serve the prince, by double ties endeared Of blood and comradeship While he in power And in the councils of the kings stood high, I, too, by his reflected light, enjoyed Both name and fair renown. But when at last, Through false Ulysses’ murderous hate and guile, (I speak what you do know), his death was wrought; In deep distress, in darkness and in woe I spent my days, and mourned the hapless fate Of my poor friend. And, maddened by my grief, I would not hold my peace, but loudly swore, That if the fates of war should bring me back As victor to my native land of Greece, I should full vengeance take; and by my words Dire hatred ‘gainst my luckless self I roused. Here was the fountain source of all my woes; From now Ulysses, crafty enemy, Began to spread vague hints among the Greeks, Prefer strange charges, and to seek some cause Against me, conscious in his heart of guilt. Nor did he rest, until by Calchas’ aid— But why do I rehearse this senseless tale To heedless ears? Or wherefore should I seek