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315—349.
ILIAD. XXII.
411

beautiful golden tufts, which Vulcan had diffused in great abundance round the cone, were shaken. As the star Hesperus, which is placed the brightest star in heaven,[1] proceeds among other stars in the unseasonable time of night, so it shone from the well-sharpened spear which Achilles, designing mischief to noble Hector, brandished in his right hand, eyeing his fair person, where it would best yield. But the beautiful brazen armor, of which he had despoiled great Patroclus, having slain him, covered the rest of his body so much; yet did there appear [a part] where the collar-bones separate the neck from the shoulders, and where the destruction of life is most speedy. There noble Achilles, eager, drove into him with the spear, and the point went out quite through his tender neck. However the ash, heavy with brass, did not cut away the wind-pipe, so that, answering in words, he could address him. But he fell in the dust, and noble Achilles vaunted over him:

"Hector, thou didst once suppose, when spoiling Patroclus, that thou be safe, nor dreaded me, being absent. Fool! for I apart, a much braver avenger of him, was left behind at the hollow ships, I who have relaxed thy knees. The dogs, indeed, and birds shall dishonorably tear thee, but the Greeks shall perform his funeral rites."

But him crest-tossing Hector, growing languid, then addressed:

"I supplicate thee by thy soul, thy knees, thy parents, suffer not the dogs to tear me at the ships of the Greeks; but do thou indeed receive brass in abundance, and gold, which my father and venerable mother will give thee; and send my body home, that the Trojans and wives of the Trojans may make me, dead, partaker of a funeral pyre."[2]

But him swift-footed Achilles, sternly regarding, addressed:

"Dog, supplicate me not by my knees, nor by my parents; for would that my might and mind in any manner urge me myself, tearing thy raw flesh to pieces, to devour it, such things hast thou done to me. So that there is not any one who can drive away the dogs from thy head, not even if they

  1. Milton, Paradise Lost, v. 166:
    "Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
    If better thou belong not to the dawn."

  2. Cf. Æn. x. 903; xii. 930, sqq.