My mother for his mate: a princess she,
Born of Laomedon; Alcmena’s son
Gave her to grace him—a triumphant meed.
Thus royally descended and thus brave,
Shall I renounce the brother of my blood,
Or suffer thee to thrust him in his woes
Far from all burial, shameless that thou art?
Be sure that, if ye cast him forth, ye’ll cast
Three bodies more beside him in one spot;
For nobler should I find it here to die
In open quarrel for my kinsman’s weal,
Than for thy wife—or Menelaüs’, was ’t?
Consider then, not my case, but your own.
For if you harm me you will wish some day
To have been a coward rather than dare me.
Ch. Hail, Lord Odysseus! thou art come in time
Not to begin, but help to end, a fray.
Enter Odysseus.
Od. What quarrel, sirs? I well perceived from far
The kings high-voicing o’er the valiant dead.
Ag. Yea, Lord Odysseus, for our ears are full
Of this man’s violent heart-offending talk.
Od. What words have passed? I cannot blame the man
Who meets foul speech with bitterness of tongue.
Ag. My speech was bitter, for his deeds were foul.
Od. What deed of his could harm thy sovereign head?
Ag. He boldly says this corse shall not be left
Unburied, but he’ll bury it in our spite.
Od. May I then speak true counsel to my friend,
And pull with thee in policy as of yore?
Ag. Speak, I were else a madman; for no friend
Of all the Argeians do I count thy peer.
Od. Then hear me in Heaven’s name! Be not so hard
Thus without ruth tombless to cast him forth;
Nor be so vanquished by a vehement will,
That to thy hate even Justice’ self must bow.
I, too, had him for my worst enemy,
