Achilles, musing as he roll’d his eyes O’er the dead hero, thus unheard, replies: “Die thou the first! When Jove and heaven ordain, I follow thee”—He said, and stripp’d the slain. Then forcing backward from the gaping wound The reeking javelin, cast it on the ground. The thronging Greeks behold with wondering eyes His manly beauty and superior size; While some, ignobler, the great dead deface With wounds ungenerous, or with taunts disgrace: