“Still may our souls, O generous youth! agree ’Tis now Atrides’ turn to yield to thee. Rash heat perhaps a moment might control, Not break, the settled temper of thy soul. Not but (my friend) ’tis still the wiser way To waive contention with superior sway; For ah! how few, who should like thee offend, Like thee, have talents to regain the friend! To plead indulgence, and thy fault atone, Suffice thy father’s merit and thy own: Generous alike, for me, the sire and son Have greatly suffer’d, and have greatly done. I yield; that all may know, my soul can bend, Nor is my pride preferr’d before my friend.”