“O thou, bold leader of the Trojan bands! And you, confederate chiefs from foreign lands! What entrance here can cumbrous chariots find, The stakes beneath, the Grecian walls behind? No pass through those, without a thousand wounds, No space for combat in yon narrow bounds. Proud of the favours mighty Jove has shown, On certain dangers we too rashly run: If ’tis his will our haughty foes to tame, Oh may this instant end the Grecian name! Here, far from Argos, let their heroes fall, And one great day destroy and bury all! But should they turn, and here oppress our train, What hopes, what methods of retreat remain? Wedged in the trench, by our own troops confused, In one promiscuous carnage crush’d and bruised, All Troy must perish, if their arms prevail, Nor shall a Trojan live to tell the tale. Hear then, ye warriors! and obey with speed; Back from the trenches let your steeds be led; Then all alighting, wedged in firm array, Proceed on foot, and Hector lead the way. So Greece shall stoop before our conquering power, And this (if Jove consent) her fatal hour.”