“O monarch! better far had been the fate Of thee, of me, of all the Grecian state, If (ere the day when by mad passion sway’d, Rash we contended for the black-eyed maid) Preventing Dian had despatch’d her dart, And shot the shining mischief to the heart! Then many a hero had not press’d the shore, Nor Troy’s glad fields been fatten’d with our gore. Long, long shall Greece the woes we caused bewail, And sad posterity repeat the tale. But this, no more the subject of debate, Is past, forgotten, and resign’d to fate. Why should, alas, a mortal man, as I, Burn with a fury that can never die? Here then my anger ends: let war succeed, And even as Greece has bled, let Ilion bleed. Now call the hosts, and try if in our sight Troy yet shall dare to camp a second night! I deem, their mightiest, when this arm he knows, Shall ’scape with transport, and with joy repose.”