“Inglorious sons of an unhappy sire! Why did not all in Hector’s cause expire? Wretch that I am! my bravest offspring slain. You, the disgrace of Priam’s house, remain! Mestor the brave, renown’d in ranks of war, With Troilus, dreadful on his rushing car,[293] And last great Hector, more than man divine, For sure he seem’d not of terrestrial line! All those relentless Mars untimely slew, And left me these, a soft and servile crew, Whose days the feast and wanton dance employ, Gluttons and flatterers, the contempt of Troy! Why teach ye not my rapid wheels to run, And speed my journey to redeem my son?”