He throws, which trembles with enclosed fear,
Whilst from the hollows of his womb proceed
Groans, not his own; and had not Fate decreed
Our ruin, we had fill’d with Grecian blood
The place; then Troy and Priam’s throne had stood. 
Meanwhile a fetter’d pris’ner to the king
With joyful shouts the Dardan shepherds bring,
Who to betray us did himself betray,
At once the taker, and at once the prey;
Firmly prepared, of one event secured,
Or of his death or his design assured. 60
The Trojan youth about the captive flock,
To wonder, or to pity, or to mock. 
Now hear the Grecian fraud, and from this one
Conjecture all the rest. 
Disarm’d, disorder’d, casting round his eyes
On all the troops that guarded him, he cries,
’What land, what sea, for me what fate attends? 
Caught by my foes, condemned by my friends,
Incensed Troy a wretched captive seeks
To sacrifice; a fugitive the Greeks.’—­ 70
To pity this complaint our former rage
Converts; we now inquire his parentage;
What of their counsels or affairs he knew
Then fearless he replies, ’Great king! to you
All truth I shall relate:  nor first can I
Myself to be of Grecian birth deny;
And though my outward state misfortune hath
Depress’d thus low, it cannot reach my faith. 
You may by chance have heard the famous name
Of Palamede, who from old Belus came, 80
Whom, but for voting peace, the Greeks pursue,
Accus’d unjustly, then unjustly slew,
Yet mourn’d his death.  My father was his friend,
And me to his commands did recommend,
While laws and councils did his throne support;
I but a youth, yet some esteem and port
We then did bear, till by Ulysses’ craft
(Things known I speak) he was of life bereft: 
Since, in dark sorrow I my days did spend, 90
Till now, disdaining his unworthy end,
I could not silence my complaints, but vow’d
Revenge, if ever fate or chance allow’d
My wish’d return to Greece; from hence his hate,
From thence my crimes, and all my ills bear date: 
Old guilt fresh malice gives; the people’s ears
He fills with rumours, and their hearts with fears,
And then the prophet to his party drew. 
But why do I those thankless truths pursue,
Or why defer your rage? on me, for all
The Greeks, let your revenging fury fall. 100
Ulysses this, th’Atridae this desire
At any rate.’—­We straight are set on fire
(Unpractised in such myst’ries) to inquire
The manner and the cause:  which thus he told,
With gestures humble, as his tale was bold. 
’Oft have the Greeks (the siege detesting) tired
With tedious war, a stolen retreat desired,
And would to Heaven they’d gone! but still dismay’d
By seas or skies, unwillingly they stay’d. 
Chiefly when this stupendous pile was raised,