NEO.  The Atridae are my foes; the man you see
Is my fast friend, because he hates them sore. 
Then, if you come in kindness, you must hide
Nothing from him or me of all thou hast heard.

MER.  Look what thou doest, my son!

NEO.  I mark it well.

MER.  Thou shalt be answerable.

NEO.  Content:  but speak.

MER.  Then hear me.  These two men whom I have named,
Diomedes and Odysseus, are set forth
Engaged on oath to bring this man by force
If reasons fail.  The Achaeans every one
Have heard this plainly from Odysseus’ mouth. 
He was the louder and more confident.

NEO.  Say, for what cause, after so long a time,
Can Atreus’ sons have turned their thoughts on him,
Whom long they had cast forth?  What passing touch
Of conscience moved them, or what stroke from Heaven,
Whose wrath requites all wicked deeds of men?

MER.  Methinks thou hast not heard what I will now
Unfold to thee.  There was a princely seer,
A son of Priam, Helenus by name,
Whom he for whom no word is bad enough,
Crafty Odysseus, sallying forth alone
One night, had taken, and in bonds displayed
’Fore all the Achaeans, a right noble prey. 
He, ’mid his other prophecies, foretold
No Grecian force should sack Troy’s citadel,
Till with fair reasons they had brought this man
From Lemnos isle, his lonely dwelling-place. 
  When thus the prophet spake, Laertes’ son
Straight undertook to fetch this man, and show him
To all the camp:—­he hoped, with fair consent: 
But else, perforce.—­And, if he failed in this,
Whoever would might smite him on the head. 
  My tale is told, dear youth.  I counsel speed
To thee and to the friend for whom thou carest.

PHI.  Ah me, unhappy! has that rascal knave
Sworn to fetch me with reasons to their camp? 
As likely might his reasons bring me back,
Like his begetter, from the house of death.

MER.  You talk of what I know not.  I will go
Shipward.  May God be with you for all good. [Exit

PHI.  Is not this terrible, Laertes’ son
Should ever think to bring me with soft words
And show me from his deck to all their host? 
No!  Sooner will I listen to the tongue
Of the curs’d basilisk that thus hath maim’d me. 
  Ay, but he’ll venture anything in word
Or deed.  And now I know he will be here. 
Come, O my son, let us be gone, while seas
And winds divide us from Odysseus’ ship. 
Let us depart.  Sure timely haste brings rest
And quiet slumber when the toil is done.

NEO.  Shall we not sail when this south-western wind
Hath fallen, that now is adverse to our course?

PHI.  All winds are fair to him who flies from woe.

NEO.  Nay, but this head-wind hinders them no less.