PHI.  One thing is manifest, the first o’ the host
Lying forerunners of the Achaean band,
Are brave with words, but cowards with the steel.

NEO.  Well, now the bow is thine.  Thou hast no cause
For blame or anger any more ’gainst me.

PHI.  None.  Thou hast proved thy birthright, dearest boy. 
Not from the loins of Sisyphus thou earnest,
But from Achilles, who in life was held
Noblest of men alive, and now o’ the dead.

NEO.  It gladdens me that thou shouldst speak in praise
Both of my sire and me.  But hear me tell
The boon for which I sue thee.—­Mortal men
Must bear such evils as high Heaven ordains;
But those afflicted by self-chosen ills,
Like thine to-day, receive not from just men
Or kind indulgence or compassionate thought. 
And thou art restive grown, and wilt not hearken,
But though one counsel thee with kind’st intent,
Wilt take him for a dark malignant foe. 
Yet, calling Zeus to witness for my soul,
Once more I will speak.  Know this, and mark it well: 
Thou bear’st this sickness by a heavenly doom,
Through coming near to Chrysa’s sentinel,
The lurking snake, that guards the sky-roofed fold[7]. 
And from this plague thou ne’er shall find reprieve
While the same Sun god rears him from the east
And droops to west again, till thou be come
Of thine own willing mind to Troia’s plain,
Where our physicians, sons of Phoebus’ child[8],
Shall soothe thee from thy sore, and thou with me
And with this bow shalt take Troy’s citadel. 
How do I know this?  I will tell thee straight
We have a Trojan captive, Helenus,
Both prince and prophet, who hath clearly told
This must be so, yea, and ere harvest time
This year, great Troy must fall, else if his words
Be falsified, who will may slay the seer. 
Now, since thou know’st of this, yield thy consent;
For glorious is the gain, being singled forth
From all the Greeks as noblest, first to come
To healing hands, and then to win renown
Unrivalled, vanquishing all tearful Troy.

PHI.  Oh how I hate my life!  Why must it keep
This breathing form from sinking to the shades? 
How can I prove a rebel to his mind
Who thus exhorts me with affectionate heart? 
And yet, oh misery! must I give way? 
Then how could I endure the light of heaven? 
With whom could I exchange a word?  Ay me! 
Eyes that have seen each act of my sad life,
How could ye bear it, to behold the sons
Of Atreus, my destroyers, comrades now
And friends!  Laertes’ wicked son, my friend! 
And less I feel the grief of former wrong
Than shudder with expectance of fresh harm
They yet may work on me.  For when the mind
Hath once been mother of an evil brood,
It nurses nought but evils.  Yea, at thee
I marvel.  Thou should’st ne’er return to Troy,
Nor suffer me to go, when thou remember’st