Classic Poem

When, gently raising up his drooping Head,
Thus, with a Sigh, the sad Patroclus said.

Godlike Achilles, Peleus valiant Son!
Of all our Chiefs, the greatest in Renown:
Upbraid not thus th' afflicted with their Woes,
Nor Triumph now the Greeks sustain such loss!
To pity let thy generous Breast incline,
And show thy Mind is, like thy Birth, Divine.
For all the valiant Leaders of their Host,
Or Wounded lie, or are in Battel lost.
Ulysses great in Arms, and Diomede ,
Languish with Wounds, and in the Navy bleed:
This common Fate great Agamemnon shares,
And stern Euripylus , renown'd in Wars.
Whilst powerful Drugs th' experienc'd Artists try,
And to their Wounds apt Remedies apply:
Easing th' afflicted Heroes with their skill,
Thy Breast alone remains implacable!

What, will thy Fury thus for ever last!
Let present Woes attone for Injurie past:
How can thy Soul retain such lasting hate!
Thy Virtues are as useless, as they're great.
What injur'd Friend from thee shall hope redress!
That will not aid the Greeks in such distress:
Useless is all the Valour that you boast,
Deform'd with Rage, with sullen Fury lost.

Could Cruelty like thine from Peleus come,
Or be the Offspring of fair Thetis Womb!
Thee raging Seas, thee boist'rous Waves brought forth,
And to obdurate Rocks thou ow'st thy Birth!
Thy stoubborn Nature still retains their Kind,
So hard thy Heart, so savage is thy Mind.

But if thy boading Breast admits of fear,
Or dreads what sacred Oracles declare!
What awful Thetis in the Courts above,
Receiv'd from the unerring Mouth of Jove !
If so — Let me the threat'ning Dangers face,
And Head the War-like Squadrons in thy place:
Whilst me thy valiant Mirmidons obey,
We yet may turn the Fortune of the day.
Let me in thy distinguish'd Arms appear,
With all thy dreadful Equipage of War:
That when the Trojans our approaches view,
Deceiv'd, they shall retreat, and think 'tis you.