Classic Poem

[. . .] the king then left his coach
To grave Idaeus , and went on; made his resolv'd approach:
And enterd in a goodly roome; where, with his Princes sate
Jove -lov'd Achilles , at their feast; two onely kept the state
Of his attendance, Alcymus , and Lord Automedon .
At Priams entrie; a great time, Achilles gaz'd upon
His wonderd-at approach; nor eate: the rest did nothing see,
While close he came up; with his hands, fast holding the bent knee
Of Hectors conqueror; and kist that large man-slaughtring hand,
That much blood from his sonnes had drawne; And as in some strange land,
And great mans house; a man is driven, (with that abhorr'd dismay,
That followes wilfull bloodshed still; his fortune being to slay
One, whose blood cries alowde for his) to pleade protection
In such a miserable plight, as frights the lookers on:
In such a stupefied estate, Achilles sate to see,
So unexpected, so in night, and so incrediblie,
Old Priams entrie; all his friends one on another star'd,
To see his strange lookes, seeing no cause. Thus Priam then prepar'd
His sonnes redemption: See in me, O godlike Thetis sonne,
Thy aged father; and perhaps, even now being outrunne
With some of my woes; neighbour foes, (thou absent) taking time
To do him mischiefe; no meane left, to terrifie the crime
Of his oppression; yet he heares thy graces still survive,
And joyes to heare it; hoping still, to see thee safe arrive
From ruin'd Troy : but I (curst man) of all my race shall live
To see none living. Fiftie sonnes the Deities did give,
My hopes to live in; all alive, when neare our trembling shore
The Greeke ships harbor'd; and one wombe nineteene of those sons bore.
Now Mars a number of their knees hath strengthlesse left; and he
That was (of all) my onely joy, and Troyes sole guard; by thee
(Late fighting for his countrey) slaine; whose tenderd person, now
I come to ransome. Infinite is that I offer you,
My selfe conferring it; exposde, alone to all your oddes:
Onely imploring right of armes. Achilles , feare the gods,
Pitie an old man, like thy sire; different in onely this,
That I am wretcheder; and beare that weight of miseries
That never man did: my curst lips, enforc't to kisse that hand
That slue my children. This mov'd teares; his fathers name did stand
(Mention'd by Priam ) in much helpe to his compassion;
And mov'd Æacides so much, he could not looke upon
The weeping father. With his hand, he gently put away
His grave face; calme remission now did mutually display
Her powre in eithers heavinesse; old Priam , to record
His sonnes death; and his deaths man see, his teares and bosome pour'd
Before Achilles . At his feete, he laid his reverend head.
Achilles thoughts, now with his sire, now with his friend, were fed.
Betwixt both, Sorrow fild the tent. But now Æacides ,
(Satiate at all parts, with the ruth of their calamities)
Start up, and up he raisd the king. His milke-white head and beard
With pittie he beheld, and said; Poore man, thy mind is scar'd
With much affliction; how durst, thy person thus alone,
Venture on his sight, that hath slaine so many a worthy sonne,
And so deare to thee? thy old heart is made of iron; sit
And settle we our woes, though huge; for nothing profits it.
Cold mourning wastes but our lives heates. The gods have destinate,
That wretched mortals must live sad. Tis the immortall state
Of Deitie, that lives secure. Two Tunnes of gifts there lie
In Joves gate; one of good, one ill, that our mortalitie
Maintaine, spoile, order: which when Jove doth mixe to any man;
One while he frolicks, one while mourns. If of his mournfull Kan
A man drinks onely; onely wrongs, he doth expose him to.
Sad hunger, in th' abundant earth, doth tosse him to and froe,
Respected, nor of gods, nor men. The mixt cup Peleus dranke,
Even from his birth, heaven blest his life; he liv'd not that could thanke
The gods for such rare benefits, as set foorth his estate.
He reign'd among his Myrmidons , most rich, most fortunate,
And (though a mortall) had his bed deckt with a deathlesse Dame.
And yet with all this good, one ill god mixt, that takes all name
From all that goodnesse; his Name now, (whose preservation here,
Men count the crowne of their most good) not blest with powre to beare
One blossome, but my selfe: and I, shaken as soone as blowne.
Nor shall I live to cheare his age, and give nutrition
To him that nourisht me. Farre off, my rest is set in Troy ,
To leave thee restlesse, and thy seed. Thy selfe, that did enjoy,
(As we have heard) a happie life: what Lesbos doth containe,
(In times past being a blest man's seate:) what the unmeasur'd maine
Of Hellespontus, Phrygia holds; are all said to adorne
Thy Empire; wealth, and sonnes enow: but when the gods did turne
Thy blest state to partake with bane; warre, and the bloods of men,
Circl'd thy citie, never cleare. Sit downe and suffer then;
Mourne not inevitable things; thy teares can spring no deeds
To helpe thee, nor recall thy sonne: impacience ever breeds
Ill upon ill; makes worst things worse; and therefore sit. He said,
Give me no seate (great seed of Jove ) when yet unransomed,
Hector lies ritelesse in thy tents: but daigne with utmost speed
His resignation, that these eyes may see his person freed;
And thy grace satisfied with gifts. Accept what I have brought,
And turne to Phthia ; tis enough, thy conquering hand hath fought,
Till Hector faltred under it; and Hectors father stood
With free humanitie safe. He frown'd, and said; Give not my blood
Fresh cause of furie; I know well, I must resigne thy sonne;
Jove by my mother utterd it; and what besides is done,
I know as amply; and thy selfe, (old Priam ) I know too.
Some god hath brought thee: for no man durst use a thought to go
On such a service; I have guards; and I have gates to stay
Easie accesses; do not then presume thy will can sway,
Like Joves will; and incense againe my quencht blood; lest nor thou,
Nor Jove gets the command of me.