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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=395878" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Sixth Book Of Homer's Iliads</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">...<br> To this great Hector said:<br> &quot;Be well assur'd, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh'd,<br> But what a shame and fear it is to think how Troy would scorn<br> (Both in her husbands, and her wives, whom long-train'd gowns adorn)<br> That I should cowardly fly off! The spirit I first did breathe<br> Did never teach me that; much less, since the contempt of death<br> Was settled in me, and my mind knew what a worthy was,<br> Whose office is to lead in fight, and give no danger pass<br> Without improvement. In this fire must Hector's trial shine;<br> Here must his country, father, friends, be, in him, made divine.<br> And such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know)<br> When sacred Troy shall shed her towers, for tears of overthrow;<br> When Priam, all his birth and power, shall in those tears be drown'd.<br> But neither Troy's posterity so much my soul doth wound,<br> Priam, nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brothers' woes<br> (Who, though so many, and so good, must all be food for foes,)<br> As thy sad state; when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence,<br> These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence<br> Loading thy temples, out of which thine eyes must never see,<br> But spin the Greek wives' webs of task, and their fetch-water be<br> To Argos, from Messe{&quot;i}des, or clear Hyperia's spring;<br> Which howsoever thou abhorr'st, Fate's such a shrewish thing<br> She will be mistress; whose cursed hands, when they shall crush out cries<br> From thy oppressions (being beheld by other enemies)<br> Thus they will nourish thy extremes: 'This dame was Hector's wife,<br> A man that, at the wars of Troy, did breathe the worthiest life<br> Of all their army.' This again will rub thy fruitful wounds,<br> To miss the man that to thy bands could give such narrow bounds.<br> But that day shall not wound mine eyes; the solid heap of night<br> Shall interpose, and stop mine ears against thy plaints and plight.&quot;<br> This said, he reach'd to take his son; who, of his arms afraid,<br> And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid,<br> Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse, and cried.<br> Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd, and laid aside<br> His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about it light;<br> Then took and kiss'd his loving son, and (balancing his weight<br> In dancing him) those loving vows to living Jove he us'd,<br> And all the other bench of Gods: &quot;O you that have infus'd<br> Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on his star:<br> Let his renown be clear as mine; equal his strength in war;<br> And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years to come may yield<br> His facts this fame, when, rich in spoils, he leaves the conquer'd field<br> Sown with his slaughters: 'These high deeds exceed his father's worth.'<br> And let this echo'd praise supply the comforts to come forth<br> Of his kind mother with my life.&quot; This said, th' heroic sire<br> Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh streams of love's salt fire<br> Billow'd on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector's speech,<br> In which his vows compris'd the sum of all he did beseech<br> In her wish'd comfort. So she took into her odorous breast<br> Her husband's gift; who mov'd to see her heart so much oppress'd,<br> He dried her tears and thus desir'd: &quot;Afflict me not, dear wife,<br> With these vain griefs. He doth not live, that can disjoin my life<br> And this firm bosom, but my fate; and Fate whose wings can fly?<br> Noble, ignoble, Fate controls. Once born, the best must die.<br> Go home, and set thy housewifery on these extremes of thought;<br> And drive war from them with thy maids; keep them from doing nought.<br> These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me,<br> In whom, of all the Ilion race, they take their highest degree.&quot;</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=George+Chapman">George Chapman</a><div class=q>
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 To this great Hector said:
 &quot;Be well assur'd, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh'd,
 But what a shame and fear it is to think how Troy would scorn
 (Both in her husbands, and her wives, whom long-train'd gowns adorn)
 That..."></div>
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