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Chorus Lord of Thymbra and of Delos, who haunt your temple in Lycia, Apollo, O divine head, come with all your archery, appear this night, and by your guidance save this man, and aid the Dardanians, O almighty god whose hands in days of old built the walls of Troy.
Chorus Which of the Achaeans will the earth-treading murderer slay in their beds, as he pretends to be a four-footed beast on the ground? May he lay Menelaus low, slay Agamemnon and bring his head to Helen's hands, causing her to lament her evil kinsman, who has come against my city, against the land of Troy with his army of a thousand ships.
Hector I shall find many friends now that fortune smiles upon my warring and Zeus is on my side. But we have no need of those who did not share our toils long since, when Ares, driving all before him, was rending the sails of our ship of state with his tempestuous blast. Rhesus has shown the friendship he then bore to Troy; for he comes to the feast, although he was not with the hunters when they took the prey, nor did he join his spear with theirs. Chorus Leader You are right to scorn and blame such friends; yet welcome those who wish to help the state. Chorus Leader We who have long kept Ilium safe are sufficient. Chorus Are you so sure you have already caught the foe? Hector I am sure; tomorrow's light will make that plain. Chorus Leader Beware of what may happen; often fortune veers about. Hector I loath the friend who brings his help too late. But let him, since he has arrived, come to our table not as an ally but as a guest; for the gratitude of Priam's sons is forfei
Chorus Shall old Troy once more at last spend the whole day in drinking toasts and singing love's praise, while the bewildering wine-cup sends a capacious challenge round, as over the sea for Sparta the sons of Atreus quit the Ilian strand? O friend, with your arm and spear may you do me this service, then safe return.
Chorus Hail, all hail! O mighty prince! fair the cub you have bred, 0 Thrace, a ruler in his every look. See his stalwart frame in golden corslet! Hark to the ringing bells that peal so proudly from his shield-handle. A god, O Troy, a god, a very Ares, Strymon's colt and the tuneful Muse's, has come to breathe courage into you.