And the cry of battle was not unmarked of Nestor, albeit at his wine, but he spake winged words to the son of Asclepius:“Bethink thee, goodly Machaon, how these things are to be; louder in sooth by the ships waxes the cry of lusty youths.
Howbeit do thou now sit where thou art and quaff the flaming wine, until fair-tressed Hecamede shall heat for thee a warm bath, and wash from thee the clotted blood, but I will go straightway to a place of outlook and see what is toward.”
So spake he and took the well-wrought shield of his son,
horse-taming Thrasymedes, that was lying in the hut, all gleaming with bronze; but the son had the shield of his father. And he grasped a valorous spear, tipped with sharp bronze, and took his stand outside the hut, and forthwith saw a deed of shame, even the Achaeans in rout and the Trojans high of heart driving them;
and the wall of the Achaeans was broken down. And as when the great sea heaveth darkly with a soundless swell, and forebodeth the swift paths of the shrill winds, albeit but vaguely, nor do its waves roll forward to this side or to that until some settled gale cometh down from Zeus;
even so the old man pondered, his mind divided this way and that, whether he should haste into the throng of the Danaans of swift steeds, or go after Agamemnon, son of Atreus, shepherd of the host. And as he pondered, this thing seemed to him the better—to go after the son of Atreus. But the others meanwhile were fighting on and slaying one another,
and about their bodies rang the stubborn bronze, as they thrust one at the other with swords and two-edged spears.