Then Odysseus of many wiles answered him, and said:“O Achilles, son of Peleus, far the mightiest of the Achaeans, better art thou than I and mightier not a little with the spear, howbeit in counsel might I surpass thee by far, seeing I am the elder-born and know the more;
wherefore let thine heart endure to hearken to my words. Quickly have men surfeit of battle, wherein the bronze streweth most straw upon the ground, albeit the harvest is scantiest, whenso Zeus inclineth his balance, he that is for men the dispenser of battle.
But with the belly may it nowise be that the Achaeans should mourn a corpse, for full many are ever falling one after another day by day; when then could one find respite from toil?1
Nay, it behoveth to bury him that is slain, steeling our hearts and weeping but the one day's space;
but all they that are left alive from hateful war must needs bethink them of drink and of food, to the end that yet the more we may fight with the foemen ever incessantly, clothed about with stubborn bronze. And let no man of all the host hold back awaiting other summons beside,
for the summons is this: Ill shall it be for him whoso is left at the ships of the Argives. Nay, setting out in one throng let us rouse keen battle against the horse-taming Trojans.”