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Sing me, Muse, a tale of Troy, a funeral dirge in strains unheard as yet, with tears;  for now I will uplift for Troy a piteous chant, telling how I met my doom and fell a wretched captive to the Argives by reason of a four-footed beast that moved on wheels, when Achaea's sons left at our.gates that horse,  loud rumbling to the sky, with its trappings of gold and its freight of warriors; and our people cried out as they stood upon the rocky citadel, “Up now, you whose toil is over,  and drag this sacred image to the shrine of the Zeus-born maiden, goddess of our Ilium!” Forth from his house came every youth and every grey-head too; and with songs of joy  they took the fatal snare within.
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