Thrice foure times blest were they that sunke beneath

Their Fates at Troy; and did to nought contend,

But to renowme Atrides with their end?

I would to God, my houre of death, and Fate,

That day had held the power to terminate;

When showres of darts, my life bore vndeprest,

About diuine Aeacides deceast.

Then had I bene allotted to haue died,

By all the Greeks, with funerals glorified;

(Whence Death, encouraging good life, had growne)

Where now I die, by no man mournd, nor knowne.

Three, four times blessed, my friends-in-arms

who died on the plains of Troy those years ago,

serving the sons of Atreus to the end. Would to god

I’d died there too and met my fate that day the Trojans,

swarms of them, hurled at me with bronze spears,

fighting over the corpse of proud Achilles!

A hero’s funeral then, my glory spread by comrades—

now what a wretched death I’m doomed to die!