“What, shall I fly this terror of the plain! Like others fly, and be like others slain? Vain hope! to shun him by the self-same road Yon line of slaughter’d Trojans lately trod. No: with the common heap I scorn to fall— What if they pass’d me to the Trojan wall, While I decline to yonder path, that leads To Ida’s forests and surrounding shades? So may I reach, conceal’d, the cooling flood, From my tired body wash the dirt and blood, As soon as night her dusky veil extends, Return in safety to my Trojan friends. What if?—But wherefore all this vain debate? Stand I to doubt, within the reach of fate? Even now perhaps, ere yet I turn the wall, The fierce Achilles sees me, and I fall: Such is his swiftness, ’tis in vain to fly, And such his valour, that who stands must die. Howe’er ’tis better, fighting for the state, Here, and in public view, to meet my fate. Yet sure he too is mortal; he may feel (Like all the sons of earth) the force of steel. One only soul informs that dreadful frame: And Jove’s sole favour gives him all his fame.”