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some one has beaten the life out of my body with sword or spear-­‐hounds<br />

that I myself reared and fed at my own table to guard my gates, but<br />

who will yet lap my blood and then lie all distraught at my doors.<br />

When a young man falls <strong>by</strong> the sword in battle, he may lie where he<br />

is and there is nothing unseemly; let what will be seen, all is honourable<br />

in death, but when an old man is slain there is nothing in this world<br />

more pitiable than that dogs should defile his grey hair and beard<br />

and all that men hide <strong>for</strong> shame."<br />

<strong>The</strong> old man tore his grey hair as he spoke, but he moved not the heart<br />

of Hector. His mother hard <strong>by</strong> wept and moaned aloud as she bared her<br />

bosom and pointed to the breast which had suckled him. "Hector," she<br />

cried, weeping bitterly the while, "Hector, my son, spurn not this<br />

breast, but have pity upon me too: if I have ever given you com<strong>for</strong>t<br />

from my own bosom, think on it now, dear son, and come within the<br />

wall to protect us from this man; stand not without to meet him. Should<br />

the wretch kill you, neither I nor your richly dowered wife shall<br />

ever weep, dear offshoot of myself, over the bed on which you lie,<br />

<strong>for</strong> dogs will devour you at the ships of the Achaeans."<br />

Thus did the two with many tears implore their son, but they moved<br />

not the heart of Hector, and he stood his ground awaiting huge Achilles<br />

as he drew nearer towards him. As serpent in its den upon the mountains,<br />

full fed with deadly poisons, waits <strong>for</strong> the approach of man-­‐ he is<br />

filled with fury and his eyes glare terribly as he goes writhing round<br />

his den-­‐ even so Hector leaned his shield against a tower that jutted<br />

out from the wall and stood where he was, undaunted.

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