Thou didst not sail constrained by any oath,
Nor by compulsion, nor in the first fleet;
But I can nothing of all this deny.
Me if, still master of his arms, he sees,
I am undone, and shall undo thee too.
Thy task, then, is out of his hands to steal
By subtlety, the unconquerable bow.
Well do I know thy nature is not formed
For falsehood, nor for treacherous device,
But still success is sweet; stretch but a point,
To-morrow we'll return to righteousness.
For a small part of one brief day consent
To play the knave, then to the end of life
Be virtue's paragon and cynosure.

NEOPTOLEMUS.

Son of Laertes, what my ears abhor
To hear, my hand abhors to execute.
So was it, as they tell me, with my sire.
To take the man by force and not by guile
I am prepared: he is alone and lame,
While we are many: he would strive in vain.
Commissioned as I am to second thee,
I must be loyal, but would rather lose
With honour, than dishonourably win.

ULYSSES.

Son of a glorious sire, myself in youth