We live at ease and have no care for gold.

HECTOR.

Well, Troy hath other treasures manifold.

DOLON. [vv. 172-183]

Pay me not now, but when the Greeks are ta'en.

HECTOR.

The Greeks! . . . Choose any save the Atridae twain.

DOLON.

Kill both, an it please thee. I make prayer for none.

HECTOR.

Thou wilt not ask for Ajax, ileus' son?

DOLON.

A princely hand is skilless at the plough.

HECTOR.

'Tis ransom, then? . . . What prisoner cravest thou?

DOLON.

I said before, of gold we have our fill.

HECTOR.

For spoils and armour . . . thou shalt choose at will.

DOLON.

Nail them for trophies on some temple wall.

HECTOR.

What seeks the man? What prize more rich than all?

DOLON.

Achilles' horses! [_Murmurs of surprise._ Yes, I need a great Prize. I am dicing for my life with Fate.

HECTOR. [vv. 184-203]

'Fore G.o.d, I am thy rival, if thy love Lies there. Undying was the breed thereof, And these shall never die, who bear to war Great Peleus' son, swift gleaming like a star.

Poseidon, rider of the wild sea-drift, Tamed them, men say, and gave them for his gift To Peleus.--None the less, since I have stirred Hopes, I will baulk them not. I pledge my word, Achilles' steeds, a rare prize, shall be thine.

DOLON.

I thank thee.--'Tis indeed a prize more fine Than all in Troy.--Grudge me not that; there be Guerdons abundant for a Prince like thee.

[_Exit_ HECTOR.

CHORUS. [_Antistr._

O peril strange, O fearful prize!

Yet win it and thy life hath wings: A deed of glory in men's eyes, And greatness, to be wooed of kings.

If G.o.d but hearken to the right, Thou drinkest to the full this night The cup of man's imaginings.

DOLON.

[_He stands waiting a moment looking out into the dark._

There lies the way.--But first I must go find At home some body-shelter to my mind; Then, forward to the ships of Argolis!

LEADER. [vv. 204-223]

What other raiment wilt thou need than this?

DOLON.

A garb for work, for night; a thieving guise.

LEADER.

'Tis good to learn the wisdoms of the wise.

What will thy wrapping be?

DOLON.

A grey wolf's hide Shall wrap my body close on either side; My head shall be the mask of gleaming teeth, My arms fit in the forepaws, like a sheath, My thighs in the hinder parts. No Greek shall tell 'Tis not a wolf that walks, half visible, On four feet by the trenches and around The ship-screen. When it comes to empty ground It stands on two.--That is the plan, my friend!

LEADER.

Now Maian Hermes guide thee to thy end And home safe! Well he loves all counterfeit . . .

Good work is there; may good luck go with it!

DOLON (_to himself gazing out toward the Greek camp_).

There, and then back! . . . And on this belt shall bleed Odysseus' head--or why not Diomede?-- To prove my truth. Ere dawn can touch the land I shall be here, and blood upon my hand.

[_Exit_ DOLON.