Neo. He too is now in trouble, having lost
Antilochus, the comfort of his age.
Phi. There, there! In one brief word thou hast revealed
The mournful case of twain, whom I would last
Have chosen to hear of as undone. Ah me!
Where must one look? when these are dead, and he,
Odysseus, lives,—and in a time like this,
That craves their presence, and his death for theirs.
Neo. He wrestles cleverly; but, O my friend,
Even ablest wits are ofttimes snared at last.
Phi. Tell me, I pray, what was become of him,
Patroclus, whom thy father loved so well?
Neo. He, too, was gone. I’ll teach thee in a word
One truth for all. War doth not willingly
Snatch off the wicked, but still takes the good.
Phi. True! and to prove thy saying, I will inquire
The fate of a poor dastard, of mean worth,
But ever shrewd and nimble with his tongue.
Neo. Whom but Odysseus canst thou mean by this?
Phi. I meant not him. But there was one Thersites,
Who ne’er made conscience to stint speech, where all
Cried ‘Silence!’ Is he living, dost thou know?
Neo. I saw him not, but knew he was alive.
Phi. He must be: for no evil yet was crushed.
The Heavens will ever shield it. ’Tis their sport
To turn back all things rancorous and malign
From going down to the grave, and send instead
The good and true. Oh, how shall we commend
Such dealings, how defend them? When I praise
Things god-like, I find evil in the Gods.
Neo. I, O thou child of a Trachinian sire,
Henceforth will take good care, from far away
To look on Troy and Atreus’ children twain.
Yea, where the trickster lords it o’er the just,
And goodness languishes and rascals rule,
—Such courses I will nevermore endure.
But rock-bound Scyros henceforth shall suffice
To yield me full contentment in my home.
Now, to my vessel! And thou, Poeas’ child,
