Hector.
Why then this affright?
Chorus.
Fear not.
Hector.
Is an ambush of darkness on us?
Chorus.
Nay, none.
Hector.
Why then hast forsaken thus
Thy watch, and uprousest the host, if thou bring
No tidings? Knowest thou not how nigh 20
To the Argive spears lie slumbering
Our ranks in their battle-panoply?
Chorus.
(Str.)
Nay, but with armed hand, Hector, speed
Hence to thine allies' resting-place:
Rouse them from slumber, and bid upraise
Spears: let a friend to thy war-band run.
Bit ye and bridle the chariot-steed.
Who will go for us to Panthoüs' son,
Or Europa's, the chief of the Lycian array?
Where be the choosers of victims to bleed? 30
And the captains of dartmen, where be they?
Archers of Phrygia, let sinews be slipped
O'er the notches, to strain the bows horn-tipt!
Hector.
