 | Achilles In Scyros |  |
SCENE VII.
Nearchusalone.
Go, go, Nearchus, now, and proudly triumph
In all thy prosperous cares: to Thetis tell
How arts, like thine, could tame the fierce Achilles.
72
And all thy soothing phrase of timid counsels.
Lo! how thy hopes are crush'd: Ulysses singly
Has baffled every plan.—What stars averse
Could send this crafty Greek to Scyros' shore?
I yield to fate, my hopes are crost;
My strength is gone, my courage lost:
Against me winds and waves prevail;
My oars are broke and rent my sail,
And nought remains my bark to guide,
That floats at random down the tide.
My strength is gone, my courage lost:
Against me winds and waves prevail;
My oars are broke and rent my sail,
And nought remains my bark to guide,
That floats at random down the tide.
[Exit.
| Achilles In Scyros | |