oke he wielded his spear with still greater fury, and when any
Trojan made towards the ships with fire at Hector's bidding, he would
be on the look-out for him, and drive at him with his long spear.
Twelve men did he thus kill in hand-to-hand fight before the ships.

BOOK XVI

Fire being now thrown on the ship of Protesilaus, Patroclus
fights in the armour of Achilles--He drives the Trojans back,
but is in the end killed by Euphorbus and Hector.

THUS did they fight about the ship of Protesilaus. Then Patroclus drew
near to Achilles with tears welling from his eyes, as from some spring
whose crystal stream falls over the ledges of a high precipice. When
Achilles saw him thus weeping he was sorry for him and said, "Why,
Patroclus, do you stand there weeping like some silly child that comes
running to her mother, and begs to be taken up and carried--she catches
hold of her mother's dress to stay her though she is in a hurry, and
looks tearfully up until her mother carries her--even such tears,
Patroclus, are you now shedding. Have you anything to say to the
Myrmidons or to myself? or have you had news from Phthia which you
alone know? They tell me Menoetius son of Actor is still alive, as also
Peleus son of Aeacus, among the Myrmidons--men whose loss we two should
bitterly deplore; or are you grieving about the Argives and the way in
which they are being killed at the ships, through their own high-handed
doings? Do not hide anything from me but tell me that both of us may
know about it."

Then, O knight Patroclus, with a deep sigh you answered, "Achilles, son
of Peleus, foremost champion of the Achaeans, do not be angry, but I
weep for the disaster that has now befallen the Argives. All those who
have been their champions so far are lying at the ships, wounded by
sword or spear. Brave Diomed son of Tydeus has been hit with a spear,
while famed Ulysses and Agamemnon have received sword-wounds; Eurypylus
again has been struck with an arrow in the thigh; skilled apothecaries
are attending to these heroes, and healing them of their wounds; are
you still, O Achilles, so inexorable? May it never be my lot to nurse
such a passion as you have done, to the baning of your own good name.
Who in future story will speak well of you unless you now save the
Argives from ruin? You know no pity; knight Peleus was not your father
nor Thetis your mother, but the grey sea bore you and the sheer cliffs
begot you, so cruel and re