CLY. Ay, the son of the Goddess, my child, for whom thou camest hither.
IPH. Open the house, ye servants, that I may hide myself.
CLY. But why dost thou fly hence, my child?
IPH. I am ashamed to behold this Achilles.
CLY. On what account?
IPH. The unfortunate turn-out of my nuptials shames me.
CLY. Thou art not in a state to give way to delicacy in the present circumstances. But do thou remain, there is no use for punctilio, if we can [but save your life.]
ACH. O hapless lady, daughter of Leda.
CLY. Thou sayest not falsely.
ACH. Terrible things are cried out among the Greeks.