With wrathful words: "Go, get you gone, ye race
Of weaklings, bear away the honors due
My manes; loose your thankless ships, and sail
Across my seas. By no slight offering
Did ye aforetime stay Achilles' wrath;
And now a greater shall ye pay. Behold,
Polyxena, once pledged to me in life,195
Must by the hand of Pyrrhus to my shade
Be led, and with her blood my tomb bedew."
So spake Achilles and the realms of day