His mother rules the sea, to Aeacus
The shades submit, to mighty Jove the heavens.
Agamemnon: Yet that Achilles lies by Paris slain!
Pyrrhus: But by Apollo's aid, who aimed the dart;
For no god dared to meet him face to face.
Agamemnon: I could have checked thy words, and curbed thy tongue,
Too bold in evil speech; but this my sword350
Knows how to spare. But rather let them call
The prophet Calchas, who the will of heaven
Can tell. If fate demands the maid, I yield.