These hairs, these flowing tears, which still remain
From Hector's piteous death; this fond caress
And rain of parting kisses take for him.
But leave this cloak to comfort my distress,
For it, within his tomb and near his shade,
Hath lain enwrapping thee. If to its folds810
One tiny mote of his dear ashes clings,
My eager lips shall seek it till they find.
Ulysses: Thy grief is limitless. Come, break away,
And end our Grecian fleet's too long delay.