Th.What hear I, son?650
To Aulis? to thy foes?
Ach.A thousand ships
Moored idle in the bay wait but for me:
And round the shore the captains of the Greeks
Impatient in their tents but call for me.
Be they my foes to speak or wish me ill,
’Tis only that I come not. I must go.
Th. There let them tarry till the sea-worm bore
Their ships to rottenness; or, sail they forth,