A soldier’s lot,—she is free to choose: but thee
First I implore, be gracious to my suit,
Nor scorn me for thy son.
Lyc.My son! Achilles!
This day shall be the feast-day of my year,
Tho’ I be made to all men a rebuke
For being thy shelter, when I swore to all
Thou wert not here. Now I rejoice thou wert.
Come to my palace as thyself: be now
My guest in earnest: we will seal at once