Ch. Alas! We have no further plea. Alas!
Her ever-venturous spirit forecasts no ill.
Lyc. Go, win thy fame, my son; I would not stay thee.
Thou art a soldier born. But circumstance
Demands delay, which thou wilt grant.
Ach.And thus
To-night may be the feast. To-morrow morn
Do thou, Ulysses, sail to Aulis, there
Prepare them for my coming. If, Diomede,
Thou wilt to Achaia to collect my men,