So crookbacked that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot
(Here and there ’spersed) thin, mossy hair. He most of all envied
Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide.
Nor could the sacred king himself avoid his saucy vein;
Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain,
Being angry for Achilles’ wrong, he cried out, railing thus:
“Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What wouldst thou more of us?
Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine,
With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign
To our invasion. Want’st thou, then, besides all this, more gold