You fill me with contempt –
what are you saying? With the forces poised to clash
you tell us to haul our oar-swept vessels out to sea?
Just so one more glory can crown these Trojans –
god help us, they have beaten us already –
and the scales of headlong death can drag us down.
Achaean troops will never hold the line, I tell you,
not while the long ships are being hauled to sea.
They’ll look left and right – where can they run? –
and fling their lust for battle to the winds. Then,
commander of armies, your plan will kill us all!