What Phrygian herald, or what ambassage,
Came not with instant prayer for help to Troy?
What splendour of gifts did we not send to thee?
Alien from Greece as we, our countryman,
To Greeks didst thou betray us, all thou couldst. 405
Yet thee from petty lordship made I great,
Yea, king of all the Thracians, with this arm,
When round Pangaius and Paionia's land
In battle-brunt on Thracian chiefs I fell,
Shattered their shield, and gave their folk to thee 410
In thrall. This grace thou hast trodden under foot,
And laggard com'st to help afflicted friends,
While they that are in no wise kin to us [1]
Have long been here; and some in grave-mounds lie
Slain,—no mean loyalty to our city this,— 415
Some yet in arms beside their battle-cars
Abide, enduring hardness—chilly blast
And the sun's glare throat-parching, not on beds,
Like thee, with pledge of many a long deep draught.
Thus, that thou mayst know Plector's plain blunt mood, 420
I blame thee, and I speak it to thy face.
Rhesus.
Even such am I: no devious track of words
I follow: no man I of double tongue.
I for my absence from this land was vexed,
Chafing with grief of heart, far more thou. 425
But Scythia's folk, whose frontiers march with mine,
Even as I set forward, Troyward bound,
Made war on me; by this I had reached the shores
