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Book XI. Perpetual, I have neither yet approach'd Achaia's shore, or landed on my own. But as for thee, Achilles! never man Hath known felicity like thine, or shall, Whom living we all honour'd as a God, And who maintain'st, here resident, supreme Controul among the dead; indulge not then, Achilles, causeless grief that thou hast died. I ceased, and answer thus instant received. Renown'd Ulysses! think not death a theme Of consolation; I had rather live The servile hind for hire, and eat the bread Of some man scantily himself sustain'd, Than sov'reign empire hold o'er all the shades. But come—speak to me of my noble boy; Proceeds he, as he promis'd, brave in arms, Or shuns he war? Say also, hast thou heard Of royal Peleus? shares he still respect Among his num'rous Myrmidons, or scorn In Hellas and in Phthia, for that age Predominates in his enfeebled limbs? For help is none in me; the glorious sun No longer sees me such, as when in aid Of the Achaians I o'erspread the field Of spacious Troy with all their bravest slain. Oh might I, vigorous as then, repair