It was the time when the first sleep began for the tired mortals and the most

please gift of the gods spread. In my sleep, behold! The most sorrowful Hector seemed to be before my eyes crying (in tears) having been dragged by a chariot blackened by dust and mud and pierced leather thongs through his swollen feet. Alas! Look how he was. How much changed from that Hector who returned with the spoils of Achilles or who hurled the Phyrgian flames onto the ships of the Greeks, wearing an unkempt beard and matted with blood and those injuries, which he received around the walls of his home. I was weeping, myself, and seemed to address him and to utter sorrowful words: