This headland for a cave with double mouth,
Whose twofold aperture, on wintry days,
Gives choice of sunshine, and in summer noons
The breeze wafts slumber through the airy cell. 
Then, something lower down, upon the left,
Unless ’tis dried, thine eye may note a spring. 
Go near now silently, and make me know
If still he persevere, and hold this spot,
Or have roamed elsewhere, that informed of this
I may proceed with what remains to say,
And we may act in concert.

NEOPTOLEMUS.  Lord Odysseus,
Thy foremost errand will not task me far. 
Methinks I see the cave whereof thou speakest.

OD.  Where? let me see it.  Above there, or below?

NEO.  Yonder, above.  And yet I hear no tread.
                                  [NEOPTOLEMUS climbs up to the cave

OD.  Look if he be not lodged in slumber there.

NEO.  I find no inmate, but an empty room.

OD.  What? no provision for a dwelling-place?

NEO.  A bed of leaves for some one harbouring here.

OD.  Nought else beneath the roof?  Is all forlorn?

NEO.  A cup of wood, some untaught craftsman’s skill,
And, close at hand, these embers of a fire.

OD.  That store is his.  I read the token clear.

NEO.  Oh! and these festering rags give evidence,
Steeped as with dressing some malignant sore.

OD.  The man inhabits here:  I know it now. 
And sure he’s not far off.  How can he range,
Whose limb drags heavy with an ancient harm? 
But he’s gone, either to bring forage home,
Or where he hath found some plant of healing power. 
Send therefore thine attendant to look forth,
Lest unawares he find me.  All our host
Were not so fair a prize for him as I.

NEO.  My man is going, and shall watch the path. 
What more dost thou require of me?  Speak on.

OD.  Son of Achilles, know that thou art come
To serve us nobly, not with strength alone,
But, faithful to thy mission, if so be,
To do things strange, unwonted to thine ear.

NEO.  What dost thou bid me?

OD.  ’Tis thy duty now
To entrap the mind of Poeas’ son with words. 
When he shall ask thee, who and whence thou art,
Declare thy name and father.  ’Tis not that
I charge thee to conceal.  But for thy voyage,
’Tis homeward, leaving the Achaean host,
With perfect hatred hating them, because
They who had drawn thee with strong prayers from home,
Their hope for taking Troy, allowed thee not
Thy just demand to have thy father’s arms,
But, e’er thy coming, wrongly gave them o’er
Unto Odysseus:  and thereon launch forth
With boundless execration against me. 
That will not pain me, but if thou reject
This counsel, thou wilt trouble all our host,
Since, if his bow shall not be ta’en, thy life
Will ne’er be crowned through Troy’s discomfiture.