Go, for it is my pleasure ever to watch your interests, that so I may see my allies prosperous. Yes, and you too shall recognize my zeal. Exit Paris. In a loud voice, to Odysseus and Diomedes. Son of Laertes , I bid you sheath your whetted swords, you warriors all too keen. For the Thracian chief lies dead and his horses are captured, but the enemy know it, and are coming against you; fly with all speed to the ships’ station. Why delay saving your lives, when the enemy’s storm is just bursting on you? Enter the Chorus, Odysseus and Diomedes. Chorus Oh, oh! At them, at them! Strike them, strike them!