But in those days, son of Nestor, I still had no experience of this place, and, not knowing which existence was preferable, I preferred that miserable empty shadow of glory to life itself; but now I realise that glory is useless, however much men above hymn its praises, that among the dead all have but equal honour, and neither the beauty nor the strength we had remain with us, but we lie buried in the same darkness, all of us quite alike, and no better one than the other, and I am neither feared by the Trojan dead nor respected by the Greeks, but there is complete equality of speech and one dead man is like another, “be he mean or be he great”. Cf. Iliad, IX, 319. That’s why I’m distressed and annoyed at not being a thrall alive on earth.

But what can one do about it, Achilles? Nature has decreed that, come what may, all men must die; we must, therefore, abide by her law, and not be distressed at the way she orders things. In any case you can see such of us, your old companions, as are present here, and assuredly, Odysseus too will join us down here before very long. It’s a comfort that all share in this, and that one doesn’t suffer this alone and by oneself. You can see Heracles and Meleager and other great men, who would, I think, refuse a return to earth, if they were sent up to be thralls to poor men without substance.

You give your advice out of friendship; but somehow I am distressed by my memory of life above, just as I think each of you is. If you won’t admit it, you show yourselves my inferiors, by submitting to it without protest.