By her was Telamon’s son devoured, by whose hand through his side was his own sword driven.
For the tongue-tied, how stout soever of heart, when the bitter strife of words is striven,
Is oblivion’s thrall; but shiftful lying beareth the goodliest guerdons away.
For by fraudful voting the Danaans showed to Odysseus favour, for truth uncaring;
And Aias, robbed of the golden armour, wrestled with death in his mad despairing.