“Stop pointing out by means of looks and murmurs to us 

that Diomedes was mine: his own part is in that glory!

 And not you, when you held your shield in front of the allied fleet,

 were alone: a crowd of companions for you, one granted for me. 

Who, if he did not know to be aggressive is to be less than to be wise

 and nor are the prizes to be owed to an indomitable right hand, 

would be seeking this himself; also Ajax the lesser 

and Eurypylus the wild and the son of famous Andraemon

nor less would Idomeneus or Meriones having been made by the same country, 

also the brother of the greater son of Atreus: 

while they are brave nor is their strength second to mine in battle, 

they all concede to plans by my hand. For your right hand in war 

is useful, it is your nature, which requires our control; 

you have strength without intelligence, mine is care for the future 

you are able to fight, me choosing the time to fight

with the son of Atreus, you are only useful with respect to body, 

we with our minds; how much the duty of who rules the ship, 

surpasses the rowsman, how much the leader is  greater than the soldier,

I am by so much superior to you. And nor in the body 

are our hands better than our hearts: all vigor is in that. 

And you, o chiefs, give to your vigil the prizes, 

for so many of these year of care, which I uneasily made,

 return to me this title paying for our services: 

now the work is at end; I removed fate’s obstacles 

and captured high Troy by means of making it suitable to be captured.

Now through our common hope, the walls of Troy about to fall, 

through the the gods, which I recently took from the enemy, 

through if anything else remains, which is to be done wisely,

 if anything is thus to be desiring boldly from danger,

 if any of you ponder that by the fates something of Troy remains, 

then you should be reminded of me! Or if you do not give to me the weapons, 

give to this!” And he showed the deadly mark of Minerva. 

The hand of the chiefs having been moved, and because of what eloquence was the kind to be open in the matter, the eloquence won the weapons of the brave man.

 Who so often alone endured the trojans, who so often endured 

the iron and fire of Jupiter, did not endure one anger, 

grief defeated the invincible man: he grabbed hold of a sword 

and “This certainly is mine! Or does Ulysses demand this for himself? 

This,” he spoke, “which is to also be used against myself for myself, often wet 

in the gore of the Phyrgians, also will be wet by means of its master, 

so that no-one may be able to conquer Ajax except for Ajax”. 

He spoke and then at last buried his sword into his chest,

 which lay open to iron, having suffered a lethal wound.

 And no hand is strong to lead out the having been implanted weapon. 

The gore itself was expelled, and the ground made red by means of blood

 birthed a purple flower from the green soil, 

which was first made from the wound of the son of Oebalius, 

letters having been inscribed on the middle of the leaves, 

common for the Boy and the Man, these names, those complaints.