Νέστοραδ' οὐκ ἔλαθεν ἰ̈αχὴ πίνοντά περ ἔμπης.
ἀλλ`' Ἀσκληπιάδην ἔπεα πτερόεντα προσηύδα:
φράζεο δῖε Μαχᾶον ὅπως ἔσται τάδε ἔργα:
μείζων δὴ παρα νηυσὶ βοὴ θαλερῶν αἰζηῶν.
ἀλλὰ σὺ μὲν νῦν πῖνε καθήμενος αἴθοπα οἶνον.
εἰσόκε θερμὰ λοετρὰ ἐϋπλόκαμος Ἐκαμήδη
θερμήνῃ: καὶ λούσῃ ἄπο βρότον αἱματόεντα,
αὐτὰρ ἐγὼν ἐλθὼν τάχα εἴσομαι ἐς περιωπήν:
ὡς εἰπὼν, μέγ' ἄϋσεν ἐπεσσύμενος πεδίοιο:
And the cry of battle was not unmarked of Nestor, albeit at his wine, but he spake winged words to the son of Asclepius: "Bethink thee, goodly Machaon, how these things are to be; louder in sooth by the ships waxes the cry of lusty youths. Howbeit do thou now sit where thou art and quaff the flaming wine, until fair-tressed Hecamede shall heat for thee a warm bath, and wash from thee the clotted blood, but I will go straightway to a place of outlook and see what is toward."
