The Iliads of Homer

Thy tomb, arms, statue, all things fit to fall
At foot of Death, and worship funeral,
Form hath bestow’d; for form is nought too dear.
Thy solid virtues yet, eterniz’d here,
My blood and wasted spirits have only found
Commanded cost, and broke so rich a ground,
Not to inter, but make thee ever spring,
As arms, tombs, statues, ev’ry earthy thing,
Shall fade aid vanish into fume before.
What lasts thrives least; yet wealth of soul is poor,
And so ’tis kept. Not thy thrice-sacred will,
Sign’d with thy death, moves any to fulfil
Thy just bequests to me. Thou dead, then I
Live dead, for giving thee eternity.

Ad Famam.

To all times future this time’s mark extend,
Homer no patron found, nor Chapman friend.
        Ignotus nimis omnibus,
        Sat notus moritur sibi.

Since perfect happiness, by Princes sought,
Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought,
Nor follows in great trains, nor is possest
With any outward state, but makes him blest
That governs inward, and beholdeth there
All his affections stand about him bare,
That by his pow’r can send to Tower and death
All traitorous passions, marshalling beneath
His justice his mere will, and in his mind
Holds such a sceptre as can keep confin’d
His whole life’s actions in the royal bounds
Of virtue and religion, and their grounds
Takes in to sow his honours, his delights,
And cómplete empire; you should learn these rights,
Great Prince of men, by princely precedents,
Which here, in all kinds, my true zeal presents
To furnish your youth’s groundwork and first state,
And let you see one godlike man create
All sorts of worthiest men, to be contriv’d
In your worth only, giving him reviv’d
For whose life Alexander would have giv’n
One of his kingdoms; who (as sent from heav’n,
And thinking well that so divine a creature
Would never more enrich the race of nature)
Kept as his crown his works, and thought them still
His angels, in all pow’r to rule his will;
And would affirm that Homer’s poesy
Did more advance his Asian victory,
Than all his armies. O! ’tis wond’rous much,
Though nothing priz’d, that the right virtuous touch
Of a well-written soul to virtue moves;
Nor have we souls to purpose, if their loves
Of fitting objects be not so inflam’d.
How much then were this kingdom’s main soul maim’d,
To want this great inflamer of all pow’rs
That move in human souls! All realms but yours
Are honour’d with him, and hold blest that state
That have his works to read and contemplate:
In which humanity to her height is rais’d,
Which all the world, yet none enough, hath prais’d;
Seas, earth, and heav’n, he did in verse comprise,
Out-sung the Muses, and did equalize
Their king Apollo; being so far from cause
Of Princes’ light thoughts, that their gravest laws
May find stuff to be fashion’d by his lines.
Through all the pomp of kingdoms still he shines,
And graceth all his gracers. Then let lie
Your lutes and viols, and more loftily
Make the heroics of your Homer sung,
To drums and trumpets set his angel’s tongue,
And, with the princely sport of hawks you use,
Behold the kingly flight of his high muse,
And see how, like the phœnix, she renews
Her age and starry feathers in your sun,
Thousands of years attending ev’ry one
Blowing the holy fire, and throwing in
Their seasons, kingdoms, nations, that have been
Subverted in them; laws, religions, all
Offer’d to change and greedy funeral;
Yet still your Homer, lasting, living, reigning,
And proves how firm truth builds in poet’s feigning.

A prince’s statue, or in marble carv’d,
Or steel, or gold, and shrin’d, to be preserv’d,
Aloft on pillars or pyramides,
Time into lowest ruins may depress;
But drawn with all his virtues in learn’d verse,
Fame shall resound them on oblivion’s hearse,
Till graves gasp with her blasts, and dead men rise.
No gold can follow where true Poesy flies.

Then let not this divinity in earth,
Dear Prince, be slighted as she were the birth
Of idle fancy, since she works so high;
Nor let her poor disposer, Learning, lie
Still bed-rid. Both which being in men defac’d,
In men with them is God’s bright image ras’d;
For as the Sun and Moon are figures giv’n
Of his refulgent Deity in heav’n,
So Learning, and, her light’ner, Poesy,
In earth present His fiery Majesty.
Nor are kings like Him, since their diadems
Thunder and lighten and project brave beams,
But since they His clear virtues emulate,
In truth and justice imaging His state,
In bounty and humanity since they shine,
Than which is nothing like Him more divine;
Not fire, not light, the sun’s admiréd course,
The rise nor set of stars, nor all their force
In us and all this cope beneath the sky,
Nor great existence, term’d His treasury;
Since not for being greatest He is blest,
But being just, and in all virtues best.

What sets His justice and His truth best forth,
Best Prince, then use best, which is Poesy’s worth;
For, as great princes, well inform’d and deck’d
With gracious virtue, give more sure effect
To her persuasions, pleasures, real worth,
Than all th’ inferior subjects she sets forth;
Since there she shines at full, hath birth, wealth, state,
Pow’r, fortune, honour, fit to elevate
Her heav’nly merits, and so fit they are,
Since she was made for them, and they for her;
So Truth, with Poesy grac’d, is fairer far,
More proper, moving, chaste, and regular,
Than when she runs away with untruss’d Prose;
Proportion, that doth orderly dispose
Her virtuous treasure, and is queen of graces;
In Poesy decking her with choicest phrases,
Figures and numbers; when loose Prose puts on
Plain letter-habits makes her trot upon
Dull earthly business, she being mere divine;
Holds her to homely cates and harsh hedge-wine,
That should drink Poesy’s nectar; ev’ry way
One made for other, as the sun and day,
Princes and virtues. And, as in spring,
The pliant water mov’d with anything
Let fall into it, puts her motion out
In perfect circles, that move round about
The gentle fountain, one another raising;
So Truth and Poesy work; so Poesy, blazing
All subjects fall’n in her exhaustless fount,
Works most exactly, makes a true account
Of all things to her high discharges giv’n,
Till all be circular and round as heav’n.

And lastly, great Prince, mark and pardon me:—
As in a flourishing and ripe fruit-tree,
Nature hath made the bark to save the bole,
The bole the sap, the sap to deck the whole
With leaves and branches, they to bear and shield
The useful fruit, the fruit itself to yield
Guard to the kernel, and for that all those,
Since out of that again the whole tree grows;
So in our tree of man, whose nervy root
Springs in his top, from thence ev’n to his foot
There runs a mutual aid through all his parts,
All join’d in one to serve his queen of arts,[1]
In which doth Poesy like the kernel lie
Obscur’d, though her Promethean faculty
Can create men and make ev’n death to live,
For which she should live honour’d, kings should give
Comfort and help to her that she might still
Hold up their spirits in virtue, make the will
That governs in them to the pow’r conform’d,
The pow’r to justice, that the scandals, storm’d
Against the poor dame, clear’d by your fair grace,
Your grace may shine the clearer. Her low place,
Not showing her, the highest leaves obscure.
Who raise her raise themselves, and he sits sure
Whom her wing’d hand advanceth, since on it
Eternity doth, crowning virtue, sit.
All whose poor seed, like violets in their beds,
Now grow with bosom-hung and hidden heads;
For whom I must speak, though their fate convinces
Me worst of poets, to you best of princes.
        By the most humble and faithful implorer for all
             the graces to your highness eternized
                  by your divine Homer.
                            Geo. Chapman.

[1] Queen of arts—the soul.

With whatsoever honour we adorn
  Your royal issue, we must gratulate you,
Imperial Sovereign; who of you is born
  Is you, one tree make both the bole and bow.
If it be honour then to join you both
  To such a pow’rful work as shall defend
Both from foul death and age’s ugly moth,
  This is an honour that shall never end.
They know not virtue then, that know not what
  The virtue of defending virtue is;
It comprehends the guard of all your State,
  And joins your greatness to as great a bliss.
Shield virtue and advance her then, great Queen,
  And make this book your glass to make it seen.
          Your Majesty’s in all subjection most
             humbly consecrate,
                GEO. CHAPMAN.

Lest with foul hands you touch these holy rites,
  And with prejudicacies too profane,
Pass Homer in your other poets’ slights,
  Wash here. In this porch to his num’rous fane,
Hear ancient oracles speak, and tell you whom
  You have to censure. First then Silius hear,
Who thrice was consul in renowned Rome,
  Whose verse, saith Martial, nothing shall out-wear.

SILIUS ITALICUS, LIB. XIII. 777

He, in Elysium having cast his eye
  Upon the figure of a youth, whose hair,
With purple ribands braided curiously,
  Hung on his shoulders wond’rous bright and fair,
Said: “Virgin, what is he whose heav’nly face
  Shines past all others, as the morn the night;
Whom many marvelling souls, from place to place,
  Pursue and haunt with sounds of such delight;
Whose count’nance (were’t not in the Stygian shade)
  Would make me, questionless, believe he were
A very God?” The learned virgin made
  This answer: “If thou shouldst believe it here,
Thou shouldst not err. He well deserv’d to be
  Esteem’d a God; nor held his so-much breast
A little presence of the Deity,
  His verse compris’d earth, seas, stars, souls at rest;
In song the Muses he did equalize,
  In honour Phœbus. He was only soul,
Saw all things spher’d in nature, without eyes,
  And rais’d your Troy up to the starry pole.”
Glad Scipio, viewing well this prince of ghosts,
  Said: “O if Fates would give this poet leave
To sing the acts done by the Roman hosts,
  How much beyond would future times receive
The same facts made by any other known!
  O blest Æacides, to have the grace
That out of such a mouth thou shouldst be shown
  To wond’ring nations, as enrich’d the race
Of all times future with what he did know!
  Thy virtue with his verse shall ever grow.”

Now hear an Angel sing our poet’s fame,
Whom fate, for his divine song, gave that name.

ANGELUS POLITIANUS, IN NUTRICIA

More living than in old Demodocus,
  Fame glories to wax young in Homer’s verse.
And as when bright Hyperion holds to us
  His golden torch, we see the stars disperse,
And ev’ry way fly heav’n, the pallid moon
  Ev’n almost vanishing before his sight;
So, with the dazzling beams of Homer’s sun,
  All other ancient poets lose their light.
Whom when Apollo heard, out of his star,
  Singing the godlike act of honour’d men,
And equalling the actual rage of war,
  With only the divine strains of his pen,
He stood amaz’d and freely did confess
  Himself was equall’d in Mæonides.

Next hear the grave and learned Pliny use
His censure of our sacred poet’s muse.

Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 7. cap. 29.
Turned into verse, that no prose may come near Homer.

Whom shall we choose the glory of all wits,
  Held through so many sorts of discipline
And such variety of works and spirits,
  But Grecian Homer, like whom none did shine
For form of work and matter? And because
  Our proud doom of him may stand justified
By noblest judgments, and receive applause
  In spite of envy and illiterate pride,
Great Macedon, amongst his matchless spoils
  Took from rich Persia, on his fortunes cast,
A casket finding, full of precious oils,
  Form’d all of gold, with wealthy stones enchas’d,
He took the oils out, and his nearest friends
  Ask’d in what better guard it might be us’d?
All giving their conceits to sev’ral ends,
  He answer’d: “His affections rather choos’d
An use quite opposite to all their kinds,
  And Homer’s books should with that guard be serv’d,
That the most precious work of all men’s minds
  In the most precious place might be preserv’d.
The Fount of Wit was Homer, Learning’s Sire,
  And gave antiquity her living fire.”

Volumes of like praise I could heap on this,
  Of men more ancient and more learn’d than these,
But since true virtue enough lovely is
  With her own beauties, all the suffrages
Of others I omit, and would more fain
  That Homer for himself should be belov’d,
Who ev’ry sort of love-worth did contain.
  Which how I have in my conversion prov’d
I must confess I hardly dare refer
  To reading judgments, since, so gen’rally,
Custom hath made ev’n th’ ablest agents err[2]
  In these translations; all so much apply
Their pains and cunnings word for word to render
  Their patient authors, when they may as well
Make fish with fowl, camels with whales, engender,
  Or their tongues’ speech in other mouths compell.
For, ev’n as diff’rent a production
  Ask Greek and English, since as they in sounds
And letters shun one form and unison;
  So have their sense and elegancy bounds
In their distinguish’d natures, and require
  Only a judgment to make both consent
In sense and elocution; and aspire,
  As well to reach the spirit that was spent
In his example, as with art to pierce
  His grammar, and etymology of words.
But as great clerks can write no English verse,[3]
  Because, alas, great clerks! English affords,
Say they, no height nor copy; a rude tongue,
  Since ’tis their native; but in Greek or Latin
Their writs are rare, for thence true Poesy sprung;
  Though them (truth knows) they have but skill to chat in,
Compar’d with that they might say in their own;
  Since thither th’ other’s full soul cannot make
The ample transmigration to be shown
  In nature-loving Poesy; so the brake
That those translators stick in, that affect
  Their word-for-word traductions (where they lose
The free grace of their natural dialect,
  And shame their authors with a forcéd gloss)
I laugh to see; and yet as much abhor[4]
  More license from the words than may express
Their full compression, and make clear the author;
  From whose truth, if you think my feet digress,
Because I use needful periphrases,
  Read Valla, Hessus, that in Latin prose,
And verse, convert him; read the Messines
  That into Tuscan turns him; and the gloss
Grave Salel makes in French, as he translates;
  Which, for th’ aforesaid reasons, all must do;
And see that my conversion much abates
  The license they take, and more shows him too,
Whose right not all those great learn’d men have done,
  In some main parts, that were his commentors.
But, as the illustration of the sun
  Should be attempted by the erring stars,
They fail’d to search his deep and treasurous heart;
  The cause was, since they wanted the fit key
Of Nature, in their downright strength of Art.[5]
  With Poesy to open Poesy:
Which, in my poem of the mysteries
  Reveal’d in Homer, I will clearly prove;
Till whose near birth, suspend your calumnies,
  And far-wide imputations of self-love.
’Tis further from me than the worst that reads,
  Professing me the worst of all that write;
Yet what, in following one that bravely leads,
  The worst may show, let this proof hold the light.
But grant it clear; yet hath detraction got
  My blind side in the form my verse puts on;
Much like a dung-hill mastiff, that dares not
  Assault the man he barks at, but the stone
He throws at him takes in his eager jaws,
  And spoils his teeth because they cannot spoil.
The long verse hath by proof receiv’d applause
  Beyond each other number; and the foil,
That squint-ey’d Envy takes, is censur’d plain;
  For this long poem asks this length of verse,
Which I myself ingenuously maintain
  Too long our shorter authors to rehearse.
And, for our tongue that still is so impair’d[6]
  By travelling linguists, I can prove it clear,
That no tongue hath the Muse’s utt’rance heir’d
  For verse, and that sweet music to the ear
Strook out of rhyme, so naturally as this;
  Our monosyllables so kindly fall,
And meet oppos’d in rhyme as they did kiss;
  French and Italian most immetrical,
Their many syllables in harsh collision
  Fall as they break their necks; their bastard rhymes
Saluting as they justled in transition,
  And set our teeth on edge; nor tunes, nor times
Kept in their falls; and, methinks, their long words
  Shew in short verse as in a narrow place
Two opposites should meet with two-hand swords
  Unwieldily, without or use or grace.
Thus having rid the rubs, and strow’d these flow’rs
  In our thrice-sacred Homer’s English way,
What rests to make him yet more worthy yours?
  To cite more praise of him were mere delay
To your glad searches for what those men found
  That gave his praise, past all, so high a place;
Whose virtues were so many, and so crown’d
  By all consents divine, that, not to grace
Or add increase to them, the world doth need
  Another Homer, but ev’n to rehearse
And number them, they did so much exceed.
  Men thought him not a man; but that his verse
Some mere celestial nature did adorn;
  And all may well conclude it could not be,
That for the place where any man was born,
  So long and mortally could disagree
So many nations as for Homer striv’d,
  Unless his spur in them had been divine.
Then end their strife and love him, thus receiv’d,
  As born in England; see him over-shine
All other-country poets; and trust this,
  That whosesoever Muse dares use her wing
When his Muse flies, she will be truss’d by his,
  And show as if a bernacle should spring
Beneath an eagle. In none since was seen
  A soul so full of heav’n as earth’s in him.
O! if our modern Poesy had been
  As lovely as the lady he did limn,
What barbarous worldling, grovelling after gain,
  Could use her lovely parts with such rude hate,
As now she suffers under ev’ry swain?
  Since then ’tis nought but her abuse and Fate,
That thus impairs her, what is this to her
  As she is real, or in natural right?
But since in true Religion men should err
  As much as Poesy, should the abuse excite
The like contempt of her divinity,
  And that her truth, and right saint-sacred merits,
In most lives breed but rev’rence formally,
  What wonder is’t if Poesy inherits
Much less observance, being but agent for her,
  And singer of her laws, that others say?
Forth then, ye moles, sons of the earth, abhor her,
  Keep still on in the dirty vulgar way,
Till dirt receive your souls, to which ye vow,
  And with your poison’d spirits bewitch our thrifts.
Ye cannot so despise us as we you;
  Not one of you above his mole-hill lifts
His earthy mind, but, as a sort of beasts,
  Kept by their guardians, never care to hear
Their manly voices, but when in their fists
  They breathe wild whistles, and the beasts’ rude ear
Hears their curs barking, then by heaps they fly
  Headlong together; so men, beastly giv’n,
The manly soul’s voice, sacred Poesy,
  Whose hymns the angels ever sing in heav’n,
Contemn and hear not; but when brutish noises,
  For gain, lust, honour, in litigious prose
Are bellow’d out, and crack the barbarous voices
  Of Turkish stentors, O, ye lean to those,
Like itching horse to blocks or high may-poles;
  And break nought but the wind of wealth, wealth, all
In all your documents; your asinine souls,
  Proud of their burthens, feel not how they gall.
But as an ass, that in a field of weeds
  Affects a thistle, and falls fiercely to it,
That pricks and galls him, yet he feeds, and bleeds,
  Forbears a while, and licks, but cannot woo it
To leave the sharpness; when, to wreak his smart,
  He beats it with his foot, then backward kicks,
Because the thistle gall’d his forward part;
  Nor leaves till all be eat, for all the pricks,
Then falls to others with as hot a strife,
  And in that honourable war doth waste
The tall heat of his stomach, and his life;
  So in this world of weeds you worldlings taste
Your most-lov’d dainties, with such war buy peace,
  Hunger for torment, virtue kick for vice,
Cares for your states do with your states increase,
  And though ye dream ye feast in Paradise,
Yet reason’s daylight shews ye at your meat
  Asses at thistles, bleeding as ye eat.

Of all books extant in all kinds, Homer is the first and best. No one before his, Josephus affirms; nor before him, saith Velleius Paterculus, was there any whom he imitated, nor after him any that could imitate him. And that Poesy may be no cause of detraction from all the eminence we give him, Spondanus (preferring it to all arts and sciences) unanswerably argues and proves; for to the glory of God, and the singing of his glories, no man dares deny, man was chiefly made. And what art performs this chief end of man with so much excitation and expression as Poesy; Moses, David, Solomon, Job, Esay, Jeremy, etc. chiefly using that to the end abovesaid? And since the excellence of it cannot be obtained by the labour and art of man, as all easily confess it, it must needs be acknowledged a Divine infusion. To prove which in a word, this distich, in my estimation, serves something nearly:

Great Poesy, blind Homer, makes all see
Thee capable of all arts, none of thee.

For out of him, according to our most grave and judicial Plutarch, are all Arts deduced, confirmed, or illustrated. It is not therefore the world’s vilifying of it that can make it vile; for so we might argue, and blaspheme the most incomparably sacred. It is not of the world indeed, but, like truth, hides itself from it. Nor is there any such reality of wisdom’s truth in all human excellence, as in Poets’ fictions. That most vulgar and foolish receipt of poetical licence being of all knowing men to be exploded, accepting it, as if Poets had a tale-telling privilege above others, no Artist being so strictly and inextricably confined to all the laws of learning, wisdom, and truth, as a Poet. For were not his fictions composed of the sinews and souls of all those, how could they defy fire, iron, and be combined with eternity? To all sciences therefore, I must still, with our learned and ingenious Spondanus, refer it, as having a perpetual commerce with the Divine Majesty, embracing and illustrating all His most holy precepts, and enjoying continual discourse with His thrice perfect and most comfortable Spirit. And as the contemplative life is most worthily and divinely preferred by Plato to the active, as much as the head to the foot, the eye to the hand, reason to sense, the soul to the body, the end itself to all things directed to the end, quiet to motion, and eternity to time; so much prefer I divine Poesy to all worldly wisdom. To the only shadow of whose worth, yet, I entitle not the bold rhymes of every apish and impudent braggart, though he dares assume anything; such I turn over to the weaving of cobwebs, and shall but chatter on molehills (far under the hill of the Muses) when their fortunatest self-love and ambition hath advanced them highest. Poesy is the flower of the Sun, and disdains to open to the eye of a candle. So kings hide their treasures and counsels from the vulgar, ne evilescant (saith our Spond.). We have example sacred enough, that true Poesy’s humility, poverty, and contempt, are badges of divinity, not vanity. Bray then, and bark against it, ye wolf-faced worldlings, that nothing but honours, riches, and magistracy, nescio quos turgidè spiratis (that I may use the words of our friend still) qui solas leges Justinianas crepatis; paragraphum unum aut alterum, pluris quàm vos ipsos facitis, etc. I (for my part) shall ever esteem it much more manly and sacred, in this harmless and pious study, to sit till I sink into my grave, than shine in your vainglorious bubbles and impieties; all your poor policies, wisdoms, and their trappings, at no more valuing than a musty nut. And much less I weigh the frontless detractions of some stupid ignorants, that, no more knowing me than their own beastly ends, and I ever (to my knowledge) blest from their sight, whisper behind me vilifyings of my translation, out of the French affirming them, when both in French, and all other languages but his own, our with-all-skill-enriched Poet is so poor and unpleasing that no man can discern from whence flowed his so generally given eminence and admiration. And therefore (by any reasonable creature’s conference of my slight comment and conversion) it will easily appear how I shun them, and whether the original be my rule or not. In which he shall easily see, I understand the understandings of all other interpreters and commentors in places of his most depth, importance, and rapture. In whose exposition and illustration, if I abhor from the sense that others wrest and wrack out of him, let my best detractor examine how the Greek word warrants me. For my other fresh fry, let them fry in their foolish galls, nothing so much weighed as the barkings of the puppies, or foisting hounds, too vile to think of our sacred Homer, or set their profane feet within their lives’ length of his thresholds. If I fail in something, let my full performance in other some restore me; haste spurring me on with other necessities. For as at my conclusion I protest, so here at my entrance, less than fifteen weeks was the time in which all the last twelve books were entirely new translated. No conference had with anyone living in all the novelties I presume I have found. Only some one or two places I have showed to my worthy and most learned friend, M. Harriots, for his censure how much mine own weighed; whose judgment and knowledge in all kinds, I know to be incomparable and bottomless, yea, to be admired as much, as his most blameless life, and the right sacred expense of his time, is to be honoured and reverenced. Which affirmation of his clear unmatchedness in all manner of learning I make in contempt of that nasty objection often thrust upon me,—that he that will judge must know more than he of whom he judgeth; for so a man should know neither God nor himself. Another right learned, honest, and entirely loved friend of mine, M. Robert Hews, I must needs put into my confess’d conference touching Homer, though very little more than that I had with M. Harriots. Which two, I protest, are all, and preferred to all. Nor charge I their authorities with, any allowance of my general labour, but only of those one or two places, which for instances of my innovation, and how it showed to them, I imparted. If any tax me for too much periphrasis or circumlocution in some places, let them read Laurentius Valla, and Eobanus Hessus, who either use such shortness as cometh nothing home to Homer, or, where they shun that fault, are ten parts more paraphrastical than I. As for example, one place I will trouble you (if you please) to confer with the original, and one interpreter for all. It is in the end of the third book, and is Helen’s speech to Venus fetching her to Paris from seeing his cowardly combat with Menelaus; part of which speech I will here cite:

Οὕνεκα δὴ νυ̑ν δι̑ον ᾽Αλέξανδρον Μενέλαος
Νικήσας, &c.

For avoiding the common reader’s trouble here, I must refer the more Greekish to the rest of the speech in Homer, whose translation ad verbum by Spondanus I will here cite, and then pray you to confer it with that which followeth of Valla.

Quoniam verò nunc Alexandrum Menelaus
Postquam vicit, vult odiosam me domum abducere,
Propterea verò nunc dolum (seu dolos) cogitans advenisti?
Sede apud ipsum vadens, deorum abnega vias,
Neque unquam tuis pedibus revertaris in cœlum,
Sed semper circa eum ærumnas perfer, et ipsum serva
Donec te vel uxorem faciat, vel hic servam, etc.

Valla thus:

Quoniam victo Paride, Menelaus me miseram est reportaturus ad lares, ideo tu, ideo falsâ sub imagine venisti, ut me deciperes ob tuam nimiam in Paridem benevolentiam: eò dum illi ades, dum illi studes, dum pro illo satagis, dum illum observas atque custodis, deorum commercium reliquisti, nec ad eos reversura es ampliùs: adeò (quantum suspicor) aut uxor ejus efficieris, aut ancilla, &c.

Wherein note if there be any such thing as most of this in Homer; yet only to express, as he thinks, Homer’s conceit, for the more pleasure of the reader, he useth this overplus, dum illi ades, dum illi studes, dum pro illo satagis, dum ilium observas, atque custodis, deorum commercium reliquisti. Which (besides his superfluity) is utterly false. For where he saith reliquisti deorum commercium, Helen saith, θεω̑ν δ᾽ἀπόειπε κελεύθους, deorum auten abnega or abnue, vias, ἀπείπειν (vel ἀποείπειν as it is used poetically) signifying denegare or aonuere; and Helen (in contempt of her too much observing men) bids her renounce heaven, and come live with Paris till he make her his wife or servant; scoptically or scornfully speaking it; which both Valla, Eobanus, and all other interpreters (but these ad verbum) have utterly missed. And this one example I thought necessary to insert here, to show my detractors that they have no reason to vilify my circumlocution sometimes, when their most approved Grecians, Homer’s interpreters generally, hold him fit to be so converted. Yet how much I differ, and with what authority, let my impartial and judicial reader judge. Always conceiving how pedantical and absurd an affectation it is in the interpretation of any author (much more of Homer) to turn him word for word, when according to Horace and other best lawgivers to translators) it is the part of every knowing and judicial interpreter, not to follow the number and order of words, but the material things themselves, and sentences to weigh diligently, and to clothe and adorn them with words, and such a style and form of oration, as are most apt for the language in which they are converted. If I have not turned him ill any place falsely (as all other his interpreters have in many, and most of his chief places) if I have not left behind me any of his sentences, elegancy, height, intention, and invention, if in some few places (especially in my first edition, being done so long since, and following the common tract) I be something paraphrastical and faulty, is it justice in that poor fault (if they will needs have it so) to drown all the rest of my labour? But there is a certain envious windsucker, that hovers up and down, laboriously engrossing all the air with his luxurious ambition, and buzzing into every ear my detraction, affirming I turn Homer out of the Latin only, etc. that sets all his associates, and the whole rabble of my maligners on their wings with him, to bear about my impair, and poison my reputation. One that, as he thinks, whatsoever he gives to others, he takes from himself; so whatsoever he takes from others, he adds to himself. One that in this kind of robbery doth like Mercury, that stole good and supplied it with counterfeit bad still. One like the two gluttons, Philoxenus and Gnatho, that would still empty their noses in the dishes they loved, that no man might eat but themselves. For so this castrill, with too hot a liver, and lust after his own glory, and to devour all himself, discourageth all appetites to the fame of another. I have stricken, single him as you can. Nor note I this, to cast any rubs or plashes out of the particular way of mine own estimation with the world; for I resolve this with the wilfully obscure:

Sine honore vivam, nulloque numero ero.

Without men’s honours I will live, and make
No number in the manless course they take.

But, to discourage (if it might be) the general detraction of industrious and well-meaning virtue, I know I cannot too much diminish and deject myself; yet that passing little that I am, God only knows, to Whose ever-implored respect and comfort I only submit me. If any further edition of these my silly endeavours shall chance, I will mend what is amiss (God assisting me) and amplify my harsh Comment to Homer’s far more right, and mine own earnest and ingenious love of him. Notwithstanding, I know, the curious and envious will never sit down satisfied. A man may go over and over, till he come over and over, and his pains be only his recompense, every man is so loaded with his particular head, and nothing in all respects perfect, but what is perceived by few. Homer himself hath met with my fortune, in many maligners; and therefore may my poor self put up without motion. And so little I will respect malignity, and so much encourage myself with mine own known strength, and what I find within me of comfort and confirmance (examining myself throughout with a far more jealous and severe eye than my greatest enemy, imitating this:

Judex ipse sui totum se explorat ad unguem, &c.)

that after these Iliads, I will (God lending me life and any meanest means) with more labour than I have lost here, and all unchecked alacrity, dive through his Odysseys. Nor can I forget here (but with all hearty gratitude remember) my most ancient, learned, and right noble friend, M. Richard Stapilton, first most desertful mover in the frame of our Homer. For which (and much other most ingenious and utterly undeserved desert) God make me amply his requiter; and be his honourable family’s speedy and full restorer. In the mean space, I entreat my impartial and judicial Reader, that all things to the quick he will not pare, but humanely and nobly pardon defects, and, if he find anything perfect, receive it unenvied.

Of his country and time, the difference is so infinite amongst all writers, that there is no question, in my conjecture, of his antiquity beyond all. To which opinion, the nearest I will cite, Adam Cedrenus placeth him under David’s and Solomon’s rule; and the Destruction of Troy under Saul’s. And of one age with Solomon, Michael Glycas Siculus affirmeth him. Aristotle (in tertio de Poeticâ) affirms he was born in the isle of Io, begot of a Genius, one of them that used to dance with the Muses, and a virgin of that isle compressed by that Genius, who being quick with child (for shame of the deed) came into a place called Ægina, and there was taken of thieves, and brought to Smyrna, to Mæon king of the Lydians, who for her beauty married her. After which, she walking near the flood Meletes, on that shore being overtaken with the throes of her delivery, she brought forth Homer, and instantly died. The infant was received by Mæon, and brought up as his own till his death, which was not long after. And, according to this, when the Lydians in Smyrna were afflicted by the Æolians, and thought fit to leave the city, the captains by a herald willing all to go out that would, and follow them, Homer, being a little child, said he would also ὁμηρει̑ν (that is, sequi); and of that, for Melesigenes, which was his first name, he was called Homer. These Plutarch.

The varieties of other reports touching this I omit for length; and in place thereof think it not unfit to insert something of his praise and honour amongst the greatest of all ages; not that our most absolute of himself needs it, but that such authentical testimonies of his splendour and excellence may the better convince the malice of his maligners.

First, what kind of person Homer was, saith Spondanus, his statue teacheth, which Cedrenus describeth. The whole place we will describe that our relation may hold the better coherence, as Xylander converts it. “Then was the Octagonon at Constantinople consumed with fire; and the bath of Severus, that bore the name of Zeuxippus, in which there was much variety of spectacle, and splendour of arts; the works of all ages being conferred and preserved there, of marble, rocks, stones, and images of brass; to which this only wanted, that the souls of the persons they presented were not in them. Amongst these master-pieces and all-wit-exceeding workmanships stood Homer, as he was in his age, thoughtful and musing, his hands folded beneath his bosom, his beard untrimm’d and hanging down, the hair of his head in like sort thin on both sides before, his face with age and cares of the world, as these imagine, wrinkled and austere, his nose proportioned to his other parts, his eyes fixed or turned up to his eyebrows, like one blind, as it is reported he was.” (Not born blind, saith Vell. Paterculus, which he that imagines, saith he, is blind of all senses.) “Upon his under-coat he was attired with a loose robe, and at the base beneath his feet a brazen chain hung.” This was the statue of Homer, which in that conflagration perished. Another renowned statue of his, saith Lucian in his Encomion of Demosthenes, stood in the temple of Ptolemy, on the upper hand of his own statue. Cedrenus likewise remembereth a library in the palace of the king, at Constantinople, that contained a thousand a hundred and twenty books, amongst which there was the gut of a dragon of an hundred and twenty foot long, in which, in letters of gold, the Iliads and Odysseys of Homer were inscribed; which miracle, in Basiliscus the Emperor’s time, was consumed with fire.

For his respect amongst the most learned, Plato in Ione calleth him ἄριστον καὶ θειότατον τω̑ν ποιητω̑ν, Poeta rum omnium et præstantissimum et divinissimum; in Phædone, θει̑ον ποιητὴν, divinum Poetam; and in Theætetus, Socrates citing divers of the most wise and learned for confirmation of his there held opinion, as Protagoras, Heraclitus, Empedocles, Epicharmus, and Homer, who, saith Socrates, against such an army, being all led by such a captain as Homer, dares fight or resist, but he will be held ridiculous? This for Scaliger and all Homer’s envious and ignorant detractors. Why therefore Plato in another place banisheth him with all other poets out of his Commonwealth, dealing with them like a Politician indeed, use men, and then cast them off, though Homer he thinks fit to send out crowned and anointed, I see not, since he maketh still such honourable mention of him, and with his verses, as with precious gems, everywhere enchaceth his writings. So Aristotle continually celebrateth him. Nay, even amongst the barbarous, not only Homer’s name, but his poems have been recorded and reverenced. The Indians, saith Ælianus (Var. Hist. lib. xii. cap. 48) in their own tongue had Homer’s Poems translated and sung. Nor those Indians alone, but the kings of Persia. And amongst the Indians, of all the Greek poets, Homer being ever first in estimation; whensoever they used any divine duties according to the custom of their households and hospitalities, they invited ever Apollo and Homer. Lucian in his Encomion of Demosth. affirmeth all Poets celebrated Homer’s birthday, and sacrificed to him the first fruits of their verses. So Thersagoras answereth Lucian, he used to do himself. Alex. Paphius, saith Eustathius, delivers Homer as born of Egyptian parents, Dmasagoras being his father, and Æthra his mother, his nurse being a certain prophetess and the daughter of Oris, Isis’ priest, from whose breasts, oftentimes, honey flowed in the mouth of the infant. After which, in the night, he uttered nine several notes or voices of fowls, viz. of a swallow, a peacock, a dove, a crow, a partridge, a redshank, a stare, a blackbird, and a nightingale; and, being a little boy, was found playing in his bed with nine doves. Sibylla being at a feast of his parents was taken with sudden fury, and sung verses whose beginning was Δμασαγ όρα πολύνικε; polynice, signifying much victory, in which song also she called him μεγάκλεα, great in glory, and στεϕανίτην, signifying garland-seller, and commanded him to build a temple to the Pegridarij, that is, to the Muses. Herodotus affirms that Phæmius, teaching a public school at Smyrna, was his master; and Dionysius in his 56th Oration saith, Socrates was Homer’s scholar. In short, what he was, his works show most truly; to which, if you please, go on and examine him.

[2] Of Translation, and the natural difference of Dialects necessarily to be observed in it.

[3] Ironicè.

[4] The necessary nearness of Translation to the example.

[5] The power of Nature above Art in Poesy.

[6] Our English language above all others for Rhythmical Poesy.

Apollo’s priest to th’ Argive fleet doth bring
Gifts for his daughter, pris’ner to the king;
For which her tender’d freedom he entreats;
But, being dismiss’d with contumelious threats,
At Phœbus’ hands, by vengeful pray’r, he seeks
To have a plague inflicted on the Greeks.
Which had; Achilles doth a council cite,
Embold’ning Calchas, in the king’s despite;
To tell the truth why they were punish’d so.
From hence their fierce and deadly strife did grow.
For wrong in which Æacides so raves,
That goddess Thetis, from her throne of waves
Ascending heav’n, of Jove assistance won,
To plague the Greeks by absence of her son,
And make the general himself repent
To wrong so much his army’s ornament.
This found by Juno, she with Jove contends;
Till Vulcan, with heav’n’s cup, the quarrel ends.

Alpha the prayer of Chryses sings:
The army’s plague: the strife of kings.

Achilles’ baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos’d
Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los’d.
From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave
That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave;
To all which Jove’s will gave effect; from whom first strife begun
Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis’ godlike son.
What god gave Eris their command, and op’d that fighting vein?
Jove’s and Latona’s son: who fir’d against the king of men,
For contumély shown his priest, infectious sickness sent
To plague the army, and to death by troops the soldiers went.
Occasion’d thus: Chryses, the priest, came to the fleet to buy,
For presents of unvalu’d price, his daughter’s liberty;
The golden sceptre and the crown of Phœbus in his hands
Proposing; and made suit to all, but most to the commands
Of both th’ Atrides, who most rul’d. “Great Atreus’ sons,” said he,
“And all ye well-greav’d Greeks, the gods, whose habitations be
In heav’nly houses, grace your pow’rs with Priam’s razéd town,
And grant ye happy conduct home! To win which wish’d renown
Of Jove, by honouring his son, far-shooting Phœbus, deign
For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomable chain
Of my lov’d daughter’s servitude.” The Greeks entirely gave
Glad acclamations, for sign that their desires would have
The grave priest reverenc’d, and his gifts of so much price embrac’d.
The Gen’ral yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac’d
With violent terms the priest, and said:—“Dotard! avoid our fleet,
Where ling’ring be not found by me; nor thy returning feet
Let ever visit us again; lest nor thy godhead’s crown,
Nor sceptre, save thee! Her thou seek’st I still will hold mine own,
Till age deflow’r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr’d
From her lov’d country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar’d[1]
With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more,
But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone.” This said, the sea-beat shore,
Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear;
And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies’ ear,
Phœbus, fair hair’d Latona’s son, he stirr’d up with a vow,
To this stern purpose: “Hear, thou God that bear’st the silver bow,
That Chrysa guard’st, rul’st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round
Of Cilia most divine dost walk! O Sminthëus! if crown’d
With thankful off’rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir’d
Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir’d
Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay,
Forc’d with thy arrows.” Thus he pray’d, and Phœebus heard him pray,
And, vex’d at heart, down from the tops of steep heav’n stoop’d; his bow,
And quiver cover’d round, his hands did on his shoulders throw;
And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov’d
Rattled about him. Like the night he rang’d the host, and rov’d
(Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand
His silver bow twang’d; and his shafts did first the mules command,
And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot.
The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot
About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court
Of all the Greeks; heav’n’s white-arm’d Queen (who, ev’rywhere cut short,
Beholding her lov’d Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he
(All met in one) arose, and said: “Atrides, now I see
We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay,
If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay
Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove
Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove)
Why Phœbus is so much incens’d; if unperformed vows
He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows
To death may yield his graves no more, but off’ring all supply
Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye,
And turn his temp’rate.” Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them
Calchas, surnam’d Thestorides, of augurs the supreme;
He knew things present, past, to come, and rul’d the equipage
Of th’ Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage
Giv’n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th’ ill they felt, propos’d
This to Achilles: “Jove’s belov’d, would thy charge see disclos’d
The secret of Apollo’s wrath? then cov’nant and take oath
To my discov’ry, that, with words and pow’rful actions both,
Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive
That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give
Confirm’d obedience, will be mov’d; and then you know the state
Of him that moves him. When a king hath once mark’d for his hate
A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest
Th’ offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast
Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench’d to his desire
The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire
Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?”
Achilles answer’d: “All thou know’st speak, and be confident;
For by Apollo, Jove’s belov’d, (to whom performing vows,
O Calchas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows
Skills that direct us) not a man of all these Grecians here,
I living, and enjoy’ng the light shot through this flow’ry sphere,
Shall touch thee with offensive hands; though Agamemnon be
The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery
Of all our army.” Then took heart the prophet unreprov’d,
And said: “They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov’d
The God against us; his offence is for his priest impair’d
By Agamemnon, that refus’d the present he preferr’d,
And kept his daughter. This is cause why heav’n’s Far-darter darts
These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts
His deathful quiver, uncontain’d till to her lovéd sire
The black-eyed damsel be resign’d; no rédemptory hire
Took for her freedom,-not a gift, but all the ransom quit,
And she convey’d, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis’d feet
Tread Chrysa under; then the God, so pleas’d, perhaps we may
Move to remission.” Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway,
Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagérly bearing all;
His mind’s seat overcast with fumes; an anger general
Fill’d all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire,
Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire:
“Prophet of ill! for never good came from thee towards me
Not to a word’s worth; evermore thou took’st delight to be
Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continu’st still,
Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill,
Shot from Apollo, is impos’d since I refus’d the price
Of fair Chryseis’ liberty; which would in no worth rise
To my rate of herself, which moves my vows to have her home,
Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac’d my nuptial room
With her virginity and flow’r. Nor ask her merits less
For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif’ries.
And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible
That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal
Of my lov’d army than the death. Provide yet instantly
Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty
Lose not my winnings. ’Tis not fit. Ye see all I lose mine
Forc’d by another, see as well some other may resign
His prise to me.” To this replied the swift-foot, god-like, son
Of Thetis, thus: “King of us all, in all ambition
Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul’d Greeks
Supply thy lost prise out of theirs? Nor what thy av’rice seeks
Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard
Of what our ras’d towns yielded us; of all which most is shar’d,
And giv’n our soldiers; which again to take into our hands
Were ignominious and base. Now then, since God commands,
Part with thy most-lov’d prise to him; not any one of us
Exacts it of thee, yet we all, all loss thou suffer’st thus,
Will treble, quadruple, in gain, when Jupiter bestows
The sack of well-wall’d Troy on us; which by his word he owes.”
“Do not deceive yourself with wit,” he answer’d, “god-like man,
Though your good name may colour it; ’tis not your swift foot can
Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss, set on it with the God,
Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode
Thine own prise, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends,
As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends,
So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally
On thy prise, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply;
Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we’ll order these
Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas
Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice;
And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prise,
Bright-cheek’d Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose
A chief out of our counsellors. Thy service we must use,
Idomenëus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus;
Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleüs,
Which fittest were, that thou might’st see these holy acts perform’d
For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm’d
For our offences, may be calm’d.” Achilles, with a frown,
Thus answer’d: “O thou impudent! of no good but thine own
Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous,
With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous,
Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe,
Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur’d so
By any Trojan, that my pow’rs should bid them any blows;
In nothing bear they blame of me; Phthia, whose bosom flows
With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase
By their invasion; hills enow, and far-resounding seas,
Pour out their shades and deeps between; but thee, thou frontless man,
We follow, and thy triumphs make with bonfires of our bane;
Thine, and thy brother’s, vengeance sought, thou dog’s eyes, of  this Troy
By our expos’d lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ
With honour nor with care. And now, thou threat’st to force from me
The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all; and though it be,
Compar’d with thy part, then snatch’d up, nothing; nor ever is
At any sack’d town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this,
My hands have most share; in whose toils when I have emptied me
Of all my forces, my amends in liberality,
Though it be little, I accept, and turn pleas’d to my tent;
And yet that little thou esteem’st too great a continent
In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now
My course is; since ’tis better far, than here t’ endure that thou
Should’st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry,
And add dishonour.” He replied: “If thy heart serve thee, fly;
Stay not for my cause; others here will aid and honour me;
If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he
That I depend on. As for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings
Thou still art most my enemy; strifes, battles, bloody things,
Make thy blood-feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build upon,
Flow in thy nerves, God gave thee it; and so ’tis not thine own,
But in his hands still. What then lifts thy pride in this so high?
Home with thy fleet, and Myrmidons; use there their empery;
Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify
Thy rough-hewn rages, but, instead, I thus far threaten thee:
Since Phœbus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go;
My ships and friends shall waft her home; but I will imitate so
His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent
Bright-cheek’d Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent
My pow’r is, being compar’d with thine; all other making fear
To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear
Their beards against me.” Thetis’ son at this stood vex’d, his heart
Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part;
If, from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about
Atrides’ person, slaught’ring him, or sit his anger out,
And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv’d in his blood and mind,
And he his sword drew, down from heav’n Athenia stoop’d, and shin’d
About his temples, being sent by th’ ivory-wristed Queen,
Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been,
And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took
Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look
To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see.
He turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty;
Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were,
Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: “Thou seed of Jupiter,
Why com’st thou? To behold his pride, that boasts our empery?
Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die
That lives to wrong me.” She replied: “I come from heav’n to see
Thy anger settled, if thy soul will use her sov’reignty
In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects
Stand heartily inclin’d to both. Come, give us both respects,
And cease contention; draw no sword; use words, and such as may
Be bitter to his pride, but just; for, trust in what I say,
A time shall come, when, thrice the worth of that he forceth now,
He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs; therefore throw
Reins on thy passions, and serve us.” He answer’d “Though my heart
Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th’ angry part,
And yield you conquest. Who subdues his earthly part for heav’n,
Heav’n to his pray’rs subdues his wish.” This said, her charge was given
Fit honour; in his silver hilt he held his able hand,
And forc’d his broad sword up; and up to heav’n did re-ascend
Minerva, who, in Jove’s high roof that bears the rough shield, took
Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook
Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine
His wrath, that this broad language gave: “Thou ever steep’d in wine,
Dog’s face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th’ open eye
Of fight dar’st thrust into a prease, nor with our noblest lie
In secret ambush! These works seem too full of death for thee;
’Tis safer far in the open host to dare an injury
To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king!
Base spirits thou govern’st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing
Thou ever author’dst; yet I vow, and by a great oath swear,
Ev’n by this sceptre, that, as this never again shall bear[2]
Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size,
Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties
And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end
Judges of Greece bear, and their laws, receiv’d from Jove, defend;
(For which my oath to thee is great); so, whensoever need
Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no pray’rs shall ever breed
Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes
Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught’ring Hector throws
Whole troops of them, and thou torment’st thy vex’d mind with conceit
Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv’d the right
Of all thy army.” Thus, he threw his sceptre ’gainst the ground,
With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides’ breast was drown’d
In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood,
The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour’d forth a flood
Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse; two ages were increas’d
Of divers-languag’d men, all born in his time and deceas’d,
In sacred Pylos, where he reign’d amongst the third-ag’d men
He, well-seen in the world, advis’d, and thus express’d it then:
“O Gods! Our Greek earth will be drown’d in just tears; rapeful Troy,
Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy,
Of these disjunctions; if of you, that all our host excel
In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this. Come, repel
These young men’s passions. Y’ are not both, put both your years in one,
So old as I. I liv’d long since, and was companion
With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear
My counsels with respect. My eyes yet never witness were,
Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them;
Pirithous, Exadius, and god-like Polypheme,
Cæneus, and Dryas prince of men, Ægean Theseüs,
A man like heav’n’s immortals form’d; all, all most vigorous,
Of all men that ev’n those days: bred; most vig’rous men, and fought
With beasts most vig’rous, mountain beasts, (for men in strength were nought
Match’d with their forces) fought with them, and bravely fought them down
Yet ev’n with these men I convers’d, being call’d to the renown
Of their societies, by their suits, from Pylos far, to fight
In th’ Apian kingdom; and I fought, to a degree of might
That help’d ev’n their mights, against such as no man now would  dare
To meet in conflict; yet ev’n these my counsels still would hear,
And with obedience crown my words. Give you such palm to them;
’Tis better than to wreath your wraths. Atrides, give not stream
To all thy pow’r, nor force his prise, but yield her still his own,
As all men else do. Nor do thou encounter with thy crown,
Great son of Peleus, since no king that ever Jove allow’d
Grace of a sceptre equals him. Suppose thy nerves endow’d
With strength superior, and thy birth a very goddess gave,
Yet he of force is mightier, since what his own nerves have
Is amplified with just command of many other. King of men,
Command thou then thyself; and I with my pray’rs will obtain
Grace of Achilles to subdue his fury; whose parts are
Worth our entreaty, being chief check to all our ill in war.”
“All this, good father,” said the king, “is comely and good right;
But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height;
All would in his pow’r hold, all make his subjects, give to all
His hot will for their temp’rate law; all which he never shall
Persuade at my hands. If the gods have giv’n him the great style
Of ablest soldier, made they that his licence to revile
Men with vile language?” Thetis’ son prevented him, and said:
“Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid
By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this,
Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is
From serving thy command. Beside, this I affirm (afford
Impression of it in thy soul): will not use my sword
On thee or any for a wench, unjustly though thou tak’st
The thing thou gav’st; but all things else, that in my ship thou mak’st
Greedy survey of, do not touch without my leave; or do,—
Add that act’s wrong to this, that these may see that outrage too,—
And then comes my part; then be sure, thy blood upon my lance
Shall flow in vengeance.” These high terms these two at variance
Us’d to each other; left their seats; and after them arose
The whole court. To his tents and ships, with friends and soldiers, goes
Angry Achilles. Atreus’ son the swift ship launch’d, and put
Within it twenty chosen row’rs, within it likewise shut
The hecatomb t’ appease the God; then caus’d to come aboard
Fair-cheek’d Chryseis; for the chief, he in whom Pallas pour’d
Her store of counsels, Ithacus, aboard went last; and then
The moist ways of the sea they sail’d. And now the king of men
Bade all the host to sacrifice. They sacrific’d, and cast
The offal of all to the deeps; the angry God they grac’d
With perfect hecatombs; some bulls, some goats, along the shore
Of the unfruitful sea, inflam’d. To heav’n the thick fumes bore
Enwrapped savours. Thus, though all the politic king made shew
Respects to heav’n, yet he himself all that time did pursue
His own affections; the late jar, in which he thunder’d threats
Against Achilles, still he fed, and his affections’ heats
Thus vented to Talthybius, and grave Eurybates,
Heralds, and ministers of trust, to all his messages.
“Haste to Achilles’ tent; where take Briseis’ hand, and bring
Her beauties to us. If he fail to yield her, say your king
Will come himself, with multitudes that shall the horribler
Make both his presence, and your charge, that so he dares defer.”
This said, he sent them with a charge of hard condition.
They went unwillingly, and trod the fruitless sea’s shore; soon
They reach’d the navy and the tents, in which the quarter lay
Of all the Myrmidons, and found the chief Chief in their sway
Set at his black bark in his tent. Nor was Achilles glad
To see their presence; nor themselves in any glory had
Their message, but with rev’rence stocd, and fear’d th’ offended king,
Ask’d not the dame, nor spake a word. He yet, well knowing the thing
That caus’d their coming, grac’d them thus: “Heralds, ye men that bear
The messages of men and gods, y’ are welcome, come ye near.
I nothing blame you, but your king; ’tis he I know doth send
You for Briseis; she is his. Patroclus, honour’d friend,
Bring forth the damsel, and these men let lead her to their lord.
But, heralds, be you witnesses, before the most ador’d,
Before us mortals, and before your most ungentle king,
Of what I suffer, that, if war ever hereafter bring
My aid in question, to avert any severest bane
It brings on others, I am ’scus’d to keep mine aid in wane,
Since they mine honour. But your king, in tempting mischief, raves,
Nor sees at once by present things the future; how like waves
Ills follow ills; injustices being never so secure
In present times, but after-plagues ev’n then are seen as sure;
Which yet he sees not, and so soothes his present lust, which, check’d,
Would check plagues future; and he might, in succouring right, protect
Such as fight for his right at fleet. They still in safety fight,
That fight still justly.” This speech us’d, Patroclus did the rite
His friend commanded, and brought forth Briseis from her tent,
Gave her the heralds, and away to th’ Achive ships they went.
She sad, and scarce for grief could go. Her love all friends forsook,
And wept for anger. To the shore of th’ old sea he betook
Himself alone, and casting forth upon the purple sea
His wet eyes, and his hands to heav’n advancing, this sad plea
Made to his mother; “Mother! Since you brought me forth to breathe
So short a life, Olympius had good right to bequeath
My short life honour; yet that right he doth in no degree,
But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me
That all the Greeks gave.” This with tears he utter’d, and she heard,
Set with her old sire in his deeps, and instantly appear’d
Up from the grey sea like a cloud, sate by his side, and said:
“Why weeps my son? What grieves thee?
Speak, conceal not what hath laid
Such hard hand on thee, let both know.” He, sighing like a storm,
Replied: “Thou dost know. Why should I things known again inform?
We march’d to Thebes, the sacred town of king Eëtion,
Sack’d it, and brought to fleet the spoil, which every valiant son
Of Greece indifferently shar’d. Atrides had for share
Fair-cheek’d Chryseis. After which, his priest that shoots so far,
Chryses, the fair Chryseis’ sire, arriv’d at th’ Achive fleet,
With infinite ransom, to redeem the dear imprison’d feet
Of his fair daughter. In his hands he held Apollo’s crown,
And golden sceptre; making suit to ev’ry Grecian son,
But most the sons of Atreüs, the others’ orderers,
Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv’d with rev’rend ears
The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth
His wish’d acceptance. Atreus’ son yet (vex’d) commanded forth
With rude terms Phœbus’ rev’rend priest; who, angry, made retreat,
And pray’d to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great
Got his petitión. The God an ill shaft sent abroad
That tumbled down the Greeks in heaps. The host had no abode
That was not visited. We ask’d a prophet that well knew
The cause of all; and from his lips Apollo’s prophecies flew,
Telling his anger. First myself exhorted to appease
The anger’d God; which Atreus’ son did at the heart displease,
And up he stood, us’d threats, perform’d. The black-eyed Greeks sent home
Chryseis to her sire, and gave his God a hecatomb.
Then, for Briseis, to my tents Atrides’ heralds came,
And took her that the Greeks gave all. If then thy pow’rs can frame
Wreak for thy son, afford it. Scale Olympus, and implore
Jove (if by either word, or fact, thou ever didst restore
Joy to his griev’d heart) now to help. I oft have heard thee vaunt,
In court of Peleus, that alone thy hand was conversant
In rescue from a cruel spoil the black-cloud-gath’ring Jove,
Whom other Godheads would have bound (the Pow’r whose pace doth move
The round earth, heav’n’s great Queen, and Pallas); to whose bands
Thou cam’st with rescue, bringing up him with the hundred hands
To great Olympus, whom the Gods call Briarëus, men
Ægæon, who his sire surpass’d, and was as strong again,
And in that grace sat glad by Jove. Th’ immortals stood dismay’d
At his ascension, and gave free passage to his aid.
Of all this tell Jove; kneel to him, embrace his knee, and pray,
If Troy’s aid he will ever deign, that now their forces may
Beat home the Greeks to fleet and sea; embruing their retreat
In slaughter; their pains pay’ng the wreak of their proud sov’reign’s heat;
And that far-ruling king may know, from his poor soldier’s harms
His own harm falls; his own and all in mine, his best in arms.”
Her answer she pour’d out in tears: “O me, my son,” said she,
“Why brought I up thy being at all, that brought thee forth to be
Sad subject of so hard a fate? O would to heav’n, that since
Thy fate is little, and not long, thou might’st without offence
And tears perform it! But to live, thrall to so stern a fate
As grants thee least life, and that least so most unfortunate,
Grieves me t’ have giv’n thee any life. But what thou wishest now,
If Jove will grant, I’ll up and ask; Olympus crown’d with snow
I’ll climb; but sit thou fast at fleet, renounce all war, and feed
Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt need
A little patience. Jupiter went yesterday to feast
Amongst the blameless Æthiops, in th’ ocean’s deepen’d breast,
All Gods attending him; the twelfth, high heav’n again he sees,
And then his brass-paved court I’ll scale, cling to his pow’rful knees,
And doubt not but to win thy wish.” Thus, made she her remove,
And left wrath tyring on her son, for his enforcèd love.
Ulysses, with the hecatomb, arriv’d at Chrysa’s shore;
And when amidst the hav’n’s deep mouth, they came to use the oar,
They straight strook sail, then roll’d them up, and on the hatches threw;
The top-mast to the kelsine then, with halyards down they drew;
Then brought the ship to port with oars; then forked anchor cast;
And, ’gainst the violence of storm, for drifting made her fast.
All come ashore, they all expos’d the holy hecatomb
To angry Phœbus, and, with it, Chryseis welcom’d home;
Whom to her sire, wise Ithacus, that did at th’ altar stand,
For honour led, and, spoken thus, resign’d her to his hand:
“Chryses, the mighty king of men, great Agamemnon, sends
Thy lov’d seed by my hands to thine; and to thy God commends
A hecatomb, which my charge is to sacrifice, and seek
Our much-sigh-mix’d woe his recure, invok’d by ev’ry Greek.”
Thus he resign’d her, and her sire receiv’d her highly joy’d.
About the well-built altar, then, they orderly employ’d
The sacred off’ring, wash’d their hands, took salt cakes; and the priest,
With hands held up to heav’n, thus pray’d: “O thou that all things seest,
Fautour of Chrysa, whose fair hand doth guard fully dispose
Celestial Cilia, governing in all pow’r Tenedos,
O hear thy priest, and as thy hand, in free grace to my pray’rs,
Shot fervent plague-shafts through the Greeks, now hearten their affairs
With health renew’d, and quite remove th’ infection from their blood.”
He pray’d; and to his pray’rs again the God propitious stood.
All, after pray’r, cast on salt cakes, drew back, kill’d, flay’d the beeves,
Cut out and dubb’d with fat their thighs, fair dress’d with doubled leaves,
And on them all the sweetbreads’ prick’d, The priest, with small  sere wood,
Did sacrifice, pour’d on red wine; by whom the young men stood,
And turn’d, in five ranks, spits; on which (the legs enough) they eat
The inwards; then in giggots cut the other fit for meat,
And put to fire; which roasted well they drew. The labour done,
They serv’d the feast in, that fed all to satisfaction.
Desire of meat and wine thus quench’d, the youths crown’d cups of wine
Drunk off, and fill’d again to all. That day was held divine,
And spent in pæans to the Sun, who heard with pleaséd ear;
When whose bright chariot stoop’d to sea, and twilight hid the clear,
All soundly on their cables slept, ev’n till the night was worn.
And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger’d Morn,
Rose from the hills, all fresh arose, and to the camp retir’d.
Apollo with a fore-right wind their swelling bark inspir’d.
The top-mast hoisted, milk-white sails on his round breast they put,
The mizens strooted with the gale, the ship her course did cut
So swiftly that the parted waves against her ribs did roar;
Which, coming to the camp, they drew aloft the sandy shore,
Where, laid on stocks, each soldier kept his quarter as before.
But Peleus’ son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ships sate,
Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate
That make men honour’d, never trod the fierce embattled field,
But kept close, and his lov’d heart pin’d, what fight and cries could yield
Thirsting at all parts to the host, And now, since first he told
His wrongs to Thetis, twelve fair morns their ensigns did unfold,
And then the ever-living gods mounted Olympus, Jove
First in ascension. Thetis then, remember’d well to move
Achilles’ motion, rose from sea, and, by the morn’s first light,
The great heav’n and Olympus climb’d; where, in supremest height
Of all that many-headed hill, she saw the far-seen son
Of Saturn, set from all the rest, in his free seat alone.
Before whom, on her own knees fall’n, the knees of Jupiter
Her left hand held, her right his chin, and thus she did prefer
Her son’s petition: “Father Jove! If ever I have stood
Aidful to thee in word or work, with this imploréd good,
Requite my aid, renown my son, since in so short a race
(Past others) thou confin’st his life. An insolent disgrace
Is done him by the king of men; he forc’d from him a prise
Won with his sword. But thou, O Jove, that art most strong, most wise,
Honour my son for my sake; add strength to the Trojans’ side
By his side’s weakness in his want; and see Troy amplified
In conquest, so much, and so long, till Greece may give again
The glory reft him, and the more illustrate the free reign
Of his wrong’d honour.” Jove at this sate silent; not a word
In long space pass’d him. Thetis still hung on his knee, implor’d
The second time his help, and said: “Grant, or deny my suit,
Be free in what thou dost; I know, thou canst not sit thus mute
For fear of any; speak, deny, that so I may be sure,
Of all heav’n’s Goddesses ’tis I, that only must endure
Dishonour by thee.” Jupiter, the great cloud-gath’rer, griev’d
With thought of what a world of griefs this suit ask’d, being achiev’d,
Swell’d, sigh’d, and answer’d: “Works of death thou urgest. O, at this
Juno will storm, and all my pow’rs inflame with contumelies.
Ever she wrangles, charging me in ear of all the Gods
That I am partial still, that I add the displeasing odds
Of my aid to the Ilians. Begone then, lest she see;
Leave thy request to my care; yet, that trust may hearten thee
With thy desire’s grant, and my pow’r to give it act approve
How vain her strife is, to thy pray’r my eminent head shall move;
Which is the great sign of my will with all th’ immortal states;
Irrevocable; never fails; never without the rates
Of all pow’rs else; when my head bows, all heads bow with it still
As their first mover; and gives pow’r to any work I will.”
He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head
Th’ ambrosian curls flow’d; great heav’n shook: and both were severéd,
Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune’s kingdom div’d
Thetis from heav’n’s height; Jove arose; and all the Gods receiv’d
(All rising from their thrones) their Sire, attending to his court.
None sate when he rose, none delay’d the furnishing his port
Till he came near; all met with him, and brought him to his throne.
Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone
Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought
Counsels to heav’n; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought
This sharp invective: “Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor
Of all the Gods) that so apart some secret did implore?
Ever, apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree
Things of more close trust than thou think’st are fit t’ impart to me.
Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied
The knowledge of it by thy will.” To her speech thus replied
The Father both of men and Gods: “Have never hope to know
My whole intentions, though my wife; it fits not, nor would show
Well to thine own thoughts; but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear,
Woman, nor man, nor God, shall know before it grace thine ear.
Yet what, apart from men and Gods, I please to know, forbear
T’ examine, or inquire of that.” She with the cow’s fair eyes,
Respected Juno, this return’d: “Austere king of the skies,
What hast thou utter’d? When did I before this time inquire,
Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still. Your desire
Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed
That makes it public, being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed,
That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt,
The late act of thy bowéd head was for the working out
Of some boon she ask’d; that her son thy partial hand would please
With plaguing others.” “Wretch!” said he, “thy subtle jealousies
Are still exploring; my designs can never ’scape thine eye,
Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity
Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end
Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend,
What then? ’Tis my free will it should; to which let way be giv’n
With silence. Curb your tongue in time; lest all the Gods in heav’n
Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence,
When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.” The sense
Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down,
Humbling her great heart. All the Gods in court of Jove did frown
At this offence giv’n; amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan,
Ephaistus, in his mother’s care, this comely speech began:
“Believe it, these words will breed wounds, beyond our pow’rs to bear,
If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here
That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best.
But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request
His wisdom audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove,
For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove
A wrathful battle. If he will, the heav’nly Light’ner can
Take you and toss you from your throne; his pow’r Olympian
Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen,
And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.”
This said, arising from his throne, in his lov’d mother’s hand
He put the double-handed cup, and said: “Come, do not stand
On these cross humours, suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve,
And lest blows force you; all my aid not able to relieve
Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart
Sorrow to think it. ’Tis a task too dang’rous to take part
Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel.
When other Gods would fain have help’d, he took me by the heel,
And hurl’d me out of heav’n. All day I was in falling down;
At length in Lemnos I strook earth. The likewise-falling sun
And I, together, set; my life almost set too; yet there
The Sintii cheer’d and took me up.” This did to laughter cheer
White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil’d.
The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fill’d
Nectar to all the other Gods. A laughter never left
Shook all the blesséd deities, to see the lame so deft
At that cup service. All that day, ev’n till the sun went down,
They banqueted, and had such cheer as did their wishes crown.
Nor had they music less divine; Apollo there did touch
His most sweet harp, to which, with voice, the Muses pleas’d as much.
But when the sun’s fair light was set, each Godhead to his house
Address’d for sleep, where ev’ry one, with art most curious,
By heav’n’s great both-foot-halting God a sev’ral roof had built.
Ev’n he to sleep went, by whose hand heav’n is with lightning gilt,
High Jove, where he had us’d to rest when sweet sleep seiz’d his eyes;
By him the golden-thron’d Queen slept, the Queen of deities.

[1] “See my bed made,” it may be Englished. The word is ἀντιόωσαν, which signifies contra stantem as standing of one side opposite to another on the other side; which yet others translate capessentem et adornantem; which since it shows best to a reader, I follow.

[2] This simile Virgil directly translates.

Jove calls a vision up from Somnus’ den
To bid Atrides muster up his men.
The King, to Greeks dissembling his desire,
Persuades them to their country to retire.
By Pallas’ will, Ulysses stays their flight:
And wise old Nestor heartens them to fight.
They take their meat; which done, to arms they go,
And march in good array against the foe.
So those of Troy; when Iris, from the sky,
Of Saturn’s son performs the embassy.

Beta the dream and synod cites;
And catalogues the naval knights.

The other Gods, and knights at arms, all night slept; only Jove
Sweet slumber seiz’d not; he discours’d how best he might approve
His vow made for Achilles’ grace, and make the Grecians find
His miss in much death. All ways cast, this counsel serv’d his mind
With most allowance; to despatch a harmful Dream to greet
The king of men, and gave this charge: “Go to the Achive fleet,
Pernicious Dream, and, being arriv’d in Agamemnon’s tent,
Deliver truly all this charge. Command him to convent
His whole host arm’d before these tow’rs; for now Troy’s broad-way’d town
He shall take in; the heav’n-hous’d Gods are now indiff’rent grown:
Juno’s request hath won them; Troy now under imminent ills
At all parts labours.” This charge heard, the Vision straight fulfils;
The ships reach’d, and Atrides’ tent, in which he found him laid,
Divine sleep pour’d about his pow’rs. He stood above his head
Like Nestor, grac’d of old men most, and this did intimate:
“Sleeps the wise Atreus’ tame-horse son? A councillor of state
Must not the whole night spend in sleep, to whom the people are
For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.
Now hear me, then, Jove’s messenger, who, though far off from thee,
Is near thee yet in ruth and care, and gives command by me
To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy
Shall now take in; no more the Gods dissentiously employ
Their high-hous’d powers; Juno’s suit hath won them all to her;
And ill fates overhang these tow’rs, address’d by Jupiter.
Fix in thy mind this, nor forget to give it action, when
Sweet sleep shall leave thee.” Thus, he fled; and left the king of men
Repeating in discourse his dream, and dreaming still, awake,
Of pow’r, not ready yet for act. O fool, he thought to take
In that next day old Priam’s town; not knowing what affairs
Jove had in purpose, who prepar’d, by strong fight, sighs and cares
For Greeks and Trojans. The Dream gone, his voice still murmured
About the king’s ears; who sate up, put on him in his bed
His silken inner weed, fair, new; and then in haste arose,
Cast on his ample mantle, tied to his soft feet fair shoes,
His silver-hilted sword he hung about his shoulder, took
His father’s sceptre never stain’d, which then abroad he shook,
And went to fleet. And now great heav’n Goddess Aurora scal’d,
To Jove, and all Gods, bringing light; when Agamemnon call’d
His heralds, charging them aloud to call to instant court
The thick-hair’d Greeks. The heralds call’d; the Greeks made quick resort.
The Council chiefly he compos’d of old great-minded men,
At Nestor’s ships, the Pylian king. All there assembled then,
Thus Atreus’ son begun the court: “Hear, friends: A Dream divine,
Amidst the calm night in my sleep, did through my shut eyes shine,
Within my fantasy. His form did passing naturally
Resemble Nestor; such attire, a stature just as high.
He stood above my head, and words thus fashion’d did relate:
‘Sleeps the wise Atreus’ tame-horse son? A councillor of state
Must not the whole night spend in sleep, to whom the people are
For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care.
Now hear me then, Jove’s messenger, who, though far off from thee,
Is near thee yet in love and care, and gives command by me
To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way’d town of Troy
Shall now take in; no more the Gods dissentiously employ
Their high-hous’d pow’rs; Saturnia’s suit hath won them all to her;
And ill fates over-hang these tow’rs, address’d by Jupiter.
Fix in thy mind this.’ This express’d, he took wing and away,
And sweet sleep left me. Let us then by all our means assay
To arm our army; I will first (as far as fits our right)
Try their addictions, and command with full-sail’d ships our flight;
Which if they yield to, oppose you.” He sate, and up arose
Nestor, of sandy Pylos king, who, willing to dispose
Their counsel to the public good, propos’d this to the state:
“Princes and Councillors of Greece, if any should relate
This vision but the king himself, it might be held a tale,
And move the rather our retreat; but since our General
Affirms he saw it, hold it true, and all our best means make
To arm our army.” This speech us’d, he first the Council brake;
The other sceptre-bearing States arose too, and obey’d
The people’s Rector. Being abroad, the earth was overlaid
With flockers to them, that came forth, as when of frequent bees
Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees
Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new
From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still as it faded, grew,
And never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring,
They still crowd out so; this fleck here, that there, belabouring
The loaded flow’rs; so from the ships and tents the army’s store
Troop’d to these princes and the court, along th’ unmeasur’d shore;
Amongst whom, Jove’s ambassadress, Fame, in her virtue shin’d,
Exciting greediness to hear. The rabble, thus inclin’d,
Hurried together; uproar seiz’d the high court; earth did groan
Beneath the settling multitude; tumult was there alone.
Thrice-three vocif’rous heralds rose, to check the rout, and get
Ear to their Jove-kept governors; and instantly was set
That huge confusion; ev’ry man set fast, the clamour ceas’d.
Then stood divine Atrides up, and in his hand compress’d
His sceptre, th’ elaborate work of fi’ry Mulciber,
Who gave it to Saturnian Jove; Jove to his messenger;
His messenger, Argicides, to Pelops, skill’d in horse;
Pelops to Atreus, chief of men; he, dying, gave it course
To prince Thyestes, rich in herds; Thyestes to the hand
Of Agamemnon render’d it, and with it the command
Of many isles, and Argos all. On this he leaning, said:
“O friends, great sons of Danaus, servants of Mars, Jove laid
A heavy curse on me, to vow, and bind it with the bent
Of his high forehead; that, this Troy of all her people spent,
I should return; yet now to mock our hopes built on his vow,
And charge ingloriously my flight, when such an overthrow
Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will
We must submit us, that hath raz’d, and will be razing still,
Men’s footsteps from so many towns; because his pow’r is most,
He will destroy most. But how vile such and so great an host
Will show to future times, that, match’d with lesser numbers far,
We fly, not putting on the crown of our so-long-held war,
Of which there yet appears no end! Yet should our foes and we
Strike truce, and number both our pow’rs; Troy taking all that be
Her arm’d inhabitants, and we, in tens, should all sit down
At our truce banquet, ev’ry ten allow’d one of the town
To fill his feast-cup; many tens would their attendant want;
So much I must affirm our pow’r exceeds th’ inhabitant.
But their auxiliáry bands, those brandishers of spears,
From many cities drawn, are they that are our hinderers,
Not suff’ring well-rais’d Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now,
Since Jove our conquest vow’d; and now, our vessels rotten grow,
Our tackling falls; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and long
For our arrival; yet the work, that should have wreak’d our wrong,
And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid, all
Obey, and fly to our lov’d home; for now, nor ever, shall
Our utmost take-in broad-way’d Troy.” This said, the multitude
Was all for home; and all men else that what this would conclude
Had not discover’d. All the crowd was shov’d about the shore,
In sway, like rude and raging waves, rous’d with the fervent blore
Of th’ east and south winds, when they break from Jove’s clouds, and are borne
On rough backs of th’ Icarian seas: or like a field of corn
High grown, that Zephyr’s vehement gusts bring eas’ly underneath,
And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath;
For ev’n so eas’ly, with the breath Atrides us’d, was sway’d
The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray’d,
All rush’d; and, with a fog of dust, their rude feet dimm’d the day;
Each cried to other, “Cleanse our ships, come, launch, aboard, away.”
The clamour of the runners home reach’d heav’n; and then, past fate,
The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the Goddess of estate
Thus spoke to Pallas: “O foul shame, thou untam’d seed of Jove,
Shall thus the sea’s broad back be charg’d with these our friends’ remove,
Thus leaving Argive Helen here, thus Priam grac’d, thus Troy,
In whose fields, far from their lov’d own, for Helen’s sake, the joy
And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish’d? Take thy way
T’ our brass-arm’d people, speak them fair, let not a man obey
The charge now giv’n, nor launch one ship.” She said, and Pallas did
As she commanded; from the tops of heav’n’s steep hill she slid,
And straight the Greeks’ swift ships she reach’d; Ulysses (like to Jove
In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove
Stirr’d not a foot, nor touch’d a ship, but griev’d at heart to see
That fault in others. To him close the blue-eyed Deity
Made way, and said: “Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes’ son,
Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run?
Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends,
If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends
Have clos’d your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home.
Go to these people, use no stay, with fair terms overcome
Their foul endeavour, not a man a flying sail let hoice.”
Thus spake she; and Ulysses knew ’twas Pallas by her voice,
Ran to the runners, cast from him his mantle, which his man
And herald, grave Eurybates, the Ithacensian
That follow’d him, took up. Himself to Agamemnon went,
His incorrupted sceptre took, his sceptre of descent,
And with it went about the fleet. What prince, or man of name,
He found flight-giv’n, he would restrain with words of gentlest blame:
“Good sir, it fits not you to fly, or fare as one afraid,
You should not only stay yourself, but see the people staid.
You know not clearly, though you heard the king’s words, yet his mind;
He only tries men’s spirits now, and, whom his trials find
Apt to this course, he will chastise, Nor you, nor I, heard all
He spake in council; nor durst press too near our General,
Lest we incens’d him to our hurt. The anger of a king
Is mighty; he is kept of Jove, and from Jove likewise spring
His honours, which, out of the love of wise Jove, he enjoys.”
Thus he the best sort us’d; the worst, whose spirits brake out in noise,
He cudgell’d with his sceptre, chid, and said: “Stay, wretch, be still,
And hear thy betters; thou art base, and both in pow’r and skill
Poor and unworthy, without name in council or in war.
We must not all be kings. The rule is most irregular,
Where many rule. One lord, one king, propose to thee; and he,
To whom wise Saturn’s son, hath giv’n both law and empery
To rule the public, is that king.” Thus ruling, he restrain’d
The host from flight; and then again the Council was maintain’d
With such a concourse, that the shore rung with the tumult made;
As when the far-resounding sea doth in its rage invade
His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involvéd wave,
And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave.
Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder’d store
Of words he foolishly pour’d out, of which his mind held more
Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure
Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure
To touch no kings; t’ oppose their states becomes not jesters’ parts.
But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts
In Troy’s brave siege; he was squint-ey’d, and lame of either foot;
So crook-back’d, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot
(Here and there spers’d) thin mossy hair. He most of all envíed
Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide.
Nor could the sacred King himself avoid his saucy vein;
Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain,
Being angry for Achilles’ wrong, he cried out, railing thus:
“Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What would’st thou more of us?
Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine,
With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign
To our invasion. Want’st thou then, besides all this, more gold
From Troy’s knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold
I or some other Greek must take? Or would’st thou yet again
Force from some other lord his prise, to soothe the lusts that reign
In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be
A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny
By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy,
And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, fly
Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys,
And try if we help’d him or not; he wrong’d a man that weighs
Far more than he himself in worth; he forc’d from Thetis’ son,
And keeps his prise still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won
The style of wrathful worthily; he’s soft, he’s too remiss;
Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.”
Thus he the people’s Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him
Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim,
This bitter check gave: “Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein
On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restrain,
With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree;
For not a worse, of all this host, came with our King than thee,
To Troy’s great siege; then do not take into that mouth of thine
The names of kings, much less revile the dignities that shine
In their supreme states, wresting thus this motion for our home,
To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will come
Of these designments, if it be our good to stay, or go.
Nor is it that thou stand’st on; thou revil’st our Gen’ral so,
Only because he hath so much, not giv’n by such as thou
But our heroës. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow
(Which shall be curiously observ’d) if ever I shall hear
This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear
This head, nor be the father call’d of young Telemachus,
If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus
Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes, weeping hence
This glory thou affect’st to rail.” This said, his insolence
He settled with his sceptre; strook his back and shoulders so
That bloody wales rose. He shrunk round; and from his eyes did flow
Moist tears, and, looking filthily, he sate, fear’d, smarted, dried
His blubber’d cheeks; and all the prease, though griev’d to be denied
Their wish’d retreat for home, yet laugh’d delightsomely, and spake
Either to other: “O ye Gods, how infinitely take
Ulysses’ virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great
In ord’ring armies, how most well this act became his heat,
To beat from council this rude fool! I think his saucy spirit,
Hereafter, will not let his tongue abuse the sov’reign merit,
Exempt from such base tongues as his.” Thus spake the people; then
The city-razer Ithacus stood up to speak again,
Holding his sceptre. Close to him gray-eyed Minerva stood,
And, like a herald, silence caus’d, that all the Achive brood
(From first to last) might hear and know the counsel; when, inclin’d
To all their good, Ulysses said: “Atrides, now I find
These men would render thee the shame of all men; nor would pay
Their own vows to thee, when they took their free and honour’d way
From Argos hither, that, till Troy were by their brave hands rac’d,
They would not turn home. Yet, like babes, and widows, now they haste
To that base refuge, ’Tis a spite to see men melted so
In womanish changes; though ’tis true, that if a man do go
Only a month to sea, and leave his wife far off, and he,
Tortur’d with winter’s storms, and toss’d with a tumultuous sea,
Grows heavy, and would home. Us then, to whom the thrice-three year
Hath fill’d his revoluble orb since our arrival here,
I blame not to wish home much more; yet all this time to stay,
Out of our judgments, for our end; and now to take our way
Without it, were absurd and vile. Sustain then, friends; abide
The time set to our object; try if Calchas prophesied
True of the time or not. We know, ye all can witness well,
(Whom these late death-conferring fates have fail’d to send to hell)
That when in Aulis, all our fleet, assembled with a freight
Of ills to Ilion and her friends, beneath the fair grown height
A platane bore, about a fount, whence crystal water flow’d,
And near our holy altar, we upon the Gods bestow’d
Accomplish’d hecatombs; and there appear’d a huge portent,
A dragon with a bloody scale, horrid to sight, and sent
To light by great Olympius; which, crawling from beneath
The altar, to the platane climb’d, and ruthless crash’d to death
A sparrow’s young, in number eight, that in a top-bough lay
Hid under leaves; the dam the ninth, that hover’d every way,
Mourning her lov’d birth, till at length, the serpent, watching her,
Her wing caught, and devour’d her too. This dragon, Jupiter,
That brought him forth, turn’d to a stone, and made a pow’rful mean
To stir our zeals up, that admir’d, when of a fact so clean
Of all ill as our sacrifice, so fearful an ostent
Should be the issue. Calchas, then, thus prophesied th’ event
‘Why are ye dumb-strook, fair-hair’d Greeks? Wise Jove is he hath shown
This strange ostent to us. ’Twas late, and passing lately done,
But that grace it foregoes to us, for suff’ring all the state
Of his appearance (being so slow) nor time shall end, nor fate.
As these eight sparrows, and the dam (that made the ninth) were eat
By this stern serpent; so nine years we are t’ endure the heat
Of rav’nous war, and, in the tenth, take-in this broad-way’d town.’
Thus he interpreted this sign; and all things have their crown
As he interpreted, till now. The rest, then, to succeed
Believe as certain. Stay we all, till, that most glorious deed
Of taking this rich town, our hands are honour’d with.” This said,
The Greeks gave an unmeasur’d shout; which back the ships repaid
With terrible echoes, in applause of that persuasion
Divine Ulysses us’d; which yet held no comparison
With Nestor’s next speech, which was this: “O shameful thing! Ye talk
Like children all, that know not war. In what air’s region walk
Our oaths, and cov’nants? Now, I see the fit respects of men
Are vanish’d quite; our right hands giv’n, our faiths, our counsels vain,
Our sacrifice with wine, all fled in that profanéd flame
We made to bind all; for thus still we vain persuasions frame,
And strive to work our end with words, not joining stratagemes
And hands together, though, thus long, the pow’r of our extremes
Hath urg’d us to them. Atreus’ son, firm as at first hour stand!
Make good thy purpose; talk no more in councils, but command
In active field. Let two or three, that by themselves advise,
Faint in their crowning; they are such as are not truly wise;
They will for Argos, ere they knew if that which Jove hath said
Be false or true. I tell them all, that high Jove bow’d his head,
As first we went aboard our fleet, for sign we should confer
These Trojans their due fate and death; almighty Jupiter
All that day darting forth his flames, in an unmeasur’d light,
On our right hand. Let therefore none once dream of coward flight,
Till (for his own) some wife of Troy he sleeps withal, the rape
Of Helen wreaking, and our sighs enforc’d for her escape.
If any yet dare dote on home, let his dishonour’d haste
His black and well-built bark but touch, that (as he first disgrac’d
His country’s spirit) fate, and death, may first his spirit let go.
But be thou wise, king, do not trust thyself, but others. Know
I will not use an abject word. See all thy men array’d
In tribes and nations, that tribes tribes, nations may nations, aid.
Which doing, thou shalt know what chiefs, what soldiers, play the men,
And what the cowards; for they all will fight in sev’ral then,
Easy for note. And then shalt thou, if thou destroy’st not Troy,
Know if the prophecy’s defect, or men thou dost employ
In their approv’d arts want in war, or lack of that brave heat
Fit for the vent’rous spirits of Greece, was cause to thy defeat.”
To this the king of men replied: “O father, all the sons
Of Greece thou conquer’st in the strife of consultations.
I would to Jove, Athenia, and Phœbus, I could make,
Of all, but ten such counsellors; then instantly would shake
King Priam’s city, by our hands laid hold on and laid waste.
But Jove hath order’d I should grieve, and to that end hath cast
My life into debates past end. Myself, and Thetis’ son,
Like girls, in words fought for a girl, and I th’ offence begun.
But if we ever talk as friends, Troy’s thus deferréd fall
Shall never vex us more one hour. Come then, to victuals all,
That strong Mars all may bring to field. Each man his lance’s steel
See sharpen’d well, his shield well lin’d, his horses meated well,
His chariot carefully made strong, that these affairs of death
We all day may hold fiercely out. No man must rest, or breath;
The bosoms of our targeteers must all be steeped in sweat;
The lancer’s arm must fall dissolv’d; our chariot-horse with heat
Must seem to melt. But if I find one soldier take the chace,
Or stir from fight, or fight not still fix’d in his enemy’s face,
Or hid a-ship-board, all the world, for force, nor price, shall save
His hated life, but fowls and dogs be his abhorréd grave.”
He said; and such a murmur rose, as on a lofty shore
The waves make, when the south wind comes, and tumbles them before
Against a rock, grown near the strand which diversely beset
Is never free, but, here and there, with varied uproars beat.
All rose then, rushing to the fleet, perfum’d their tents, and eat;
Each off’ring to th’ immortal gods, and praying to ’scape the heat
Of war and death. The king of men an ox of five years’ spring
T’ almighty Jove slew, call’d the peers; first Nestor; then the king
Idomenëus; after them th’ Ajaces; and the son
Of Tydeus; Ithacus the sixth, in counsel paragon
To Jove himself. All these he bade; but at-a-martial-cry
Good Menelaus, since he saw his brother busily
Employ’d at that time, would not stand on invitation,
But of himself came. All about the off’ring over-thrown
Stood round, took salt-cakes, and the king himself thus pray’d for all:
“O Jove, most great, most glorious, that, in that starry hall,
Sitt’st drawing dark clouds up to air, let not the sun go down,
Darkness supplying it, till my hands the palace and the town
Of Priam overthrow and burn; the arm, on Hector’s breast
Dividing, spoiling with my sword thousands, in interest
Of his bad quarrel, laid by him in dust, and eating earth.”
He pray’d; Jove heard him not, but made more plentiful the birth
Of his sad toils, yet took his gifts. Pray’rs past, cakes on they threw;
The ox then, to the altar drawn, they kill’d, and from him drew
His hide, then cut him up, his thighs; in two hewn, dubb’d with fat,
Prick’d on the sweetbreads, and with wood, leaveless, and kindled at
Apposéd fire, they burn the thighs; which done, the inwards, slit,
They broil’d on coals and eat; the rest, in giggots cut, they spit,
Roast cunningly, draw, sit, and feast; nought lack’d to leave allay’d
Each temp’rate appetite; which serv’d, Nestor began and said:
“Atrides, most grac’d king of men, now no more words allow,
Nor more defer the deed Jove vows. Let heralds summon now
The brazen-coated Greeks, and us range ev’rywhere the host,
To stir a strong war quickly up.” This speech no syllable lost;
The high-voic’d heralds instantly he, charg’d to call to arms
The curl’d-head Greeks; they call’d; the Greeks straight answer’d their alarms.
The Jove-kept kings, about the king all gather’d, with their aid
Rang’d all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed Maid
Great Ægis (Jove’s bright shield) sustain’d, that can be never old,
Never corrupted, fring’d about with serpents forg’d of gold,
As many all suffic’d to make an hundred fringes, worth
An hundred oxen, ev’ry snake all sprawling, all set forth
With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the Goddess ran,
In fury casting round her eyes, and furnish’d ev’ry man
With strength, exciting all to arms, and fight incessant. None
Now lik’d their lov’d homes like the wars. And as a fire upon
A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light;
So the divine brass shin’d on these thus thrusting on for fight,
Their splendour through the air reach’d heav’n. And as about the flood
Caïster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood,
Cranes, geese, or long-neck’d swans, here, there, proud of their pinions fly,
And in their falls layout such throats, that with their spiritful cry
The meadow shrieks again; so here, these many-nation’d men
Flow’d over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships; the din
Was dreadful that the feet of men and horse beat out of earth.
And in the flourishing mead they stood, thick as the odorous birth
Of flow’rs, or leaves bred in the spring; or thick as swarms of flies
Throng then to sheep-cotes, when each swarm his erring wing applies
To milk dew’d on the milk-maid’s pails; all eagerly dispos’d
To give to ruin th’ Ilians. And as in rude heaps clos’d,
Though huge goatherds are at their food, the goatherds eas’ly yet
Sort into sundry herds; so here the chiefs in battle set
Here tribes, here nations, ord’ring all. Amongst whom shin’d the king,
With eyes like lightning-loving Jove, his forehead answering,
In breast like Neptune, Mars in waist. And as a goodly bull
Most eminent of all a herd, most wrong, most masterful,
So Agamemnon, Jove that day made overheighten clear
That heav’n-bright army, and preferr’d to all th’ heroës there.
Now tell me, Muses, you that dwell in heav’nly roofs, (for you
Are Goddesses, are present here, are wise, and all things know,
We only trust the voice of fame, know nothing,) who they were
That here were captains of the Greeks, commanding princes here.
The multitude exceed my song, though fitted to my choice
Ten tongues were, harden’d palates ten, a breast of brass, a voice
Infract and trump-like; that great work, unless the seed of Jove,
The deathless Muses, undertake, maintains a pitch above
All mortal pow’rs. The princes then, and navy that did bring
Those so inenarrable troops, and all their soils, I sing.

Peneleus, and Leitus, all that Bœotia bred,
Arcesilaus, Clonius, and Prothoenor led;
Th’ inhabitants of Hyria, and stony Aulida,
Schæne, Scole, the hilly Eteon, and holy Thespia,
Of Græa, and great Mycalesse, that hath the ample plain,
Of Harma, and Ilesius, and all that did remain
In Eryth, and in Eleon, in Hylen, Peteona,
In fair Ocalea, and, the town well-builded, Medeona,
Copas, Eutresis, Thisbe, that for pigeons doth surpass,
Of Coroneia, Haliart, that hath such store of grass,
All those that in Platæa dwelt, that Glissa did possess,
And Hypothebs, whose well-built walls are rare and fellowless,
In rich Onchestus’ famous wood, to wat’ry Neptune vow’d,
And Arne, where the vine-trees are with vig’rous bunches bow’d,
With them that dwelt in Midea, and Nissa most divine,
All those whom utmost Anthedon did wealthily confine.
From all these coasts, in general, full fifty sail were sent;
And six score strong Bœotian youths in ev’ry burthen went.
But those who in Aspledon dwelt, and Minian Orchomen,
God Mars’s sons did lead (Ascalaphus and Ialmen)
Who in Azidon Actor’s house did of Astyoche come;
The bashful maid, as she went up into the higher room,
The War-god secretly compress’d. In safe conduct of these,
Did thirty hollow-bottom’d barks divide the wavy seas.
Brave Schedius and Epistrophus, the Phocian captains were,
(Naubolida-Iphitus’ sons) all proof ’gainst any fear;
With them the Cyparissians went, and bold Pythonians,
Men of religious Chrysa’s soil, and fat Daulidians,
Panopæans, Anemores, and fierce Hyampolists;
And those that dwell where Cephisus casts up his silken mists;
The men that fair Lilæa held, near the Cephisian spring;
All which did forty sable barks to that designment bring.
About th’ entoil’d Phocensian fleet had these their sail assign’d;
And near to the sinister wing the arm’d Bœotians shin’d.
Ajax the less, Oïleus’ son, the Locrians led to war;
Not like to Ajax Telamon, but lesser man by far,
Little he was, and ever wore a breastplate made of linne,
But for the manage of his lance he gen’ral praise did win.
The dwellers of Caliarus, of Bessa, Opoën,
The youths of Cynus, Scarphis, and Augias, lovely men,
Of Tarphis, and of Thronius, near flood Boagrius’ fall;
Twice-twenty martial barks of these, less Ajax sail’d withal.
Who near Eubœa’s blesséd soil their habitations had,
Strength-breathing Abants, who their seats in sweet Eubœa made,
The Histiæans rich in grapes, the men of Chalcida,
The Cerinths bord’ring on the sea, of rich Eretria,
Of Dion’s highly-seated town, Charistus, and of Styre,
All these the duke Alphenor led, a flame of Mars’s fire,
Surnam’d Chalcodontiades, the mighty Abants’ guide,
Swift men of foot, whose broad-set backs their trailing hair did bide,
Well-seen in fight, and soon could pierce with far extended darts
The breastplates of their enemies, and reach their dearest hearts.
Forty black men of war did sail in this Alphenor’s charge.
The soldiers that in Athens dwelt, a city builded large,
The people of Eristhius, whom Jove-sprung Pallas fed,
And plenteous-feeding Tellus brought out of her flow’ry bed;
Him Pallas placed in her rich fane, and, ev’ry ended year,
Of bulls and lambs th’ Athenian youths please him with off’rings there;
Mighty Menestheus, Peteus’ son, had their divided care;
For horsemen and for targeteers none could with him compare,
Nor put them into better place, to hurt or to defend;
But Nestor (for he elder was) with him did sole contend;
With him came fifty sable sail. And out of Salamine
Great Ajax brought twelve sail, that with th’ Athenians did combine.
Who did in fruitful Argos dwell, or strong Tiryntha keep,
Hennion, or in Asinen whose bosom is so deep,
Trœzena, Eïon, Epidaure where Bacchus crowns his head,
Ægina, and Maseta’s soil, did follow Diomed,
And Sthenelus, the dear-lov’d son of famous Capaneus
Together with Euryalus, heir of Mecisteus,
The king of Talæonides; past whom in deeds of war,
The famous soldier Diomed of all was held by far.
Four score black ships did follow these. The men fair Mycene held,
The wealthy Corinth, Cleon that for beauteous site excell’d,
Aræthyrea’s lovely seat, and in Ornia’s plain,
And Sicyona, where at first did king Adrastus reign,
High-seated Gonoëssa’s towers, and Hyperisius,
That dwelt in fruitful Pellenen, and in divine Ægius,
With all the sea-side borderers, and wide Helice’s friends,
To Agamemnon ev’ry town her native birth commends,
In double-fifty sable barks. With him a world of men
Most strong and full of valour went, and he in triumph then
Put on his most resplendent arms, since he did over-shine
The whole heroic host of Greece, in pow’r of that design.
Who did in Lacedæmon’s rule th’ unmeasur’d concave hold,
High Pharis, Sparta, Messe’s tow’rs, for doves so much extoll’d,
Bryseia’s and Augia’s grounds, strong Laa, Oetylon,
Amyclas, Helos’ harbour-town, that Neptune beats upon,
All these did Menelaus lead (his brother, that in cries
Of war was famous). Sixty ships convey’d these enemies
To Troy in chief, because their king was chiefly injur’d there,
In Helen’s rape, and did his best to make them buy it dear.
Who dwelt in Pylos’ sandy soil, and Arene the fair,
In Thryon, near Alpheus’ flood, and Aepy full of air,
In Cyparisscus, Amphigen, and little Pteleon,
The town where all the Iliots dwelt, and famous Doreon,
Where all the Muses, opposite, in strife of poesy,
To ancient Thamyris of Thrace, did use him cruelly,
(He coming from Eurytus’ court, the wise Œchalian king,)
Because he proudly durst affirm he could more sweetly sing
Than that Pierian race of Jove; who, angry with his vaunt,
Bereft his eyesight, and his song, that did the ear enchant,
And of his skill to touch his harp disfurnishéd his hand.
All these in ninety hollow keels grave Nestor did command.
The richly-blest inhabitants of the Arcadian land
Below Cyllene’s mount (that by Epytus’ tomb did stand)
Where dwelt the bold near-fighting men, who did in Phæneus live,
And Orchomen, where flocks of sheep the shepherds clust’ring drive,
In Ripe, and in Stratié, the fair Mantinean town,
And strong Enispe, that for height is ever weather-blown,
Tegea, and in Stymphalus, Parrhasia strongly wall’d,
All these Alcæus’ son to field (king Agapenor) call’d;
In sixty barks he brought them on, and ev’ry bark well-mann’d
With fierce Arcadian’s, skill’d to use the utmost of a band.
King Agamemnon, on these men, did well-built ships bestow
To pass the gulfy purple sea, that did no sea rites know.
They, who in Hermin, Buphrasis, and Elis, did remain,
What Olen’s cliffs, Alisius, and Myrsin did contain,
Were led to war by twice-two dukes (and each ten ships did bring,
Which many vent’rous Epians did serve for burthening,)
Beneath Amphimachus’s charge, and valiant Thalpius,
(Son of Eurytus-Actor one, the other Cteatus,)
Diores Amaryncides the other did employ,
The fourth divine Polixenus (Agasthenes’s joy).
The king of fair Angeiades, who from Dulichius came,
And from Echinaus’ sweet isles, which hold their holy frame
By ample Elis region, Meges Phylides led;
Whom duke Phyleus, Jove’s belov’d, begat, and whilome fled
To large Dulichius, for the wrath that fir’d his father’s breast.
Twice-twenty ships with ebon sails were in his charge address’d.
The warlike men of Cephale, and those of Ithaca,
Woody Neritus, and the men of wet Crocylia,
Sharp Ægilipa, Samos’ isle, Zacynthus sea inclos’d,
Epirus, and the men that hold the continent oppos’d,
All these did wise Ulysses lead, in counsel peer to Jove;
Twelve ships he brought, which in their course vermilion sterns did move.
Thoas, Andremon’s well-spoke son, did guide th’ Ætolians well,
Those that in Pleuron, Olenon, and strong Pylene dwell,
Great Chalcis, that by sea-side stands, and stony Calydon;
(For now no more of Œneus’ sons surviv’d; they all were gone;
No more his royal self did live, no more his noble son
The golden Meleager now, their glasses all were run)
All things were left to him in charge, th’ Ætolians’ chief he was,
And forty ships to Trojan wars the seas with him did pass.
The royal soldier Idomen did lead the Cretans stout,
The men of Gnossus, and the town Gortyna wall’d about,
Of Lictus, and Miletus’ tow’rs, of white Lycastus’ state,
Of Phæstus, and of Rhytius, the cities fortunate.
And all the rest inhabiting the hundred towns of Crete;
Whom warlike Idomen did lead, co-partner in the fleet
With kill-man Merion. Eighty ships with them did Troy invade.
Tlepolemus Heraclides, right strong and bigly made,
Brought nine tall ships of war from Rhodes, which haughty Rhodians mann’d,
Who dwelt in three dissever’d parts of that most pleasant land,
Which Lyndus and Jalissus were, and bright Camirus, call’d.
Tlepolemus commanded these, in battle unappall’d;
Whom fair Astyoche brought forth, by force of Hercules,
Led out of Ephyr with his hand, from river Selleës,
When many towns of princely youths he levell’d with the ground.
Tlepolem, in his father’s house (for building much renown’d)
Brought up to headstrong state of youth, his mother’s brother slew,
The flow’r of arms, Licymnius, that somewhat aged grew;
Then straight he gather’d him a fleet, assembling bands of men,
And fled by sea, to shun the threats that were denouncéd then
By other sons and nephews of th’ Alciden fortitude.
He in his exile came to Rhodes, driv’n in with tempests rude.
The Rhodians were distinct in tribes, and great with Jove did stand,
The King of men and Gods, who gave much treasure to their land.
Nirëus, out of Syma’s hav’n three well-built barks did bring;
Nirëus, fair Aglaia’s son, and Charopes the king;
Nirëus was the fairest man that to fair Ilion came
Of all the Greeks, save Peleus’ son, who pass’d for gen’ral frame;
But weak this was, not fit for war, and therefore few did guide.
Who did in Cassus, Nisyrus, and Crapathus, abide,
In Co, Eurypylus’s town, and in Calydna’s soils,
Phidippus and bold Antiphus did guide to Trojan toils,
(The sons of crownéd Thessalus, deriv’d from Hercules)
Who went with thirty hollow ships well-order’d to the seas.
Now will I sing the sackful troops Pelasgian Argos held,
That in deep Alus, Alopé, and soft Trechina dwell’d,
In Phthia, and in Hellade where live the lovely dames,
The Myrmidons, Hellenians, and Achives, rob’d of fames;
All which the great Æacides in fifty ships did lead.
For these forgat war’s horrid voice, because they lack’d their head
That would have brought them bravely forth; but now at fleet did lie
That wind-like user of his feet, fair Thetis’ progeny,
Wroth for bright-cheek’d Briseis’ loss, whom from Lyrnessus’ spoils
(His own exploit) he brought away as trophy of his toils,
When that town was depopulate; he sunk the Theban tow’rs;
Myneta, and Epistrophus, he sent to Pluto’s bow’rs,
Who came of king Evenus’ race, great Helepiades;
Yet now he idly lives enrag’d, but soon must leave his ease.
Of those that dwelt in Phylace, and flow’ry Pyrason
The wood of Ceres, and the soil that sheep are fed upon
Iton, and Antron built by sea, and Pteleus full of grass,
Protesilaus, while he liv’d, the worthy captain was,
Whom now the sable earth detains; his tear-torn-facéd spouse
He woeful left in Phylace, and his half-finish’d house;
A fatal Dardan first his life, of all the Greeks, bereft,
As he was leaping from his ship; yet were his men unleft
Without a chief, for though they wish’d to have no other man
But good Protesilay their guide, Podarces yet began
To govern them, (Iphitis’ son, the son of Phylacus)
Most rich in sheep, and brother to short-liv’d Protesilaus,
Of younger birth, less, and less strong, yet serv’d he to direct
The companies, that still did more their ancient duke affect.
Twice-twenty jetty sails with him the swelling stream did take.
But those that did in Pheres dwell, at the Bœbeian lake,
In Bœbe, and in Glaphyra, Iaolcus builded fair,
In thrice-six ships to Pergamus did through the seas repair,
With old Admetus’ tender son, Eumelus, whom he bred
Of Alcest, Pelius’ fairest child of all his female seed.
The soldiers that before the siege Methone’s vales did hold,
Thaumacie, flow’ry Melibœ, and Olison the cold,
Duke Philoctetes governéd, in darts of finest sleight;
Sev’n vessels in his charge convey’d their honourable freight,
By fifty rowers in a bark, most expert in the bow;
But he in sacred Lemnos lay, brought miserably low
By torment of an ulcer grown with Hydra’s poison’d blood,
Whose sting was such, Greece left him there in most impatient mood;
Yet thought they on him at his ship and choos’d, to lead his men,
Medon, Oïleus’ bastard son, brought forth to him by Rhen.
From Tricce, bleak Ithomen’s clifts, and hapless Oechaly,
(Eurytus’ city, rul’d by him in wilful tyranny,)
In charge of Æsculapius’ sons, physician highly prais’d,
Machaon, Podalirius, were thirty vessels rais’d.
Who near Hyperia’s fountain dwelt, and in Ormenius,
The snowy tops of Titanus, and in Asterius,
Evemon’s son, Eurypylus, did lead into the field;
Whose towns did forty black-sail’d ships to that encounter yield.
Who Gyrton, and Argissa, held, Orthen, and Elon’s seat,
And chalky Oloössone, were led by Polypœte,
The issue of Pirithous, the son of Jupiter.
Him the Athenian Theseus’ friend Hippodamy did bear,
When he the bristled savages did give Ramnusia,
And drove them out of Pelius, as far as Æthica.
He came not single, but with him Leonteus, Coron’s son,
An arm of Mars, and Coron’s life Cenëus’ seed begun.
Twice-twenty ships attended these. Gunëus next did bring
From Cyphus twenty sail and two; the Enians following;
And fierce Peræbi, that about Dodon’s frozen mould
Did plant their houses; and the men that did the meadows hold,
Which Titaresius decks with flow’rs and his sweet current leads
Into the bright Peneïus, that hath the silver heads,
Yet with his admirable stream doth not his waves commix,
But glides aloft on it like oil; for ’tis the flood of Styx,
By which th’ immortal Gods do swear. Teuthredon’s honour’d birth,
Prothous, led the Magnets forth, who near the shady earth
Of Pelius, and Peneïon, dwelt; forty revengeful sail
Did follow him. These were the dukes and princes of avail
That came from Greece. But now the man, that overshin’d them all,
Sing, Muse; and their most famous steeds to my recital call,
That both th’ Atrides followéd. Fair Pheretiades
The bravest mares did bring by much; Eumelius manag’d these,
Swift of their feet as birds of wing, both of one hair did shine,
Both of an age, both of a height, as measur’d by a line,
Whom silver-bow’d Apollo bred in the Pierian mead,
Both slick and dainty, yet were both in war of wondrous dread.
Great Ajax Telamon for strength pass’d all the peers of war,
While vex’d Achilles was away; but he surpass’d him far.
The horse that bore that faultless man were likewise past compare;
Yet lay he at the crook’d-stern’d ships, and fury was his fare,
For Atreus’ son’s ungracious deed, his men yet pleas’d their hearts
With throwing of the holéd stone, with hurling of their darts,
And shooting fairly on the shore; their horse at chariots fed
On greatest parsley, and on sedge that in the fens is bred.
His princes’ tents their chariots held, that richly cover’d were.
His princes, amorous of their chief, walk’d storming here and there
About the host, and scorn’d to fight: their breaths as they did pass
Before them flew, as if a fire fed on the trembling grass;
Earth under-groan’d their high-rais’d feet, as when offended Jove,
In Arime, Typhœius with rattling thunder drove
Beneath the earth; in Arime, men say, the grave is still,
Where thunder tomb’d Typhœius, and is a monstrous hill;
And as that thunder made earth groan, so groan’d it as they past,
They trod with such hard-set-down steps, and so exceeding fast.
To Troy the rainbow-girded Dame right heavy news relates
From Jove, as all to council drew in Priam’s palace-gates,
Resembling Priam’s son in voice, Polites, swift of feet;
In trust whereof, as sentinel, to see when from the fleet
The Grecians sallied, he was set upon the lofty brow
Of aged Æsyetes’ tomb; and this did Iris show:
“O Priam, thou art always pleas’d with indiscreet advice,
And fram’st thy life to times of peace, when such a war doth rise
As threats inevitable spoil. I never did behold
Such and so mighty troops of men, who trample on the mould
In number like Autumnus’ leaves, or like the marine sand,
All ready round about the walls to use a ruining hand.
Hector, I therefore charge thee most, this charge to undertake.
A multitude remain in Troy, will fight for Priam’s sake,
Of other lands and languages; let ev’ry leader then
Bring forth well-arm’d into the field his sev’ral bands of men.”
Strong Hector knew a Deity gave charge to this assay,
Dismiss’d the council straight; like waves, clusters to arms do sway;
The ports are all wide open set; out rush’d the troops in swarms,
Both horse and foot; the city run with sudden-cried alarms.
A column stands without the town, that high his head doth raise,
A little distant, in a plain trod down with divers ways,
Which men do Batieia call, but the Immortals name
Myrine’s famous sepulchre, the wondrous active dame.
Here were th’ auxiliary bands, that came in Troy’s defence,
Distinguish’d under sev’ral guides of special excellence.
The duke of all the Trojan pow’r great helm-deck’d Hector was,
Which stood of many mighty men well-skill’d in darts of brass.
Æneas of commixéd seed (a Goddess with a man,
Anchises with the Queen of love) the troops Dardanian
Led to the field; his lovely sire in Ida’s lower shade
Begat him of sweet Cyprides; he solely was not made
Chief leader of the Dardan pow’rs, Antenor’s valiant sons,
Archilochus and Acamas, were joind companions.
Who in Zelia dwelt beneath the sacred foot of Ide,
That drank of black Æsepus’ stream, and wealth made full of pride,
The Aphnii, Lycaon’s son, whom Phœbus gave his bow,
Prince Pandarus did lead to field. Who Adrestinus owe,
Apesus’ city, Pityæ, and mount Tereiës,
Adrestus and stout Amphius led; who did their sire displease,
(Merops Percosius, that excell’d all Troy in heav’nly skill
Of futures-searching prophecy) for, much against his will,
His sons were agents in those arms; whom since they disobey’d,
The fates, in letting slip their threads, their hasty valours stay’d.
Who in Percotes, Practius, Arisba, did abide,
Who Sestus and Abydus bred, Hyrtacides did guide;
Prince Asius Hyrtacides, that, through great Selees’ force,
Brought from Arisba to that fight the great and fiery horse.
Pylæus, and Hippothous, the stout Pelasgians led,
Of them Larissa’s fruitful soil before had nourishéd;
These were Pelasgian Pithus’ sons, son of Teutamidas.
The Thracian guides were Pirous, and valiant Acamas,
Of all that the impetuous flood of Hellespont enclos’d.
Euphemus, the Ciconian troops, in his command dispos’d,
Who from Trœzenius-Ceades right nobly did descend.
Pyræchmes did the Pæons rule, that crookéd bows do bend;
From Axius, out of Amydon, he had them in command,
From Axius, whose most beauteous stream still overflows the land.
Pylæmen with the well-arm’d heart, the Paphlagonians led,
From Enes, where the race of mules fit for the plough is bred.
The men that broad Cytorus’ bounds, and Sesamus, enfold,
About Parthenius’ lofty flood, in houses much extoll’d,
From Cromna and Ægialus, the men that arms did bear,
And Erythinus situate high, Pylæmen’s soldiers were.
Epistrophus and Dius did the Halizonians guide,
Far-fetch’d from Alybe, where first the silver mines were tried.
Chromis, and augur Ennomus, the Mysians did command,
Who could not with his auguries the strength of death withstand,
But suffer’d it beneath the stroke of great Æacides,
In Xanthus; where he made more souls dive to the Stygian seas.
Phorcys, and fair Ascanius, the Phrygians brought to war,
Well train’d for battle, and were come out of Ascania far.
With Methles, and with Antiphus, (Pylæmen’s sons) did fight
The men of Meïon, whom the fen Gygæa brought to light,
And those Meionians that beneath the mountain Tmolus sprung.
The rude unletter’d Caribæ, that barbarous were of tongue,
Did under Nastes’ colours march, and young Amphimachus,
(Nomion’s famous sons) to whom, the mountain Phthirorus
That with the famous wood is crown’d, Miletus, Mycales
That hath so many lofty marks for men that love the seas,
The crooked arms Mæander bow’d with his so snaky flood,
Resign’d for conduct the choice youth of all their martial brood.
The fool Amphimachus, to field, brought gold to be his wrack,
Proud-girl-like that doth ever bear her dow’r upon her back;
Which wise Achilles mark’d, slew him, and took his gold in strife,
At Xanthus’ flood; so little Death did fear his golden life.
Sarpedon led the Lycians, and Glaucus unreprov’d,
From Lycia, and the gulfy flood of Xanthus far remov’d.

Paris, betwixt the hosts, to single fight,
Of all the Greeks, dares the most hardy knight.
King Menelaus doth accept his brave,
Conditioning that he again should have
Fair Helena, with all she brought to Troy,
If he subdu’d; else Paris should enjoy
Her, and her wealth, in peace. Conquest doth grant
Her dear wreath to the Grecian combatant;
But Venus to her champion’s life doth yield
Safe rescue, and conveys him from the field
Into his chamber, and for Helen sends,
Whom much her lover’s foul disgrace offends;
Yet Venus for him still makes good her charms,
And ends the second combat in his arms.

Gamma the single fight doth sing
‘Twixt Paris and the Spartan king.

When ev’ry least commander’s will best soldiers had obey’d,
And both the hosts were rang’d for fight, the Trojans would have fray’d
The Greeks with noises, crying out, in coming rudely on;
At all parts like the cranes that fill, with harsh confusion,
Of brutish clangés all the air, and in ridiculous war
(Eschewing the unsuffer’d storms, shot from the winter’s star)
Visit the ocean, and confer the Pygmei soldiers’ death.
The Greeks charg’d silent, and like men, bestow’d their thrifty breath
In strength of far-resounding blows, still entertaining care
Of either’s rescue, when their strength did their engagements dare.
And as, upon a hill’s steep tops, the south wind pours a cloud,
To shepherds thankless, but by thieves that love the night, allow’d,
A darkness letting down, that blinds a stone’s cast off men’s eyes;
Such darkness from the Greeks’ swift feet (made all of dust) did rise.
But, ere stern conflict mix’d both strengths, fair Paris stept before
The Trojan host; athwart his back a panther’s hide he wore,
A crookéd bow, and sword, and shook two brazen-headed darts;
With which well-arm’d, his tongue provok’d the best of Grecian hearts
To stand with him in single fight. Whom when the man, wrong’d most
Of all the Greeks, so gloriously saw stalk before the host;
As when a lion is rejoic’d, (with hunger half forlorn,)
That finds some sweet prey, as a hart, whose grace lies in his horn,
Or sylvan goat, which he devours, though never so pursu’d
With dogs and men; so Sparta’s king exulted, when he viewed
The fair-fac’d Paris so expos’d to his so thirsted wreak,
Whereof his good cause made him sure. The Grecian front did break,
And forth he rush’d, at all parts arm’d, leapt from his chariot,
And royally prepar’d for charge. Which seen, cold terror shot
The heart of Paris, who retir’d as headlong from the king
As in him he had shunn’d his death. And as a hilly spring
Presents a serpent to a man, full underneath his feet,
Her blue neck, swoln with poison, rais’d, and her sting out, to greet
His heedless entry, suddenly his walk he altereth,
Starts back amaz’d, is shook with fear, and looks as pale as death;
So Menelaus Paris scar’d; so that divine-fac’d foe
Shrunk in his beauties. Which beheld by Hector, he let go
This bitter check at him; “Accurs’d, made but in beauty’s scorn,
Impostor, woman’s man! O heav’n, that thou hadst ne’er been born,
Or, being so manless, never liv’d to bear man’s noblest state,
The nuptial honour! Which I wish, because it were a fate
Much better for thee than this shame. This spectacle doth make
A man a monster. Hark! how loud the Greeks laugh, who did take
Thy fair form for a continent of parts as fair. A rape
Thou mad’st of nature, like their queen. No soul, an empty shape,
Takes up thy being; yet how spite to ev’ry shade of good
Fills it with ill! for as thou art, thou couldst collect a brood
Of others like thee, and far hence fetch ill enough to us,
Ev’n to thy father; all these friends make those foes mock them thus
In thee, for whose ridiculous sake so seriously they lay
All Greece, and fate, upon their necks. O wretch! Not dare to stay
Weak Menelaus? But ’twas well; for in him thou hadst tried
What strength lost beauty can infuse, and with the more grief died
To feel thou robb’dst a worthier man, to wrong a soldier’s right.
Your harp’s sweet touch, curl’d locks, fine shape, and gifts so exquisite,
Giv’n thee by Venus, would have done your fine dames little good,
When blood and dust had ruffled them, and had as little stood
Thyself in stead; but what thy care of all these in thee flies
We should inflict on thee ourselves. Infectious cowardice
In thee hath terrified our host; for which thou well deserv’st
A coat of tombstone, not of steel in which, for form, thou serv’st.”
To this thus Paris spake, (for form, that might inhabit heav’n)
“Hector, because thy sharp reproof is out of justice giv’n,
I take it well; but though thy heart, inur’d to these affrights,
Cuts through them as an axe through oak, that more us’d more excites
The workman’s faculty, whose art can make the edge go far,
Yet I, less practis’d than thyself in these extremes of war,
May well be pardon’d, though less bold; in these your worth exceeds,
In others mine. Nor is my mind of less force to the deeds
Requir’d in war, because my form more flows in gifts of peace.
Reproach not, therefore, the kind gifts of golden Cyprides.
All heav’n’s gifts have their worthy price; as little to be scorn’d
As to be won with strength, wealth, state; with which to be adorn’d,
Some men would change state, wealth, or strength. But, if your martial heart
Wish me to make my challenge good, and hold it such a part
Of shame to give it over thus, cause all the rest to rest,
And, ’twixt both hosts, let Sparta’s king and me perform our best
For Helen and the wealth she brought; and he that overcomes,
Or proves superior any way, in all your equal dooms,
Let him enjoy her utmost wealth, keep her, or take her home;
The rest strike leagues of endless date, and hearty friends become;
You dwelling safe in gleby Troy, the Greeks retire their force
T’ Achaia, that breeds fairest dames, and Argos, fairest horse.”
He said, and his amendsful words did Hector highly please,
Who rush’d betwixt the fighting hosts, and made the Trojans cease,
By holding up in midst his lance. The Grecians noted not
The signal he for parley used, but at him fiercely shot,
Hurl’d stones, and still were leveling darts. At last the king of men,
Great Agamemnon, cried aloud: “Argives! for shame, contain;
Youths of Achaia, shoot no more; the fair-helm’d Hector shows
As he desir’d to treat with us.” This said, all ceas’d from blows,
And Hector spake to both the hosts: “Trojans, and hardy Greeks,
Hear now what he that stirr’d these wars, for their cessation seeks.
He bids us all, and you, disarm, that he alone may fight
With Menelaus, for us all, for Helen and her right,
With all the dow’r she brought to Troy; and he that wins the day,
Or is, in all the art of arms, superior any way,
The queen, and all her sorts of wealth, let him at will enjoy;
The rest strike truce, and let love seal firm leagues ’twixt Greece and Troy.”
The Greek host wonder’d at this brave; silence flew ev’rywhere;
At last spake Sparta’s warlike king: “Now also give me ear,
Whom grief gives most cause of reply. I now have hope to free
The Greeks and Trojans of all ills, they have sustain’d for me,
And Alexander, that was cause I stretch’d my spleen so far.
Of both then, which is nearest fate, let his death end the war;
The rest immediately retire, and greet all homes in peace.
Go then (to bless your champion, and give his pow’rs success)
Fetch for the Earth, and for the Sun (the Gods on whom ye call)
Two lambs, a black one and a white, a female and a male;
And we another, for ourselves, will fetch, and kill to Jove.
To sign which rites bring Priam’s force, because we well approve
His sons perfidious, envious, and (out of practis’d bane
To faith, when she believes in them) Jove’s high truce may profane.
All young men’s hearts are still unstaid; but in those well-weigh’d deeds
An old man will consent to pass things past, and what succeeds
He looks into, that he may know, how best to make his way
Through both the fortunes of a fact, and will the worst obey.”
This granted, a delightful hope both Greeks and Trojans fed,
Of long’d-for rest from those long toils, their tedious war had bred.
Their horses then in rank they set, drawn from their chariots round,
Descend themselves, took off their arms, and plac’d them on the ground,
Near one another; for the space ’twixt both the hosts was small.
Hector two heralds sent to Troy, that they from thence might call
King Priam, and to bring the lambs, to rate the truce they swore.
But Agamemnon to the fleet Talthybius sent before,
To fetch their lamb; who nothing slack’d the royal charge was giv’n.
Iris, the rain-bow, then came down, ambassadress from heav’n,
To white-arm’d Helen. She assum’d at ev’ry part the grace
Of Helen’s last love’s sister’s shape, who had the highest place
In Helen’s love, and had to name Laodice, most fair
Of all the daughters Priam had, and made the nuptial pair
With Helicaon, royal sprout of old Antenor’s seed.
She found queen Helena at home, at work about a weed,
Wov’n for herself; it shin’d like fire, was rich, and full of size,
The work of both sides being alike; in which she did comprise
The many labours warlike Troy and brass-arm’d Greece endur’d
For her fair sake, by cruel Mars and his stern friends procur’d.
Iris came in in joyful haste, and said; “O come with me,
Lov’d nymph, and an admiréd sight of Greeks and Trojans see,
Who first on one another brought a war so full of tears,
Ev’n thirsty of contentious war. Now ev’ry man forbears,
And friendly by each other sits, each leaning on his shield,
Their long and shining lances pitch’d fast by them in the field,
Paris, and Sparta’s king, alone must take up all the strife;
And he that conquers only call fair Helena his wife.”
Thus spake the thousand-colour’d Dame, and to her mind commends
The joy to see her first espous’d, her native tow’rs, and friends;
Which stirr’d a sweet desire in her: to serve the which she hied,
Shadow’d her graces with white veils, and (though she took a pride
To set her thoughts at gaze, and see, in her clear beauty’s flood,
What choice of glory swum to her yet tender womanhood)
Season’d with tears her joys to see more joys the more offence,
And that perfection could not flow from earthly excellence.

Thus went she forth, and took with her her women most of name,
Æthra, Pitthëus’ lovely birth, and Clymene, whom fame
Hath for her fair eyes memoris’d. They reach’d the Scæan Tow’rs,
Where Priam sat, to see the fight, with all his counsellors;
Panthous, Lampus, Clytius, and stout Hicetaon,
Thymœtes, wise Antenor, and profound Ucalegon;
All grave old men; and soldiérs they had been, but for age
Now left the wars; yet counsellors they were exceeding sage.
And as in well-grown woods, or trees, cold spiny grasshoppers
Sit chirping, and send voices out, that scarce can pierce our ears
For softness, and their weak faint sounds; so, talking on the tow’r,
These seniors of the people sat; who when they saw the pow’r
Of beauty, in the queen, ascend ev’n those cold-spirited peers,
Those wise and almost wither’d men, found this heat in their years,
That they were forc’d (though whispéring) to say: “What man can blame
The Greeks and Trojans to endure, for so admir’d a dame,
So many mis’ries, and so long? In her sweet count’nance shine
Looks like the Goddesses. And yet (though never so divine)
Before we boast, unjustly still, of her enforcéd prise,
And justly suffer for her sake, with all our progenies,
Labour and ruin, let her go; the profit of our land
Must pass the beauty.” Thus, though these could bear so fit a hand
On their affections, yet, when all their gravest powers were us’d,
They could not choose but welcome her, and rather they accus’d
The Gods than beauty; for thus spake the most-fam’d king of Troy:
“Come, lovéd daughter, sit by me and take the worthy joy
Of thy first husband’s sight, old friends, and princes near allied,
And name me some of these brave Greeks, so manly beautified.
Come, do not think I lay the wars, endur’d by us, on thee,
The Gods have sent them, and the tears in which they swum to me.
Sit then, and name this goodly Greek, so tall, and broadly spread,
Who than the rest, that stand by him, is higher by the head;
The bravest man I ever saw, and most majestical,
His only presence makes me think him king amongst them all.”

The fairest of her sex replied: “Most rev’rend father-in-law,
Most lov’d, most fear’d, would some ill death had seiz’d me, when I saw
The first mean why I wrong’d you thus: that I had never lost
The sight of these my ancient friends, of him that lov’d me most,
Of my sole daughter, brothers both, with all those kindly mates,
Of one soil, one age, born with me, though under diff’rent fates!
But these boons envious stars deny; the memory of these
In sorrow pines those beauties now, that then did too much please;
Nor satisfy they your demand, to which I thus reply:
That’s Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, the great in empery;
A king, whom double royalty doth crown, being great and good,
And one that was my brother-in-law, when I contain’d my blood,
And was more worthy; if at all I might be said to be,
My being being lost so soon in all that honour’d me.”

The good old king admir’d, and said: “O Atreus’ blesséd son,
Born unto joyful destinies, that hast the empire won
Of such a world of Grecian youths, as I discover here!
I once march’d into Phrygia, that many vines doth bear,
Where many Phrygians I beheld, well-skill’d in use of horse,
That of the two men, like two Gods, were the commanded force,
Otrëus, and great Mygdonus, who on Sangarius’ sands
Set down their tents with whom myself, for my assistant bands,
Was number’d as a man in chief; the cause of war was then
Th’ Amazon dames, that in their facts affected to be men.
In all there was a mighty pow’r, which yet did never rise
To equal these Achaian youths, that have the sable eyes.”
Then (seeing Ulysses next) he said: “Lov’d daughter, what is he
That, lower than great Atreus’ son; seems by the head to me,
Yet, in his shoulders and big breast, presents a broader show?
His armour lies upon the earth; he up and down doth go,
To see his soldiers keep their ranks, and ready have their arms,
If, in this truce, they should be tried by any false alarms.
Much like a well-grown bell-wether, or feltred ram, he shows,
That walks before a wealthy flock of fair white-fleeced ewes.”

High Jove and Leda’s fairest seed to Priam thus replies:
“This is the old Laertes’ son, Ulysses, call’d the wise;
Who, though unfruitful Ithaca was made his nursing seat,
Yet knows he ev’ry sort of sleight, and is in counsels great.”

The wise Antenor answer’d her: “’Tis true, renownéd dame;
For, some times past, wise Ithacus to Troy a legate came,
With Menelaus, for your cause; to whom I gave receipt
As guests, and welcom’d to my house, with all the love I might.
I learn’d the wisdom of their souls, and humours of their blood;
For when the Trojan council met, and these together stood,
By height of his broad shoulders had Atrides eminence,
Yet, set, Ulysses did exceed, and bred more reverence.
And when their counsels and their words they wove in one, the speech
Of Atreus’ son was passing loud, small, fast, yet did not reach
To much, being naturally born Laconical; nor would
His humour lie for anything, or was, like th’ other, old;
But when the prudent Ithacus did to his counsels rise,
He stood a little still, and fix’d upon the earth his eyes,
His sceptre moving neither way, but held it formally,
Like one that vainly doth affect. Of wrathful quality,
And frantic (rashly judging him) you would have said he was,
But when, out of his ample breast he gave his great voice pass,
And words that flew about our ears, like drifts of winter’s snow,
None thenceforth might contend with him, tho’ nought admir’d for show.”

The third man, aged Priam mark’d, was Ajax Telamon,
Of whom he ask’d: “What lord is that, so large of limb and bone,
So rais’d in height, that to his breast I see there reacheth none?”

To him the Goddess of her sex, the large-veil’d Helen, said:
“That Lord is Ajax Telamon, a bulwark in their aid.
On th’ other side stands Idomen, in Crete of most command,
And round about his royal sides his Cretan captains stand;
Oft hath the warlike Spartan king giv’n hospitable due
To him within our Lacene court, and all his retinue.
And now the other Achive dukes I gen’rally discern;
All which I know, and all their names could make thee quickly learn.
Two princes of the people yet, I nowhere can behold,
Castor, the skilful knight on horse and Pollux, uncontroll’d
For all stand-fights, and force of hand; both at a burthen bred;
My natural brothers; either here they have not followéd
From lovely Sparta, or, arriv’d within the sea-born fleet,
In fear of infamy for me, in broad field shame to meet.”

Nor so; for holy Tellus’ womb inclos’d those worthy men
In Sparta, their belovéd soil. The voiceful heralds then
The firm agreement of the Gods through all the city ring;
Two lambs, and spirit-refreshing wine (the fruit of earth) they bring,
Within a goat-skin bottle clos’d; Idæus also brought
A massy glitt’ring bowl, and cups, that all of gold were wrought;
Which bearing to the king, they cried: “Son of Laomedon
Rise, for the well-rode peers of Troy, and brass-arm’d Greeks, in one,
Send to thee to descend the field, that they firm vows may make;
For Paris, and the Spartan king, must fight for Helen’s sake,
With long-arm’d lances; and the man that proves victorious,
The woman, and the wealth she brought, shall follow to his house;
The rest knit friendship, and firm leagues; we safe in Troy shall dwell,
In Argos and Achaia they, that do in dames excel.”

He said; and Priam’s aged joints with chilled fear did shake,
Yet instantly he bade his men his chariot ready make.
Which soon they did, and he ascends. He takes the reins, and guide
Antenor calls; who instantly mounts to his royal side,
And, through the Scæan ports to field, the swift-foot horse they drive.
And when at them of Troy and Greece the aged lords arrive,
From horse, on Troy’s well-feeding soil, ’twixt both the hosts they go.
When straight up-rose the king of men, up-rose Ulysses too,
The heralds in their richest coats repeat (as was the guise)
The true vows of the Gods (term’d theirs, since made before their eyes)
Then in a cup of gold they mix the wine that each side brings,
And next pour water on the hands of both the kings of kings.
Which done, Atrides drew his knife, that evermore he put
Within the large sheath of his sword; with which away he cut
The wool from both fronts of the lambs, which (as a rite in use
Of execration to their heads, that brake the plighted truce)
The heralds of both hosts did give the peers of both; and then,
With hands and voice advanc’d to heav’n, thus pray’d the king of men:

“O Jove, that Ida dost protect, and hast the titles won
Most glorious, most invincible; and thou all-seeing Sun,
All-hearing, all-recomforting; Floods; Earth; and Pow’rs beneath,
That all the perjuries of men chastise ev’n after death!
Be witnesses, and see perform’d the hearty vows we make.—
If Alexander shall the life of Menelaus take,
He shall from henceforth Helena, with all her wealth, retain,
And we will to our household Gods, hoise sail, and home again.
If, by my honour’d brother’s hand, be Alexander slain,
The Trojans then shall his forc’d queen, with all her wealth, restore,
And pay convenient fine to us, aid ours for evermore.
If Priam and his sons deny to pay his, thus agreed,
When Alexander shall be slain; or that perfidious deed,
And for the fine, will I fight here, till dearly they repay,
By death and ruin, the amends, that falsehood keeps away.”
This said, the throats of both the lambs cut with his royal knife,
He laid them panting on the earth, till, quite depriv’d of life,
The steel had robb’d them of their strength; then golden cups they crown’d,
With wine out of a cistern drawn; which pour’d upon the ground,
They fell upon their humble knees to all the Deities,
And thus pray’d one of both the hosts, that might do sacrifice:
“O Jupiter, most high, most great, and all the deathless Pow’rs!
Who first shall dare to violate the late sworn oaths of ours,
So let the bloods and brains of them, and all they shall produce,
Flow on the stain’d face of the earth, as now this sacred juice;
And let their wives with bastardice brand all their future race.”
Thus pray’d they; but, with wish’d effects, their pray’rs Jove did not grace;
When Priam said: “Lords of both hosts, I can no longer stay
To see my lov’d son try his life, and so must take my way
To wind-exposéd Ilion. Jove yet and heav’n’s high States
Know only, which of these must now pay tribute to the Fates.”
Thus, putting in his coach the lambs, he mounts and reins his horse;
Antenor to him; and to Troy, both take their speedy course.
Then Hector, Priam’s martial son, stepp’d forth, and met the ground,
With wise Ulysses, where the blows of combat must resound;
Which done, into a helm they put two lots, to let them know
Which of the combatants should first his brass-pil’d jav’lin throw;
When all the people standing by, with hands held up to heav’n,
Pray’d Jove the conquest might not be by force or fortune giv’n,
But that the man, who was in right the author of most wrong,
Might feel his justice, and no more these tedious wars prolong,
But, sinking to the house of death, leave them (as long before)
Link’d fast in leagues of amity, that might dissolve no more.
Then Hector shook the helm that held the equal dooms of chance,
Look’d back, and drew; and Paris first had lot to hurl his lance,
The soldiers all sat down enrank’d, each by his arms and horse
That then lay down and cool’d their hoofs. And now th’ allotted course
Bids fair-hair’d Helen’s husband arm; who first makes fast his greaves
With silver buckles to his legs; then on his breast receives
The curets that Lycaon wore (his brother) but made fit
For his fair body; next his sword he took, and fasten’d it,
All damask’d, underneath his arm; his shield then grave and great
His shoulders wore; and on his head his glorious helm he set,
Topp’d with a plume of horse’s hair, that horribly did dance,
And seem’d to threaten as he mov’d; at last he takes his lance,
Exceeding big, and full of weight, which he with ease could use.
In like sort, Sparta’s warlike king himself with arms indues.
Thus arm’d at either army both, they both stood bravely in,
Possessing both hosts with amaze, they came so chin to chin,
And, with such horrible aspécts, each other did salute.
A fair large field was made for them; where wraths, for hugeness mute,
And mutual, made them mutually at either shake their darts
Before they threw. Then Paris first with his long jav’lin parts;
It smote Atrides’ orby targe, but ran not through the brass,
For in it (arming well the shield) the head reflected was.
Then did the second combatant apply him to his spear,
Which ere he threw, he thus besought almighty Jupiter:
“O Jove! Vouchsafe me now revenge, and that my enemy,
For doing wrong so undeserv’d, may pay deservedly
The pains he forfeited; and let these hands inflict those pains,
By conqu’ring, ay, by conqu’ring dead, him on whom life complains;
That any now, or anyone of all the brood of men
To live hereafter, may with fear from all offence abstain,
Much more from all such foul offence to him that was his host,
And entertain’d him as the man whom he affected most.”
This said, he shook and threw his lance; which strook through Paris’ shield,
And, with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield,
His coat of mail, his breast, and all, and drove his entrails in,
In that low region where the guts in three small parts begin;
Yet he, in bowing of his breast, prvented sable death.
This taint he follow’d with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath,
Which lifting high, he strook his helm full where his plume did stand,
On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand.
At which he sighing stood, and star’d upon the ample sky,
And said: “O Jove, there is no God giv’n more illiberally
To those that serve thee than thyself, why have I pray’d in vain?
I hop’d my hand should have reveng’d, the wrongs I still sustain,
On him that did them, and still dares their foul defence pursue;
And now my lance hath miss’d his end, my sword in shivers flew,
And he ’scapes all.” With this, again he rush’d upon his guest,
And caught him by the horse-hair plume, that dangled on his crest,
With thought to drag him to the Greeks; which he had surely done,
And so, besides the victory, had wondrous glory won,
(Because the needle-painted lace, with which his helm was tied
Beneath his chin, and so about his dainty throat implied,
Had strangled him;) but that, in time, the Cyprian seed of Jove
Did brake the string, with which was lin’d that which the needle wove,
And was the tough thong of a steer; and so the victor’s palm
Was, for so full a man-at-arms, only an empty helm.
That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends,
Who scrambled, and took ’t up with shouts. Again then he intends
To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain,
With shaken jav’lin; when the Queen, that lovers loves, again[1]
Attended, and now ravish’d him from that encounter quite,
With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a Goddess, might.
She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known,
Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down,
And went for Helen; whom she found in Scæa’s utmost height,
To which whole swarms of city dames had climb’d to see the sight.
To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape
Of beldame Græa, who was brought by Helen, in her rape,
From Lacedæmon, and had trust in all her secrets still,
Being old, and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will,
And spun for her her finest wool. Like her, Love’s Empress came,
Pull’d Helen by the heav’nly veil, and softly said: “Madame,
My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home;
He’s in your chamber, stays, and longs; sits by your bed; pray come,
’Tis richly made, and sweet; but he more sweet, and looks so clear,
So fresh, and movingly attir’d, that, seeing, you would swear
He came not from the dusky fight, but from a courtly dance,
Or would to dancing.” This she made a charm for dalliance;
Whose virtue Helen felt, and knew, by her so radiant eyes,
White neck, and most enticing breasts, the deified disguise.
At which amaz’d, she answer’d her: “Unhappy Deity!
Why lov’st thou still in these deceits to wrap my phantasy?
Or whither yet, of all the towns giv’n to their lust beside,
In Phrygia, or Mæonia, com’st thou to be my guide,
If there (of divers-languag’d men thou hast, as here in Troy,
Some other friend to be my shame; since here thy latest joy
By Menelaus now subdu’d, by him shall I be borne
Home to his court, and end my life in triumphs of his scorn?
And, to this end, would thy deceits my wanton life allure?
Hence, go thyself to Priam’s son and all the ways abjure
Of Gods, or godlike-minded dames, nor ever turn again
Thy earth-affecting feet to heav’n but for his sake sustain
Toils here; guard, grace him endlessly, till he requite thy grace
By giving thee my place with him; or take his servant’s place,
If, all dishonourable ways, your favours seek to serve
His never-pleas’d incontinence; I better will deserve,
Than serve his dotage now. What shame were it for me to feed
This lust in him; all honour’d dames would hate me for the deed!
He leaves a woman’s love so sham’d, and shows so base a mind,
To feel nor my shame nor his own; griefs of a greater kind
Wound me than such as can admit such kind delights so soon.”
The Goddess, angry that, past shame, her mere will was not done,
Replied: “Incense me not, you wretch, lest, once incens’d, I leave
Thy curs’d life to as strange a hate, as yet it may receive
A love from me; and lest I spread through both hosts such despite,
For those plagues they have felt for thee, that both abjure thee quite,
And setting thee in midst of both, turn all their wraths on thee,
And dart thee dead; that such a death may wreak thy wrong of me.”
This strook the fair dame with such fear, it took her speech away,
And, shadow’d in her snowy veil, she durst not but obey;
And yet, to shun the shame she fear’d, she vanish’d undescried
Of all the Trojan ladies there, for Venus was her guide.
Arriv’d at home, her women both fell to their work in haste;
When she, that was of all her sex the most divinely grac’d,
Ascended to a higher room, though much against her will,
Where lovely Alexander was, being led by Venus still.
The laughter-loving Dame discen’d her mov’d mind by her grace,
And, for her mirth sake, set a stool, full before Paris’ face,
Where she would needs have Helen sit; who, though she durst not choose
But sit, yet look’d away for all the Goddess’ pow’r could use,
And used her tongue too, and to chide whom Venus sooth’d so much,
And chid, too, in this bitter kind: “And was thy cowardice such,
So conquer’d, to be seen alive? O would to God, thy life
Had perish’d by his worthy hand, to whom I first was wife!
Before this, thou wouldst glorify thy valour and thy lance,
And, past my first love’s, boast them far. Go once more, and advance
Thy braves against his single pow’r; this foil might fall by chance.
Poor conquer’d man! ’Twas such a chance, as I would not advise
Thy valour should provoke again. Shun him, thou most unwise,
Lest next, thy spirit sent to hell, thy body be his prise.”
He answer’d: “Pray thee, woman, cease, to chide and grieve me thus.
Disgraces will not ever last. Look on their end. On us
Will other Gods, at other times, let fall the victor’s wreath,
As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath
The hate of fortune? In love’s fire, let all hates vanish. Come,
Love never so inflam’d my heart; no, not when, bringing home
Thy beauty’s so delicious prise, on Cranaë’s blest shore
I long’d for, and enjoy’d thee first.” With this he went before,
She after, to the odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield,
Perplex’d Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field,
And ev’ry thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call’d aid,
Search’d for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray’d;
Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight,
All hated him so like their deaths, and ow’d him such despite.
At last thus spake the king of men: “Hear me, ye men of Troy,
Ye Dardans, and the rest, whose pow’rs you in their aids employ.
The conquest on my brother’s part, ye all discern is clear,
Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here,
Restore to us, and pay the mulct, that by your vows is due,
Yield us an honour’d recompense, and, all that should accrue
To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it,
Our acts may here be memoris’d.” This all Greeks else thought fit.

[1] When the Queen, etc.—This place Virgil imitateth.

The Gods in council, at the last, decree
That famous Ilion shall expugned be;
And that their own continu’d faults may prove
The reasons that have so incensed Jove,
Minerva seeks, with more offences done
Against the lately injur’d Atreus’ son,
(A ground that clearest would make seen their sin)
To have the Lycian Pandarus begin.
He (’gainst the truce with sacred cov’nants bound)
Gives Menelaus a dishonour’d wound,
Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then
To mortal war incenseth all his men.
The battles join; and, in the heat of fight,
Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night.

In Delta is the Gods’ Assize;
The truce is broke; wars freshly rise.

Within the fair-pav’d court of Jove, he and the Gods conferr’d
About the sad events of Troy; amongst whom minister’d
Bless’d Hebe nectar. As they sat, and did Troy’s tow’rs behold,
They drank, and pledg’d each other round in full-crown’d cups of gold.
The mirth at whose feast was begun by great Saturnides
In urging a begun dislike amongst the Goddesses,
But chiefly in his solemn queen, whose spleen he was dispos’d
To tempt yet further, knowing well what anger it inclos’d,
And how wives’ angers should be us’d. On which, thus pleas’d, he play’d:
“Two Goddesses there are that still give Menelaus aid,
And one that Paris loves. The two that sit from us so far
(Which Argive Juno is, and She that rules in deeds of war,)
No doubt are pleas’d to see how well the late-seen fight did frame;
And yet, upon the adverse part, the laughter-loving Dame
Made her pow’r good too for her friend; for, though he were so near
The stroke of death in th’ others’ hopes, she took him from them clear.
The conquest yet is questionless the martial Spartan king’s.
We must consult then what events shall crown these future things,
If wars and combats we shall still with even successes strike,
Or as impartial friendship plant on both parts. If ye like
The last, and that it will as well delight as merely please
Your happy deities, still let stand old Priam’s town in peace,
And let the Lacedæmon king again his queen enjoy.”
As Pallas and Heav’n’s Queen sat close, complotting ill to Troy,
With silent murmurs they receiv’d this ill-lik’d choice from Jove;
‘Gainst whom was Pallas much incens’d, because the Queen of Love
Could not, without his leave, relieve in that late point of death
The son of Priam, whom she loath’d; her wrath yet fought beneath
Her supreme wisdom, and was curb’d; but Juno needs must ease
Her great heart with her ready tongue, and said; “What words are these,
Austere, and too-much-Saturn’s son? Why wouldst thou render still
My labours idle, and the sweat of my industrious will
Dishonour with so little pow’r? My chariot-horse are tir’d
With posting to and fro for Greece, and bringing banes desir’d
To people must’ring Priamus, and his perfidious sons;
Yet thou protect’st, and join’st with them whom each just Deity shuns.
Go on, but ever go resolv’d all other Gods have vow’d
To cross thy partial course for Toy, in all that makes it proud.”
At this, the cloud-compelling Jove a far-fetch’d sigh let fly,
And said: “Thou fury! What offence of such impiety
Hath Priam or his sons done thee, that, with so high a hate,
Thou shouldst thus ceaselessly desire to raze and ruinate
So well a builded town as Troy? I think, hadst thou the pow’r,
Thou wouldst the ports and far-stretch’d walls fly over, and devour
Old Priam and his issue quick, and make all Troy thy feast,
And then at length I hope thy wrath and tiréd spleen would rest;
To which run on thy chariot, that nought be found in me
Of just cause to our future jars. In this yet strengthen thee,
And fix it in thy memory fast, this if I entertain
As peremptory a desire to level with the plain
A city where thy lovéd live, stand not betwixt my ire
And what it aims at, but give way, when thou hast thy desire;
Which now I grant thee willingly, although against my will.
For not beneath the ample sun, and heav’n’s star-bearing hill,
There is a town of earthly men so honour’d in my mind
As sacred Troy; nor of earth’s kings as Priam and his kind,
Who never let my altars lack rich feast of off’rings slain,
And their sweet savours; for which grace I honour them again.”
Dread Juno, with the cow’s fair eyes, replied: “Three towns there are
Of great and eminent respect, both in my love and care;
Mycene, with the broad highways; and Argos, rich in horse;
And Sparta; all which three destroy, when thou envi’st their force,
I will not aid them, nor malign thy free and sov’reign will,
For if I should be envious, and set against their ill,
I know my envy were in vain, since thou art mightier far.
But we must give each other leave, and wink at either’s war.
I likewise must have pow’r to crown my works with wishéd end,
Because I am a Deity, and did from thence descend
Whence thou thyself, and th’ elder born; wise Saturn was our sire;
And thus there is a two-fold cause that pleads for my desire,
Being sister, and am call’d thy wife; and more, since thy command
Rules all Gods else, I claim therein a like superior hand.
All wrath before then now remit, and mutually combine
In either’s empire; I, thy rule, and thou, illustrate, mine;
So will the other Gods agree, and we shall all be strong.
And first (for this late plot) with speed let Pallas go among
The Trojans, and some one of them entice to break the truce
By off’ring in some treach’rous wound the honour’d Greeks abuse.”
The Father both of men and Gods agreed, and Pallas sent,
With these wing’d words, to both the hosts: “Make all haste, and invent
Some mean by which the men of Troy, against the truce agreed,
May stir the glorious Greeks to arms with some inglorious deed.”
Thus charg’d he her with haste that did, before, in haste abound,
Who cast herself from all the heights, with which steep heav’n is crown’d.
And as Jove, brandishing a star, which men a comet call,
Hurls out his curled hair abroad, that from his brand exhals
A thousand sparks, to fleets at sea, and ev’ry mighty host,
Of all presages and ill-haps a sign mistrusted most;
So Pallas fell ’twixt both the camps, and suddenly was lost,
When through the breasts of all that saw, she strook a strong amaze
With viewing, in her whole descent, her bright and ominous blaze.
When straight one to another turn’d, and said: “Now thund’ring Jove
(Great Arbiter of peace and arms) will either stablish love
Amongst our nations, or renew such war as never was.”
Thus either army did presage, when Pallas made her pass
Amongst the multitude of Troy; who now put on the grace
Of brave Laodocus, the flow’r of old Antenor’s race,
And sought for Lycian Pandarus, a man that, being bred
Out of a faithless family, she thought was fit to shed
The blood of any innocent, and break the cov’nant sworn;
He was Lycaon’s son, whom Jove into a wolf did turn
For sacrificing of a child, and yet in arms renown’d
As one that was inculpable. Him Pallas standing found,
And round about him his strong troops that bore the shady shields;
He brought them from Æsepus’ flood, let through the Lycian fields;
Whom standing near, she whisper’d thus: “Lycaon’s warlike son,
Shall I despair at thy kind hands to have a favour done?
Nor dar’st thou let an arrow fly upon the Spartan king?
It would be such a grace to Troy, and such a glorious thing,
That ev’ry man would give his gift; but Alexander’s hand
Would load thee with them, if he could discover from his stand
His foe’s pride strook down with thy shaft, and he himself ascend
The flaming heap of funeral. Come, shoot him, princely friend;
But first invoke the God of Light, that in thy land was born,
And is in archers’ art the best that ever sheaf hath worn,
To whom a hundred first-ew’d lambs vow thou in holy fire,
When safe to sacred Zelia’s tow’rs thy zealous steps retire.”
With this the mad gift-greedy man Minerva did persuade,
Who instantly drew forth a bow, most admirably made
Of th’ antler of a jumping goat bred in a steep upland,
Which archer-like (as long before he took his hidden stand,
The evicke skipping from a rock) into the breast he smote,
And headlong fell’d him from his cliff. The forehead of the goat
Held out a wondrous goodly palm, that sixteen branches brought;
Of all which join’d, an useful bow a skilful bowyer wrought,
Which pick’d and polish’d, both the ends he hid with horns of gold.
And this bow, bent, he close laid down, and bad his soldiers hold
Their shields before him, lest the Greeks, discerning him, should rise
In tumults ere the Spartan king could be his arrow’s prise.
Mean space, with all his care he choos’d, and from his quiver drew,
An arrow, feather’d best for flight and yet that never flew,
Strong headed, and most apt to pierce; then took he up his bow,
And nock’d his shaft, the ground whence all their future grief did grow.
When, praying to his God the Sun, that was in Lycia bred,
And king of archers, promising that he the blood would shed
Of full an hundred first-fall’n lambs, all offer’d to his name,
When to Zelia’s sacred walls from rescu’d Troy he came,
He took his arrow by the nock, and to his bended breast[1]
The oxy sinew close he drew, ev’n till the pile did rest
Upon the bosom of the bow; and as that savage prise
His strength constrain’d into an orb, as if the wind did rise
The coming of it made a noise, the sinew-forgéd string
Did give a mighty twang, and forth the eager shaft did sing,
Affecting speediness of flight, amongst the Achive throng.
Nor were the blesséd Heav’nly Pow’rs unmindful of thy wrong,
O Menelaus, but, in chief, Jove’s seed: the Pillager,
Stood close before, and slack’d the force the arrow did confer,
With as much care and little hurt, as doth a mother use,
And keep off from her babe, when sleep doth through his pow’rs diffuse
His golden humour, and th’ assaults of rude and busy flies
She still checks with her careful hand; for so the shaft she plies
That on the buttons made of gold, which made his girdle fast,
And where his curets double were, the fall of it she plac’d.
And thus much proof she put it to: the buckle made of gold;
The belt it fast’ned, bravely wrought; his curets’ double fold;
And last, the charméd plate he wore, which help’d him more than all,
And, ’gainst all darts and shafts bestow’d, was to his life a wall;
So, through all these, the upper skin the head did only race;
Yet forth the blood flow’d, which did much his royal person grace,
And show’d upon his ivory skin, as doth a purple dye
Laid, by a dame of Caïra, or lovely Mæony,
On ivory, wrought in ornaments to deck the cheeks of horse;
Which in her marriage room must lie; whose beauties have such force
That they are wish’d of many knights, but are such precious things,
That they are kept for horse that draw the chariots of kings,
Which horse, so deck’d, the charioteer esteems a grace to him;
Like these, in grace, the blood upon thy solid thighs did swim,
O Menelaus, down by calves and ankles to the ground.
For nothing decks a soldier so, as doth an honour’d wound.
Yet, fearing he had far’d much worse, the hair stood up on end
On Agamemnon, when he saw so much black blood descend.
And stiff’ned with the like dismay was Menelaus too,
But seeing th’ arrow’s stale without, and that the head did go
No further than it might be seen, he call’d his spirits again;
Which Agamemnon marking not but thinking he was slain,
He grip’d his brother by the hand, and sigh’d as he would break,
Which sigh the whole host took from him, who thus at last did speak:
“O dearest brother, is’t for this, that thy death must be wrought,
Wrought I this truce? For this has thou the single combat fought
For all the army of the Greeks? For this hath Ilion sworn,
And trod all faith beneath their feet? Yet all this hath not worn
The right we challeng’d out of force; this cannot render vain
Our stricken right hands, sacred wine, nor all our off’rings slain;
For though Olympius be not quick in making good our ill,
He will be sure as he is slow, and sharplier prove his will.
Their own hands shall be ministers of those plagues they despise,
Which shall their wives and children reach, and all their progenies.
For both in mind and soul I know, that there shall come a day
When Ilion, Priam, all his pow’r, shall quite be worn away,
When heav’n-inhabiting Jove shall shake his fiery shield at all,
For this one mischief. This, I know, the world cannot recall.
But be all this, all my grief still for thee will be the same,
Dear brother. If thy life must here put out his royal flame,
I shall to sandy Argos turn with infamy my face;
And all the Greeks will call for home; old Priam and his race
Will flame in glory; Helena untouch’d be still their prey;
And thy bones in our enemies’ earth our curséd fates shall lay;
Thy sepulchre be trodden down; the pride of Troy desire
Insulting on it, ‘Thus, O thus, let Agamemnon’s ire
In all his acts be expiate, as now he carries home
His idle army, empty ships, and leaves here overcome
Good Menelaus.’ When this rave breaks in their bated breath,
Then let the broad earth swallow me, and take me quick to death.”
“Nor shall this ever chance,” said he, “and therefore be of cheer,
Lest all the army, led by you, your passions put in fear.
The arrow fell in no such place a death could enter at,
My girdle, curets doubled here, and my most trusted plate,
Objected all ’twixt me and death, the shaft scarce piercing one.”
“Good brother,” said the king, “I wish it were no further gone,
For then our best in med’cines skilled shall ope and search the wound,
Applying balms to ease thy pains, and soon restore thee sound.”
This said, divine Talthybiús he call’d, and bad him haste
Machaon (Æsculapius’ son, who most of men was grac’d
With physic’s sov’reign remedies) to come and lend his hand
To Menelaus, shot by one well-skill’d in the command
Of bow and arrows, one of Troy, or of the Lycian aid,
Who much hath glorified our foe, and us as much dismay’d.
He heard, and hasted instantly, and cast his eyes about
The thickest squadrons of the Greeks, to find Machaon out.
He found him standing guarded well with well-arm’d men of Thrace;
With whom he quickly join’d, and said: “Man of Apollo’s race,
Haste, for the king of men commands, to see a wound impress’d
In Menelaus, great in arms, by one instructed best
In th’ art of archery, of Troy, or of the Lycian bands,
That them with much renown adorns, us with dishonour brands.”
Machaon much was mov’d with this, who with the herald flew
From troop to troop alongst the host; and soon they came in view
Of hurt Atrides, circled round with all the Grecian kings;
Who all gave way, and straight he draws the shaft, which forth he brings
Without the forks; the girdle then, plate, curets, off he plucks,
And views the wound; when first from it the clotter’d blood he sucks,
Then med’cines, wondrously compos’d, the skilful leech applied,
Which loving Chiron taught his sire, he from his sire had tried.
While these were thus employ’d to ease the Atrean martialist,
The Trojans arm’d, and charg’d the Greeks; the Greeks arm and resist.
Then not asleep, nor maz’d with fear, nor shifting off the blows,
You could behold the king of men, but in full speed he goes
To set a glorious fight on foot; and he examples this,
With toiling, like the worst, on foot; who therefore did dismiss
His brass-arm’d chariot, and his steeds, with Ptolemëus’ son,
Son of Piraides, their guide, the good Eurymedon;
“Yet,” said the king, “attend with them, lest weariness should seize
My limbs, surcharg’d with ord’ring troops so thick and vast as these.”
Eurymedon then rein’d his horse, that trotted neighing by;
The king a footman, and so scours the squadrons orderly.
Those of his swiftly-mounted Greeks, that in their arms were fit,
Those he put on with cheerful words, and bad them not remit
The least spark of their forward spirits, because the Trojans durst
Take these abhorr’d advantages, but let them do their worst;
For they might be assur’d that Jove would patronise no lies,
And that who, with the breach of truce, would hurt their enemies,
With vultures should be torn themselves; that they should raze their town,
Their wives, and children at their breast, led vassals to their own.
But such as he beheld hang off from that increasing fight,
Such would he bitterly rebuke, and with disgrace excite:
“Base Argives, blush ye not to stand as made for butts to darts?
Why are ye thus discomfited, like hinds that have no hearts,
Who, wearied with a long-run field, are instantly emboss’d,
Stand still, and in their beastly breasts is all their courage lost?
And so stand you strook with amaze, nor dare to strike a stroke.
Would ye the foe should nearer yet your dastard spleens provoke,
Ev’n where on Neptune’s foamy shore our navies lie in sight,
To see if Jove will hold your hands, and teach ye how to fight?”
Thus he, commanding, rang’d the host, and, passing many a band,
He came to the Cretensian troops, where all did arméd stand
About the martial Idomen; who bravely stood before
In vanguard of his troops, and match’d for strength a savage boar;
Meriones, his charioteer, the rearguard bringing on.
Which seen to Atreus’ son, to him it was a sight alone,
And Idomen’s confirméd mind with these kind words he seeks:
“O Idomen! I ever lov’d thy self past all the Greeks,
In war, or any work of peace, at table, ev’rywhere;
For when the best of Greece besides mix ever, at our cheer,
My good old ardent wine with small, and our inferior mates
Drink ev’n that mix’d wine measur’d too, thou drink’st, without those rates,
Our old wine neat, and evermore thy bowl stands full like mine,
To drink still when and what thou wilt. Then rouse that heart of thine,
And, whatsoever heretofore thou hast assum’d to be,
This day be greater.” To the king in this sort answer’d he:
“Atrides, what I ever seem’d, the same at ev’ry part
This day shall show me at the full, and I will fit thy heart.
But thou shouldst rather cheer the rest, and tell them they in right
Of all good war must offer blows, and should begin the fight,
(Since Troy first brake the holy truce) and not endure these braves.
To take wrong first, and then be dar’d to the revenge it craves;
Assuring them that Troy in fate must have the worst at last,
Since first, and ’gainst a truce, they hurt, where they should have embrac’d.”
This comfort and advice did fit Atrides’ heart indeed
Who still through new-rais’d swarms of men held his laborious speed,
And came where both th’ Ajaces stood; whom like the last he found
Arm’d, casqu’d, and ready for the fight. Behind them, hid the ground
A cloud of foot, that seem’d to smoke. And as a goatherd spies,
On some hill’s top, out of the sea a rainy vapour rise,
Driv’n by the breath of Zephyrus which, though far off he rest,
Comes on as black as pitch, and brings a tempest in his breast,
Whereat he frighted, drives his herds apace into a den;
So dark’ning earth with darts and shields show’d these with all their men.
This sight with like joy fir’d the king, who thus let forth the flame
In crying out to both the dukes: “O you of equal name,
I must not cheer, nay, I disclaim all my command of you,
Yourselves command with such free minds, and make your soldiers show
As you nor I led, but themselves. O would our father Jove,
Minerva, and the God of Light, would all our bodies move
With such brave spirits as breathe in you, then Priam’s lofty town
Should soon be taken by our hands, for ever overthrown!”
Then held he on to other troops, and Nestor next beheld,
The subtle Pylian orator, range up and down the field
Embattelling his men at arms, and stirring all to blows,
Points ev’ry legion out his chief, and ev’ry chief he shows
The forms and discipline of war, yet his commanders were
All expert, and renownéd men. Great Pelagon was there,
Alastor, manly Chromius, and Hæmon worth a throne,
And Bias that could armies lead. With these he first put on
His horse troops with their chariots; his foot (of which he choos’d
Many, the best and ablest men, and which he ever us’d
As rampire to his gen’ral pow’r) he in the rear dispos’d.
The slothful, and the least of spirit, he in the midst inclos’d,
That, such as wanted noble wills, base need might force to stand.
His horse troops, that the vanguard had, he strictly did command
To ride their horses temp’rately, to keep their ranks, and shun
Confusion, lest their horsemanship and courage made them run
(Too much presum’d on) much too far, and, charging so alone,
Engage themselves in th’ enemy’s strength, where many fight with one.
“Who his own chariot leaves to range, let him not freely go,
But straight unhorse him with a lance; for ’tis much better so.
And with this discipline,” said he, “this form, these minds, this trust,
Our ancestors have walls and towns laid level with the dust.”
Thus prompt, and long inur’d to arms, this old man did exhort;
And this Atrides likewise took in wondrous cheerful sort,
And said: “O father, would to heav’n, that as thy mind remains
In wonted vigour, so thy knees could undergo our pains!
But age, that all men overcomes, hath made his prise on thee;
Yet still I wish that some young man, grown old in mind, might be
Put in proportion with thy years, and thy mind, young in age,
Be fitly answer’d with his youth; that still where conflicts rage,
And young men us’d to thirst for fame, thy brave exampling hand
Might double our young Grecian spirits, and grace our whole command.”
The old knight answer’d: “I myself could wish, O Atreus’ son,
I were as young as when I slew brave Ereuthalion,
But Gods at all times give not all their gifts to mortal men.
If then I had the strength of youth, I miss’d the counsels then
That years now give me; and now years want that main strength of youth;
Yet still my mind retains her strength (as you now said the sooth)
And would be where that strength is us’d, affording counsel sage
To stir youth’s minds up; ’tis the grace and office of our age;
Let younger sinews, men sprung up whole ages after me,
And such as have strength, use it, and as strong in honour be.”
The king, all this while comforted, arriv’d next where he found
Well-rode Menestheus (Peteus’ son) stand still, inviron’d round
With his well-train’d Athenian troops, and next to him he spied
The wise Ulysses, deedless too, and all his bands beside
Of strong Cephalians; for as yet th’ alarm had not been heard
In all their quarters, Greece and Troy were then so newly stirr’d,
And then first mov’d, as they conceiv’d; and they so look’d about
To see both hosts give proof of that they yet had cause to doubt.
Atrides seeing them stand so still, and spend their eyes at gaze,
Began to chide: “And why,” said he, “dissolv’d thus in amaze,
Thou son of Peteus, Jove-nurs’d king, and thou in wicked sleight
A cunning soldier, stand ye off? Expect ye that the fight
Should be by other men begun? ’Tis fit the foremost band
Should show you there; you first should front who first lifts up his hand.
First you can hear, when I invite the princes to a feast,
When first, most friendly, and at will, ye eat and drink the best,
Yet in the fight, most willingly, ten troops ye can behold
Take place before ye.” Ithacus at this his brows did fold,
And said: “How hath thy violent tongue broke through thy set of teeth,
To say that we are slack in fight, and to the field of death
Look others should enforce our way, when we were busied then,
Ev’n when thou spak’st, against the foe to cheer and lead our men?
But thy eyes shall be witnesses, if it content thy will,
And that (as thou pretend’st) these cares do so affect thee still,
The father of Telemachus (whom I esteem so dear,
And to whom, as a legacy, I’ll leave my deeds done here)
Ev’n with the foremost band of Troy hath his encounter dar’d,
And therefore are thy speeches vain, and had been better spar’d.”
He, smiling, since he saw him mov’d, recall’d his words, and said:
“Most generous Laertes’ son, most wise of all our aid,
I neither do accuse thy worth, more than thyself may hold
Fit, (that inferiors think not much, being slack, to be controll’d)
Nor take I on me thy command; for well I know thy mind
Knows how sweet gentle counsels are, and that thou stand’st inclin’d,
As I myself, for all our good. On then; if now we spake
What hath displeas’d, another time we full amends will make;
And Gods grant that thy virtue ere may prove so free and brave,
That my reproofs may still be vain, and thy deservings grave.”
Thus parted they; and forth he went, when he did leaning find,
Against his chariot, near his horse, him with the mighty mind,
Great Diomedes, Tydeus’ son, and Sthenelus, the seed
Of Capaneius; whom the king seeing likewise out of deed,
Thus cried he out on Diomed: “O me! In what a fear
The wise great warrior, Tydeus’ son, stands gazing ev’rywhere
For others to begin the fight! It was not Tydeus’ use
To be so daunted, whom his spirit would evermore produce
Before the foremost of his friends in these affairs of fright,
As they report that have beheld him labour in a fight.
For me, I never knew the man, nor in his presence came,
But excellent, above the rest, he was in gen’ral fame;
And one renown’d exploit of his, I am assur’d, is true.
He came to the Mycenian court, without arms, and did sue,
At godlike Polynices’ hands, to have some worthy aid
To their designs that ’gainst the walls of sacred Thebes were laid.
He was great Polynices’ guest, and nobly entertain’d,
And of the kind Mycenian state what he requested gain’d,
In mere consent; but when they should the same in act approve,
By some sinister prodigies, held out to them by Jove,
They were discourag’d. Thence he went, and safely had his pass
Back to Asopus’ flood, renown’d for bulrushes and grass.
Yet, once more, their ambassador, the Grecian peers address
Lord Tydeus to Eteocles; to whom being giv’n access,
He found him feasting with a crew of Cadmeans in his hall;
Amongst whom, though an enemy, and only one to all;
To all yet he his challenge made at ev’ry martial feat,
And eas’ly foil’d all, since with him Minerva was so great.
The rank-rode Cadmeans, much incens’d with their so foul disgrace,
Lodg’d ambuscadoes for their foe, in some well-chosen place
By which he was to make return. Twice five-and-twenty men,
And two of them great captains too, the ambush did contain.
The names of those two men of rule were Mæon, Hæmon’s son,
And Lycophontes, Keep-field call’d, the heir of Autophon,
By all men honour’d like the Gods; yet these and all their friends
Were sent to hell by Tydeus’ hand, and had untimely ends.
He trusting to the aid of Gods, reveal’d by augury,
Obeying which, one chief he sav’d, and did his life apply
To be the heavy messenger of all the others’ deaths;
And that sad message, with his life, to Mæon he bequeaths.
So brave a knight was Tydeüs of whom a son is sprung,
Inferior far in martial deeds, though higher in his tongue.”
All this Tydides silent heard, aw’d by the rev’rend king;
Which stung hot Sthenelus with wrath, who thus put forth his sting:
“Atrides, when thou know’st the truth, speak what thy knowledge is,
And do not lie so; for I know and I will brag in this,
That we are far more able men than both our fathers were.
We took the sev’n-fold ported Thebes, when yet we had not there
So great help as our fathers had; and fought beneath a wall,
Sacred to Mars, by help of Jove, and trusting to the fall
Of happy signs from other Gods, by whom we took the town
Untouch’d; our fathers perishing here by follies of their own;
And therefore never more compare our fathers’ worth with ours.”
Tydides frown’d at this, and said: “Suppress thine anger’s pow’rs,
Good friend, and hear why I refrain’d. Thou seest I am not mov’d
Against our gen’ral, since he did but what his place behov’d,
Admonishing all Greeks to fight; for, if Troy prove our prise,
The honour and the joy is his; if here our ruin lies,
The shame and grief for that as much is his in greatest kinds.
As he then his charge, weigh we ours; which is our dauntless minds.”
Thus, from his chariot, amply arm’d, he jump’d down to the ground;
The armour of the angry king so horribly did sound,
It might have made his bravest foe let fear take down his braves.
And as when with the west-wind flaws, the sea thrusts up her waves,
One after other, thick and high, upon the groaning shores,
First in herself loud, but oppos’d with banks and rocks she roars,
And, all her back in bristles set, spits ev’ry way her foam;
So, after Diomed, instantly the field was overcome
With thick impressions of the Greeks; and all the noise that grew
(Ord’ring and cheering up their men) from only leaders flew.
The rest went silently away, you could not hear a voice,
Nor would have thought, in all their breasts, they had one in their choice,
Their silence uttering their awe of them that them controll’d,
Which made each man keep right his arms, march, fight still where he should
The Trojans (like a sort of ewes, penn’d in a rich man’s fold,
Close at his door, till all be milk’d, and never baaing hold
Hearing the bleating of their lambs) did all their wide host fill
With shouts and clamours, nor observ’d one voice, one baaing still,
But show’d mix’d tongues from many a land of men call’d to their aid.
Rude Mars had th’ ordering of their spirits; of Greeks, the learned Maid
But Terror follow’d both the hosts, and Flight, and furious Strife
The sister, and the mate, of Mars, that spoil of human life;
And never is her rage at rest, at first she is but small,
Yet after, but a little fed, she grows so vast and tall
That, while her feet move here in earth, her forehead is in heav’n;
And this was she that made ev’n then both hosts so deadly giv’n.
Through ev’ry troop she stalk’d, and stirr’d rough sighs up as she went;
But when in one field both the foes her fury did content,
And both came under reach of darts, then darts and shields oppos’d
To darts and shields; strength answer’d strength; then swords and targets clos’d
With swords and targets; both with pikes; and then did tumult rise
Up to her height; then conqu’rors’ boasts mix’d with the conquer’d’s cries;
Earth flow’d with blood. And as from hills rainwaters headlong fall,
That all ways eat huge ruts, which, met in one bed, fill a vall
With such a confluence of streams, that on the mountain grounds
Far off, in frighted shepherds’ ears, the bustling noise rebounds:
So grew their conflicts, and so show’d their scuffling to the ear,
With flight and clamour still commix’d, and all effects of fear.
And first renown’d Antilochus slew (fighting, in the face
Of all Achaia’s foremost bands, with an undaunted grace)
Echepolus Thalysiades; he was an arméd man;
Whom on his hair-plum’d helmet’s crest the dart first smote, then ran
Into his forehead, and there stuck; the steel pile making way
Quite through his skull; a hasty night shut up his latest day.
His fall was like a fight-rac’d tow’r; like which lying there dispread,
King Elephenor (who was son to Chalcodon, and led
The valiant Abants) covetous that he might first possess
His arms, laid hands upon his feet, and hal’d him from the press
Of darts and jav’lins hurl’d at him. The action of the king
When great-in-heart Agenor saw, he made his jav’lin sing
To th’ others’ labour; and along as he the trunk did wrest,
His side (at which he bore his shield) in bowing of his breast
Lay naked, and receiv’d the lance, that made him lose his hold
And life together; which, in hope of that he lost, he sold,
But for his sake the fight grew fierce, the Trojans and their foes
Like wolves on one another rush’d, and man for man it goes.
The next of name, that serv’d his fate, great Ajax Telamon
Preferr’d so sadly. He was heir to old Anthemion,
And deck’d with all the flow’r of youth; the fruit of which yet fled,
Before the honour’d nuptial torch could light him to his bed.
His name was Simoisius; for, some few years before,
His mother walking down the hill of Ida, by the shore
Of silver Simois, to see her parents’ flocks, with them
She, feeling suddenly the pains of child-birth, by the stream
Of that bright river brought him forth; and so (of Simois)
They call’d him Simoisius. Sweet was that birth of his
To his kind parents, and his growth did all their care employ;
And yet those rites of piety, that should have been his joy
To pay their honour’d years again in as affectionate sort,
He could not graciously perform, his sweet life was so short,
Cut off with mighty Ajax’ lance; for, as his spirit put on,
He strook him at his breast’s right pap, quite through his shoulder-bone,
And in the dust of earth he fell, that was the fruitful soil
Of his friends’ hopes; but where he sow’d he buried all his toil.
And as a poplar shot aloft, set by a river side,
In moist edge of a mighty fen, his head in curls implied,
But all his body plain and smooth, to which a wheel-wright puts
The sharp edge of his shining axe, and his soft timber cuts
From his in native root, in hope to hew out of his bole
The fell’ffs, or out-parts of a wheel, that compass in the whole,
To serve some goodly chariot; but, being big and sad,
And to be hal’d home through the bogs, the useful hope he had
Sticks there, and there the goodly plant lies with’ring out his grace:
So lay, by Jove-bred Ajax’ hand, Anthemion’s forward race,
Nor could through that vast fen of toils be drawn to serve the ends
Intended by his body’s pow’rs, nor cheer his aged friends.
But now the gay-arm’d Antiphus, a son of Priam, threw
His lance at Ajax through the prease; which went by him, and flew
On Leucus, wise Ulysses’ friend; his groin it smote, as fain
He would have drawn into his spoil the carcass of the slain,
By which he fell, and that by him; it vex’d Ulysses’ heart,
Who thrust into the face of fight, well-arm’d at ev’ry part,
Came close, and look’d about to find an object worth his lance;
Which when the Trojans saw him shake, and he so near advance,
All shrunk; he threw, and forth it shin’d, nor fell but where it fell’d;
His friend’s grief gave it angry pow’r, and deadly way it held
Upon Democoon, who was sprung of Priam’s wanton force,
Came from Abydus, and was made the master of his horse.
Through both his temples strook the dart, the wood of one side shew’d,
The pile out of the other look’d, and so the earth he strew’d
With much sound of his weighty arms. Then back the foremost went;
Ev’n Hector yielded; then the Greeks gave worthy clamours vent,
Effecting then their first-dumb pow’rs; some drew the dead, and spoil’d,
Some follow’d, that, in open flight, Troy might confess it foil’d.
Apollo, angry at the sight, from top of Ilion cried:
“Turn head, ye well-rode peers of Troy, feed not the Grecians’ pride,
They are not charm’d against your points, of steel, nor iron, fram’d;
Nor fights the fair-hair’d Thetis’ son, but sits at fleet inflam’d.”
So spake the dreadful God from Troy. The Greeks, Jove’s noblest Seed
Encourag’d to keep on the chace; and, where fit spirit did need,
She gave it, marching in the midst. Then flew the fatal hour
Back on Diores, in return of Ilion’s sun-burn’d pow’r;
Diores Amaryncides, whose right leg’s ankle-bone,
And both the sinews, with a sharp and handful-charging stone
Pirus Imbrasides did break, that led the Thracian bands
And came from Ænos; down he fell, and up he held his hands
To his lov’d friends; his spirit wing’d to fly out of his breast
With which not satisfied, again Imbrasides address’d
His jav’lin at him, and so ripp’d his navel, that the wound,
As endlessly it shut his eyes, so, open’d, on the ground
It pour’d his entrails. As his foe went then suffic’d away,
Thoas Ætolius threw a dart, that did his pile convey,
Above his nipple, through his lungs; when, quitting his stern part,
He clos’d with him, and, from his breast first drawing out his dart,
His sword flew in, and by the midst it wip’d his belly out;
So took his life, but left his arms; his friends so flock’d about,
And thrust forth lances of such length before their slaughter’d king,
Which, though their foe were big and strong, and often brake the ring
Forg’d of their lances, yet (enforc’d) he left th’ affected prise.
The Thracian and Epeian dukes, laid close with closéd eyes
By either other, drown’d in dust; and round about the plain,
All hid with slaughter’d carcasses, yet still did hotly reign
The martial planet; whose effects had any eye beheld,
Free and unwounded (and were led by Pallas through the field,
To keep off jav’lins, and suggest the least fault could be found)
He could not reprehend the fight, so many strew’d the ground.

[1] Virgil useth these verses.

King Diomed (by Pallas’ spirit inspir’d
With will and pow’r) is for his acts admir’d,
Mere men, and men deriv’d from Deities,
And Deities themselves, he terrifies.
Adds wounds to terrors. His inflamed lance
Draws blood from Mars, and Venus. In a trance
He casts Æneas, with a weighty stone;
Apollo quickens him, and gets him gone.
Mars is recur’d by Pæon, but by Jove
Rebuk’d for authoring breach of human love.

In Epsilon, Heav’n’s blood is shed
By sacred rage of Diomed.

Then Pallas breath’d in Tydeus’ son; to render whom supreme
To all the Greeks, at all his parts, she cast a hotter beam
On his high mind, his body fill’d with much superior might,
And made his cómplete armour cast a far more cómplete light.
From his bright helm and shield did burn a most unwearied fire,[1]
Like rich Autumnus’ golden lamp, whose brightness men admire
Past all the other host of stars, when, with his cheerful face
Fresh wash’d in lofty Ocean waves, he doth the skies enchase.
To let whose glory, lose no sight, still Pallas made him turn
Where tumult most express’d his pow’r, and where the fight did burn.
An honest and a wealthy man inhabited in Troy,
Dares, the priest of Mulciber, who two sons did enjoy,
Idæus, and bold Phegeüs, well-seen in ev’ry fight.
These (singled from their troops, and hors’d) assail’d Minerva’s knight,
Who rang’d from fight to fight on foot. All hasting mutual charge,
And now drawn near, first Phegeus threw a jav’lin swift and large,
Whose head the king’s left shoulder took, but did no harm at all;
Then rush’d he out a lance at him, that had no idle fall,
But in his breast stuck ’twixt the paps, and strook him from his horse.
Which stern sight when Idæus saw, distrustful of his force
To save his slaughter’d brother’s spoil, it made him headlong leap
From his fair chariot, and leave all; yet had not ’scap’d the heap
Of heavy fun’ral, if the God, great President of fire,
Had not in sudden clouds of smoke and pity of his sire
To leave him utterly unheir’d, giv’n safe pass to his feet.
He gone, Tydides sent the horse and chariot to the fleet.
The Trojans seeing Dares’ sons one slain, the other fled,
Were strook amaz’d. The blue-ey’d Maid (to grace her Diomed
In giving free way to his pow’r) made this so ruthful fact
A fit advantage to remove the War-god out of act,
Who rag’d so on the Ilion side. She grip’d his hand, and said:
“Mars, Mars, thou ruiner of men, that in the dust hast laid
So many cities, and with blood thy godhead dost distain,
Now shall we cease to show our breasts as passionate as men,
And leave the mixture of our hands, resigning Jove his right,
As Rector of the Gods, to give the glory of the fight
Where he affecteth, lest he force what he should freely yield?”
He held it fit, and went with her from the tumultuous field,
Who set him in an herby seat on broad Scamander’s shore.
He gone, all Troy was gone with him, the Greeks drave all before.
And ev’ry leader slew a man; but first the king of men
Deserv’d the honour of his name, and led the slaughter then,
And slew a leader, one more huge than any man he led,
Great Odius, duke of Halizons; quite from his chariot’s head
He strook him with a lance to earth, as first he flight address’d;
It took his forward-turnéd back, and look’d out of his breast;
His huge trunk sounded, and his arms did echo the resound.
Idomenæus to the death did noble Phæstus wound,
The son of Meon-Borus, that from cloddy Terna came;
Who, taking chariot, took his wound, and tumbled with the same
From his attempted seat: the lance through his right shoulder strook,
And horrid darkness strook through him; the spoil his soldiers took.
Atrides-Menelaus slew, as he before him fled,
Scamandrius, son of Strophius, that was a huntsman bred;
A skilful huntsman, for his skill Diana’s self did teach,
And made him able with his dart infallibly to reach
All sorts of subtlest savages, which many a woody hill
Bred for him, and he much preserv’d, and all to show his skill.
Yet not the dart-delighting Queen taught him to shun this dart,
Nor all his hitting so far off, the mast’ry of his art;
His back receiv’d it, and he fell upon his breast withal;
His body’s ruin, and his arms, so sounded in his fall,
That his affrighted horse flew off, and left him, like his life.
Meriones slew Phereclus, whom she that ne’er was wife,
Yet Goddess of good housewives, held in excellent respect
For knowing all the witty things that grace an architect,
And having pow’r to give it all the cunning use of hand.
Harmonides, his sire, built ships, and made him understand,
With all the practice it requir’d, the frame of all that skill.
He built all Alexander’s ships, that author’d all the ill
Of all the Trojans and his own, because he did not know
The oracles advising Troy (for fear of overthrow)
To meddle with no sea affair, but live by tilling land.
This man Meriones surpris’d, and drave his deadly hand
Through his right hip; the lance’s head ran through the región
About the bladder, underneath th’ in-muscles and the bone;
He, sighing, bow’d his knees to death, and sacrific’d to earth.
Phylides stay’d Pedæus’ flight, Antenor’s bastard birth,
Whom virtuous Theano his wife, to please her husband, kept
As tenderly as those she lov’d. Phylides near him stept,
And in the fountain of the nerves did drench his fervent lance,
At his head’s back-part; and so far the sharp head did advance,
It cleft the organ of his speech, and th’ iron, cold as death,
He took betwixt his grinning teeth, and gave the air his breath.
Eurypylus, the much renown’d, and great Evemon’s son,
Divine Hypsenor slew, begot by stout Dolopion,
And consecrate Scamander’s priest; he had a God’s regard
Amongst the people; his hard flight the Grecian follow’d hard,
Rush’d in so close, that with his sword he on his shoulder laid
A blow that his arm’s brawn cut off; nor there his vigour stay’d,
But drave down, and from off his wrist it hew’d his holy hand
That gush’d out blood, and down it dropp’d upon the blushing sand;
Death, with his purple finger, shut, and violent fate, his eyes.
Thus fought these, but distinguish’d well. Tydides so implies
His fury that you could not know whose side had interest
In his free labours, Greece or Troy; but as a flood, increas’d
By violent and sudden show’rs, let down from hills, like hills
Melted in fury, swells and foams, and so he overfills
His natural channel; that besides both hedge and bridge resigns
To his rough confluence, far spread; and lusty flourishing vines
Drown’d in his outrage; Tydeus’ son so overran the field,
Strew’d such as flourish’d in his way, and made whole squadrons yield,
When Pandarus, Lycaon’s son, beheld his ruining hand,
With such resistless insolence, make lanes through ev’ry band,
He bent his gold-tipp’d bow of horn, and shot him rushing in,
At his right shoulder, where his arms were hollow; forth did spin
The blood, and down his curets ran; then Pandarus cried out:
“Rank-riding Trojans, now rush in. Now, now, I make no doubt:
Our bravest foe is mark’d for death; he cannot long sustain
My violent shaft, if Jove’s fair Son did worthily constrain
My foot from Lycia.” Thus he brav’d, and yet his violent shaft
Strook short with all his violence, Tydides’ life was saft;
Who yet withdrew himself behind his chariot and steeds,
And call’d to Sthenelus: “Come, friend, my wounded shoulder needs
Thy hand to ease it of this shaft.” He hasted from his seat
Before the coach, and drew the shaft; the purple wound did sweat,
And drown his shirt of mail in blood, and as it bled he pray’d:
“Hear me, of Jove-Ægiochus thou most unconquer’d Maid!
If ever in the cruel field thou has assistful stood
Or to my father, or myself, now love, and do me good.
Give him into my lance’s reach, that thus hath giv’n a wound
To him thou guard’st, preventing me, and brags that never more
I shall behold the cheerful sun.” Thus did the king implore.
The Goddess heard, came near, and took the weariness of fight
From all his nerves and lineaments, and made them fresh and light,
And said: “Be bold, O Diomed, in ev’ry combat shine,
The great shield-shaker Tydeus’ strength (that knight, that sire of thine)
By my infusion breathes in thee; and from thy knowing mind
I have remov’d those erring mists that made it lately blind,
That thou may’st diff’rence Gods from men, and therefore use thy skill
Against the tempting Deities, if any have a will
To try if thou presum’st of that, as thine, that flows from them,
And so assum’st above thy right. Where thou discern’st a beam
Of any other Heav’nly Pow’r than She that rules in love,
That calls thee to the change of blows, resist not, but remove;
But if that Goddess be so bold (since she first stirr’d this war)
Assault and mark her from the rest with some infámous scar.”
The blue-eyed Goddess vanishéd, and he was seen again
Amongst the foremost, who before though he were prompt and fain
To fight against the Trojans’ pow’rs, now, on his spirits were call’d
With thrice the vigour; lion-like, that hath been lately gall’d
By some bold shepherd in a field, where his curl’d flocks were laid,
Who took him as he leap’d the fold, not slain yet, but appaid
With greater spirit, comes again, and then the shepherd hides,
(The rather for the desolate place) and in his cot abides,
His flocks left guardless; which, amaz’d, shake and shrink up in heaps;
He, ruthless, freely takes his prey, and out again he leaps;
So sprightly, fierce, victorious, the great heroë flew
Upon the Trojans, and, at once, he two commanders slew,
Hypenor and Astynous; in one his lance he fix’d
Full at the nipple of his breast; the other smote betwixt
The neck and shoulder with his sword, which was so well laid on
It swept his arm and shoulder off. These left, he rush’d upon
Abas and Polyëidus, of old Eurydamas
The hapless sons; who could by dreams tell what would come to pass,
Yet, when his sons set forth to Troy, the old man could not read
By their dreams what would chance to them, for both were stricken dead
By great Tydides, After these, he takes into his rage
Xanthus and Thoön, Phænops’ sons, born to him in his age;
The good old man ev’n pin’d with years, and one son more
To heir his goods; yet Diomed took both, and left him store
Of tears and sorrows in their steads, since he could never see
His sons leave those hot wars alive; so this the end must be
Of all his labours; what he heap’d, to make his issue great,
Authority heir’d, and with her seed fill’d his forgotten seat.
Then snatch’d he up two Priamists, that in one chariot stood,
Echemon, and fair Chromius. As feeding in a wood
Oxen or steers are, one of which a lion leaps upon,
Tears down, and wrings in two his neck; so, sternly, Tydeus’ son
Threw from their chariot both these hopes of old Dardanides,
Then took their arms, and sent their horse to those that ride the seas,
Æneas, seeing the troops thus toss’d, brake through the heat of fight,
And all the whizzing of the darts, to find the Lycian knight,
Lycaon’s son; whom having found, he thus bespake the peer;
“O Pandarus, where’s now thy bow, thy deathful arrows where,
In which no one in all our host but gives the palm to thee,
Nor in the sun-lov’d Lycian greens, that breed our archery,
Lives any that exceeds thyself? Come, lift thy hands to Jove,
And send an arrow at this man, if but a man he prove,
That wins such god-like victories, and now affects our host
With so much sorrow, since so much of our best blood is lost
By his high valour. I have fear some God in him doth threat,
Incens’d for want of sacrifice; the wrath of God is great.”
Lycaon’s famous son replied: “Great counsellor of Troy,
This man, so excellent in arms, I think is Tydeus’ joy;
I know him by his fi’ry shield, by his bright three-plum’d casque,
And by his horse; nor can I say, if or some God doth mask
In his appearance, or he be whom I nam’d Tydeus’ son,
But without God the things he does for certain are not done.
Some great Immortal, that conveys his shoulders in a cloud,
Goes by and puts by ev’ry dart at his bold breast bestow’d,
Or lets it take with little hurt; for I myself let fly
A shaft that shot him through his arms, but had as good gone by,
Yet which I gloriously affirm’d had driv’n him down to hell.
Some God is angry, and with me; for far hence, where I dwell,
My horse and chariots idle stand, with which some other way
I might repair this shameful miss. Elev’n fair chariots stay
In old Lycaon’s court, new made, new trimm’d to have been gone,
Curtain’d, and arrast under foot; two horse to ev’ry one,
That eat white barley and black oats, and do no good at all;
And these Lycaon (that well knew how these affairs would fall)
Charg’d, when I set down this design, I should command with here,
And gave me many lessons more, all which much better were
Than any I took forth myself. The reason I laid down
Was but the sparing of my horse, since in a siegéd town
I thought our horse-meat would be scant; when they were us’d to have
Their manger full; so I left them, and like a lackey slave
Am come to Ilion, confident in nothing but my bow
That nothing profits me. Two shafts I vainly did bestow
At two great princes, but of both my arrows neither slew,
Nor this, nor Atreus’ younger son; a little blood I drew,
That serv’d but to incense them more. In an unhappy star
I therefore from my armoury have drawn those tools of war
That day, when, for great Hector’s sake, to amiable Troy:
I came to lead the Trojan bands. But if I ever joy,
In safe return, my country’s sight, my wife’s, my lofty tow’rs,
Let any stranger take this head, if to the fi’ry Pow’rs
This bow, these shafts, in pieces burst, by these hands be not thrown;
Idle companions that they are to me and my renown.”
Æneas said: “Use no such words; for, any other way
Than this, they shall not now be us’d. We first will both assay
This man with horse and chariot. Come then, ascend to me,
That thou may’st try our Trojan horse, how skill’d in field they be,
And in pursuing those that fly, or flying, being pursued,
How excellent they are of foot; and these, if Jove conclude
The ’scape of Tydeüs again, and grace him with our flight,
Shall serve to bring us safely off. Come, I’ll be first shall fight,
Take thou these fair reins and this scourge; or, if thou wilt, fight thou,
And leave the horses’ care to me.” He answer’d: “I will now
Descend to fight, keep thou the reins, and guide thyself thy horse;
Who with their wonted manager will better wield the force
Of the impulsive chariot, if we be driv’n to fly,
Than with a stranger; under whom they will be much more shy,
And, fearing my voice, wishing thine, grow resty, nor go on
To bear us off, but leave engag’d for mighty Tydeus’ son
Themselves and us. Then be thy part thy one-hoof’d horses’ guide,
I’ll make the fight, and with a dart receive his utmost pride.”
With this the gorgeous chariot both, thus prepar’d, ascend
And make full way at Diomed; which noted by his friend,
“Mine own most-lovéd mind,” said he, “two mighty men of war
I see come with a purpos’d charge; one’s he that hits so far
With bow and shaft, Lycaon’s son; the other fames the brood
Of great Anchises and the Queen that rules in amorous blood,
Æneas, excellent in arms. Come up, and use your steeds,
And look not war so in the face, lest that desire that feeds
Thy great mind be the bane of it.” This did with anger sting
The blood of Diomed, to see his friend, that chid the king
Before the fight, and then preferr’d his ablesse and his mind
To all his ancestors in fight, now come so far behind;
Whom thus he answer’d: “Urge no flight, you cannot please me so;
Nor is it honest in my mind to fear a coming foe,
Or make a flight good, though with fight. My pow’rs are yet entire,
And scorn the help-tire of a horse. I will not blow the fire
Of their hot valours with my flight, but cast upon the blaze
This body borne upon my knees. I entertain amaze?
Minerva will not see that shame. And since they have begun,
They shall not both elect their ends; and he that ’scapes shall  run,
Or stay and take the other’s fate. And this I leave for thee;—
If amply-wise Athenia give both their lives to me,
Rein our horse to their chariot hard, and have a special heed
To seize upon Æneas’ steeds, that we may change their breed,
And make a Grecian race of them that have been long of Troy.
For these are bred of those brave beasts which, for the lovely boy
That waits now on the cup of Jove, Jove, that far-seeing God,
Gave Tros the king in recompense; the best that ever trod
The sounding centre, underneath the morning and the sun.
Anchises stole the breed of them; for, where their sires did run,
He closely put his mares to them, and never made it known
To him that heir’d them, who was then the king Laomedon.
Six horses had he of that race, of which himself kept four,
And gave the other two his son; and these are they that scour
The field so bravely towards us, expert in charge and flight.
If these we have the pow’r to take, our prise is exquisite,
And our renown will far exceed.” While these were talking thus,
The fir’d horse brought th’ assailants near, and thus spake Pandarus:
“Most suff’ring-minded Tydeus’ son, that hast of war the art,
My shaft, that strook thee, slew thee not, I now will prove a dart.”
This said, he shook, and then he threw, a lance, aloft and large,
That in Tydides’ curets stuck, quite driving through his targe;
Then bray’d he out so wild a voice that all the field might hear:
“Now have I reach’d thy root of life, and by thy death shall bear
Our praise’s chief prise from the field.” Tydides undismay’d
Replied: “Thou err’st, I am not touch’d; but more charge will be laid
To both your lives before you part; at least the life of one
Shall satiate the throat of Mars.” This said, his lance was gone,
Minerva led it to his face, which at his eye ran in,
And, as he stoop’d, strook through his jaws, his tongue’s root, and his chin.
Down from the chariot he fell, his gay arms shin’d and rung,
The swift horse trembled, and his soul for ever charm’d his tongue.
Æneas with his shield, and lance, leapt swiftly to his friend,
Afraid the Greeks would force his trunk; and that he did defend,
Bold as a lion of his strength; he hid him with his shield,
Shook round his lance, and horribly did threaten all the field
With death, if any durst make in. Tydides rais’d a stone
With his one hand, of wondrous weight, and pour’d it mainly on
The hip of Anchisiades, wherein the joint doth move
The thigh (’tis call’d the huckle-bone) which all in sherds it drove,
Brake both the nerves, and with the edge cut all the flesh away.
It stagger’d him upon his knees, and made th’ heroë stay
His strook-blind temples on his hand, his elbow on the earth;
And there this prince of men had died, if She that gave him birth,
(Kiss’d by Anchises on the green, where his fair oxen fed)
Jove’s loving daughter, instantly had not about him spread
Her soft embraces, and convey’d within her heav’nly veil
(Us’d as a rampire ’gainst all darts that did so hot assail)
Her dear-lov’d issue from the field, Then Sthenelus in haste,
Rememb’ring what his friend advis’d, from forth the prease made fast
His own horse to their chariot, and presently laid hand
Upon the lovely-coated horse Æneas did command.
Which bringing to the wond’nng Greeks, he did their guard commend
To his belov’d Deipylus, who was his inward friend,
And, of his equals, one to whom he had most honour shown,
That he might see them safe at fleet; then stept he to his own.
With which he cheerfully made in to Tydeus’ mighty race,
He, mad with his great enemy’s rape, was hot in desp’rate chace
Of her that made it, with his lance, arm’d less with steel than spite,
Well knowing her no Deity that had to do in fight,
Minerva his great patroness, nor, She that raceth towns,
Bellona, but a goddess weak, and foe to men’s renowns.
Her, through a world of fight pursu’d, at last he overtook,
And, thrusting up his ruthless lance, her heav’nly veil he strook
(That ev’n the Graces wrought themselves, at her divine command)
Quite through, and hurt the tender back of her delicious hand.
The rude point piercing through her palm, forth flow’d th’ immortal blood;
Blood, such as flows in blesséd Gods, that eat no human food,
Nor drink of our inflaming wine, and therefore bloodless are,
And call’d Immortals; out she cried, and could no longer bear
Her lov’d son; whom she cast from her, and in a sable cloud
Phœbus, receiving, hid him close from all the Grecian crowd,
Lest some of them should find his death. Away flew Venus then,
And after her cried Diomed: “Away, thou spoil of men,
Though sprung from all-preserving Jove, these hot encounters leave.
Is’t not enough that silly dames thy sorc’ries should deceive,
Unless thou thrust into the war, and rob a soldier’s right?
I think a few of these assaults will make thee fear the fight,
Wherever thou shalt hear it nam’d.” She, sighing, went her way
Extremely griev’d, and with her griefs her beauties did decay,
And black her ivory body grew. Then from a dewy mist
Brake swift-foot Iris to her aid, from all the darts that hiss’d
At her quick rapture; and to Mars they took their plaintive course,
And found him on the fight’s left hand, by him his speedy horse,
And huge lance, lying in a fog. The Queen of all things fair
Her lovéd brother, on her knees, besought, with instant pray’r,
His golden-riband-bound-man’d horse to lend her up to heav’n
For she was much griev’d with a wound a mortal man had giv’n,
Tydides, that ’gainst Jove himself durst now advance his arm.
He granted, and his chariot (perplex’d with her late harm)
She mounted, and her waggoness was She that paints the air.
The horse she rein’d, and with a scourge importun’d their repair,
That of themselves out-flew the wind, and quickly they ascend
Olympus, high seat of the Gods. Th’ horse knew their journey’s end,
Stood still, and from their chariot the windy-footed dame
Dissolv’d, and gave them heav’nly food; and to Dione came
Her wounded daughter, bent her knees. She kindly bade her stand,
With sweet embraces help’d her up, strok’d her with her soft hand,
Call’d kindly by her name, and ask’d: “What God hath been so rude,
Sweet daughter, to chastise thee thus, as if thou wert pursu’d
Ev’n to the act of some light sin, and deprehended so?
For otherwise, each close escape is in the great let go.”
She answer’d: “Haughty Tydeus’ son hath been so insolent,
Since, him whom most my heart esteems of all my lov’d descent,
I rescu’d from his bloody hand. Now battle is not giv’n
To any Trojans by the Greeks, but by the Greeks to heav’n.”
She answer’d: “Daughter, think not much, though much it grieve thee; use
The patience, whereof many Gods examples may produce,
In many bitter ills receiv’d, as well that men sustain
By their inflictions as by men repaid to them again.
Mars suffer’d much more than thyself by Ephialtes’ pow’r,
And Otus’, Aloëus’ sons; who in a brazen tow’r,
And in inextricable chains, cast that war-greedy God,
Where twice-six months and one he liv’d, and there the period
Of his sad life perhaps had clos’d, if his kind step-dame’s eye,
Fair Erebæa, had not seen; who told it Mercury,
And he by stealth enfranchis’d him; though he could scarce enjoy
The benefit of franchisement, the chains did so destroy
His vital forces with their weight. So Juno suffer’d more
When, with a three-fork’d arrow’s head, Amphitryo’s son did gore
Her right breast, past all hope of cure. Pluto sustain’d no less
By that self man, and by a shaft of equal bitterness
Shot through his shoulder at hell gates; and there, amongst the dead,
Were he not deathless, he had died; but up to heav’n he fled,
Extremely tortur’d, for recure, which instantly he won
At Pæon’s hand, with sov’reign balm; and this did Jove’s great son,
Unblest, great-high-deed-daring man, that car’d not doing ill,
That with his bow durst wound the Gods! But, by Minerva’s will,
Thy wound the foolish Diomed was so profane to give;
Not knowing he that fights with Heav’n hath never long to live,
And for this deed, he never shall have child about his knee
To call him father, coming home. Besides, hear this from me,
Strength-trusting man, though thou be strong, and art in strength a tow’r,
Take heed a stronger meet thee not, and that a woman’s pow’r
Contains not that superior strength, and lest that woman be
Adrastus’ daughter, and thy wife, the wise Ægiale;
When, from this hour not far, she wakes, ev’n sighing with desire
To kindle our revenge on thee, with her enamouring fire,
In choosing her some fresh young friend, and so drown all thy fame,
Won here in war, in her court-piece, and in an opener shame.”
This said, with both her hands she cleans’d the tender back and palm
Of all the sacred blood they lost; and, never using balm,
The pain ceas’d, and the wound was cur’d of this kind Queen of love.
Juno and Pallas, seeing this, assay’d to anger Jove,
And quit his late-made mirth with them, about the loving Dame,
With some sharp jest, in like sort, built upon her present shame.
Gray-ey’d Athenia began, and ask’d the Thunderer,
If, nothing moving him to wrath, she boldly might prefer,
What she conceiv’d, to his conceit; and, staying no reply,
She bade him view the Cyprian fruit he lov’d so tenderly,
Whom she thought hurt, and by this means;—intending to suborn
Some other lady of the Greeks (whom lovely veils adorn)
To gratify some other friend of her much-lovéd Troy,
As she embrac’d and stirr’d her blood to the Venerean joy,
The golden clasp, those Grecian dames upon their girdles wear,
Took hold of her delicious hand, and hurt it, she had fear.
The Thund’rer smil’d, and call’d to him love’s golden Arbitress,
And told her those rough works of war were not for her access;
She should be making marriages, embracings, kisses, charms,
Stern Mars and Pallas had the charge of those affairs in arms.
While these thus talk’d, Tydides’ rage still thirsted to achieve
His prise upon Anchises’ son, though well he did perceive
The Sun himself protected him; but his desires (inflam’d
With that great Trojan prince’s blood, and arms so highly fam’d)
Not that great God did reverence. Thrice rush’d he rudely on,
And thrice, betwixt his darts and death, the Sun’s bright target shone;
But when upon the fourth assault, much like a spirit, he flew,
The far-off-working Deity exceeding wrathful grew,
And ask’d him: “What! Not yield to gods? Thy equals learn to know.
The race of Gods is far above men creeping here below.”
This drave him to some small retreat; he would not tempt more near
The wrath of him that strook so far; whose pow’r had now set clear
Æneas from the stormy field within the holy place
Of Pergamus, where, to the hope of his so sov’reign grace,
A goodly temple was advanc’d; in whose large inmost part
He left him, and to his supply inclin’d his mother’s heart,
Latona, and the dart-pleas’d Queen; who cur’d, and made him strong.
The silver-bow’d fair God then threw in the tumultuous throng
An image, that in stature, look, and arms, he did create
Like Venus’ son; for which the Greeks and Trojans made debate,
Laid loud strokes on their ox-hide shields, and bucklers eas’ly borne;
Which error Phœbus pleas’d to urge on Mars himself in scorn:
“Mars, Mars,” said he, “thou plague of men, smear’d with the dust and blood
Of humans, and their ruin’d walls, yet thinks thy Godhead good
To fright this fury from the field, who next will fight with Jove?
First in a bold approach he hurt, the moist palm of thy love,
And next, as if he did affect to have a Deity’s pow’r,
He held out his assault on me.” This said, the lofty tow’r
Of Pergamus he made his seat; and Mars did now excite
The Trojan forces, in the form of him that led to fight
The Thracian troops, swift Acamas. “O Priam’s sons,” said he,
“How long the slaughter of your men can ye sustain to see?
Ev’n till they brave you at your gates? Ye suffer beaten down
Æneas, great Anchises’ son, whose prowess we renown
As much as Hector’s; fetch him off from this contentious prease.”
With this, the strength and spirits of all his courage did increase;
And yet Sarpedon seconds him, with this particular taunt
Of noble Hector: “Hector, where is thy unthankful vaunt,
And that huge strength on which it built, that thou, and thy allies,
With all thy brothers (without aid of us or our supplies,
And troubling not a citizen) the city safe would hold?
In all which friends’ and brothers’ helps I see not, nor am told
Of anyone of their exploits, but (all held in dismay
Of Diomed, like a sort of dogs, that at a lion bay,
And entertain no spirit to pinch) we, your assistants here,
Fight for the town as you help’d us; and I, an aiding peer,
No citizen, ev’n out of care, that doth become a man
For men and children’s liberties, add all the aid I can;
Not out of my particular cause; far hence my profit grows,
For far hence Asian Lycia lies, where gulfy Xanthus flows,
And where my lov’d wife, infant son, and treasure nothing scant,
I left behind me, which I see those men would have that want,
And therefore they that have would keep. Yet I, as I would lose
Their sure fruition, cheer my troops, and with their lives propose
Mine own life, both to gen’ral fight, and to particular cope
With this great soldier; though, I say, I entertain no hope
To have such gettings as the Greeks, nor fear to lose like Troy.
Yet thou, ev’n Hector, deedless stand’st, and car’st not to employ
Thy town-born friends, to bid them stand, to fight and save their wives,
Lest as a fowler casts his nets upon the silly lives
Of birds of all sorts, so the foe your walls and houses hales,
One with another, on all heads; or such as ’scape their falls,
He made the prey and prise of them (as willing overthrown)
That hope not for you with their force; and so this brave-built town
Will prove a chaos. That deserves in thee so hot a care,
As should consume thy days and nights, to hearten and prepare
Th’ assistant princes; pray their minds to bear their far-brought toils;
To give them worth with worthy fight; in victories and foils
Still to be equal; and thyself, exampling them in all,
Need no reproofs nor spurs. All this in thy free choice should fall.”
This stung great Hector’s heart; and yet, as ev’ry gen’rous mind
Should silent bear a just reproof, and show what good they find
In worthy counsels, by their ends put into present deeds,
Not stomach nor be vainly sham’d; so Hector’s spirit proceeds,
And from his chariot, wholly arm’d, he jump’d upon the sand,
On foot so toiling through the host, a dart in either hand,
And all hands turn’d against the Greeks. The Greeks despis’d their worst,
And, thick’ning their instructed pow’rs, expected all they durst.
Then with the feet of horse and foot, the dust in clouds did rise.
And as, in sacred floors of barns, upon corn-winnow’rs flies
The chaff, driv’n with an opposite wind, when yellow Ceres dites,
Which all the diters’ feet, legs, arms, their heads and shoulders whites;
So look’d the Grecians gray with dust, that strook the solid heav’n,
Rais’d from returning chariots, and troops together driv’n.
Each side stood to their labours firm. Fierce Mars flew through the air,
And gather’d darkness from the fight, and, with his best affair,
Obey’d the pleasure of the Sun, that wears the golden sword
Who bade him raise the spirits of Troy, when Pallas ceas’d t’ afford
Her helping office to the Greeks; and then his own hands wrought,
Which, from his fane’s rich chancel, cur’d, the true Æneas brought,
And plac’d him by his peers in field; who did with joy admire
To see him both alive and safe, and all his pow’rs entire
Yet stood not sifting how it chanc’d; another sort of task,
Then stirring th’ idle sieve of news, did all their forces ask,
Inflam’d by Phœbus, harmful Mars, and Eris eag’rer far.
The Greeks had none to hearten them; their hearts rose with the war;
But chiefly Diomed, Ithacus, and both th’ Ajaces us’d
Stirring examples and good words; their own fames had infus’d
Spirit enough into their bloods, to make them neither fear
The Trojans’ force, nor Fate itself, but still expecting were,
When most was done, what would be more; their ground they still made good,
And in their silence, and set pow’rs, like fair still clouds, they stood,
With which Jove crowns the tops of hills, in any quiet day,
When Boreas and the ruder winds (that use to drive away
Air’s dusky vapours, being loose, in many a whistling gale)
Are pleasingly bound up, and calm, and not a breath exhale;
So firmly stood the Greeks, nor fled for all the Ilion’s aid.
Atrides yet coasts through the troops, confirming men so staid:
“O friends,” said he, “hold up your minds; strength is but strength of will;
Rev’rence each other’s good in fight and shame at things done ill.
Where soldiers show an honest shame, and love of honour lives,
That ranks men with the first in fight, death fewer liveries gives
Than life, or than where Fame’s neglect makes cowards fight at length.
Flight neither doth the body grace, nor shows the mind hath strength.”
He said, and swiftly through the troops a mortal lance did send,
That reft a standard-bearer’s life, renown’d Æneas’ friend,
Deïcoon Pergasides, whom all the Trojans lov’d
As he were one of Priam’s sons, his mind was so approv’d
In always fighting with the first. The lance his target took,
Which could not interrupt the blow, that through it clearly strook,
And in his belly’s rim was sheath’d, beneath his girdle-stead.
He sounded falling, and his arms with him resounded, dead.
Then fell two princes of the Greeks by great Æneas’ ire,
Diocleus’ sons (Orsilochus and Crethon), whose kind sire
In bravely-builded Phæra dwelt, rich, and of sacred blood.
He was descended lineally from great Alphæus’ flood,
That broadly flows through Pyles’ fields; Alphæus did beget
Orsilochus, who in the rule of many men was set;
And that Orsilochus begat the rich Diocleüs;
Diocleus sire to Crethon was, and this Orsilochus.
Both these; arriv’d at man’s estate, with both th’ Atrides went,
To honour them in th’ Ilion wars; and both were one day sent,
To death as well as Troy, for death hid both in one black hour.
As two young lions (with their dam, sustain’d but to devour)
Bred on the tops of some steep hill, and in the gloomy deep
Of an inaccessible wood, rush out, and prey on sheep,
Steers, oxen, and destroy men’s stalls, so long that they come short,
And by the owner’s steel are slain; in such unhappy sort
Fell these beneath Æneas’ pow’r. When Menelaus view’d
Like two tall fir-trees these two fall, their timeless falls he rued,
And to the first fight, where they lay, a vengeful force he took;
His arms beat back the sun in flames, a dreadful lance he shook;
Mars put the fury in his mind, that by Æneas’ hands,
Who was to make the slaughter good, he might have strew’d the sands.
Antilochus, old Nestor’s son, observing he was bent
To urge a combat of such odds, and knowing, the event
Being ill on his part, all their pains (alone sustain’d for him)
Err’d from their end, made after hard, and took them in the trim
Of an encounter. Both their hands and darts advanc’d, and shook,
And both pitch’d in full stand of charge; when suddenly the look
Of Anchisiades took note of Nestor’s valiant son,
In full charge too; which, two to one, made Venus’ issue shun
The hot adventure, though he were a soldier well-approv’d.
Then drew they off their slaughter’d friends; who giv’n to their belov’d,
They turn’d where fight show’d deadliest hate; and there mix’d with the dead
Pylæmen, that the targeteers of Paphlagonia led,
A man like Mars; and with him fell good Mydon that did guide
His chariot, Atymnus’ son. The prince Pylæmen died
By Menelaus; Nestor’s joy slew Mydon; one before
The other in the chariot. Atrides’ lance did gore
Pylæmen’s shoulder, in the blade. Antilochus did force
A mighty stone up from the earth, and, as he turn’d his horse,
Strook Mydon’s elbow in the midst; the reins of ivory
Fell from his hands into the dust; Antilochus let fly
His sword withal, and, rushing in, a blow so deadly laid
Upon his temples, that he groan’d, tumbled to earth, and stay’d
A mighty while preposterously (because the dust was deep)
Upon his neck and shoulders there, ev’n till his foe took keep
Of his pris’d horse, and made them stir; and then he prostrate fell.
His horse Antilochus took home. When Hector had heard tell,
Amongst the uproar, of their deaths, he laid out all his voice,
And ran upon the Greeks. Behind came many men of choice,
Before him march’d great Mars himself match’d with his female mate,
The dread Bellona. She brought on, to fight for mutual fate,
A tumult that was wild and mad. He shook a horrid lance,
And now led Hector, and anon behind would make the chance.
This sight when great Tydides saw, his hair stood up on end;
And him, whom all the skill and pow’r of arms did late attend,
Now like a man in counsel poor, that, travelling, goes amiss,
And having pass’d a boundless plain, not knowing where he is,
Comes on the sudden where he sees a river rough, and raves
With his own billows ravishéd into the king of waves,
Murmurs with foam, and frights him back; so he, amaz’d, retir’d,
And thus would make good his amaze: “O friends, we all admir’d
Great Hector, as one of himself, well-darting, bold in war,
When some God guards him still from death, and makes him dare so far.
Now Mars himself, form’d like a man, is present in his rage,
And therefore, whatsoever cause importunes you to wage
War with these Trojans, never strive, but gently take your rod,
Lest in your bosoms, for a man, ye ever find a God.”
As Greece retir’d, the pow’r of Troy did much more forward prease,
And Hector two brave men of war sent to the fields of peace;
Menesthes, and Anchialus; one chariot bare them both.
Their falls made Ajax Telamon ruthful of heart, and wroth
Who lighten’d out a lance that smote Amphius Selages,
That dwelt in Pæsos, rich in lands, and did huge goods possess,
But Fate, to Priam and his sons, conducted his supply.
The jav’lin on his girdle strook, and piercéd mortally
His belly’s lower part; he fell: his arms had looks so trim,
That Ajax needs would prove their spoil; the Trojans pour’d on him
Whole storms of lances, large, and sharp, of which a number stuck
In his rough shield; yet from the slain he did his jav’lin pluck,
But could not from his shoulders force the arms he did affect,
The Trojans with such drifts of darts the body did protect;
And wisely Telamonius fear’d their valorous defence,
So many, and so strong of hand, stood in with such expense
Of deadly prowess; who repell’d, though big, strong, bold, he were,
The famous Ajax, and their friend did from his rapture bear.
Thus this place fill’d with strength of fight; in th’ army’s other prease,
Tlepolemus, a tall big man, the son of Hercules,
A cruel destiny inspir’d, with strong desire to prove
Encounter with Sarpedon’s strength, the son of cloudy Jove;
Who, coming on to that stern end, had chosen him his foe.
Thus Jove’s great nephew, and his son, ’gainst one another go.
Tlepolemus, to make his end more worth the will of fate,
Began as if he had her pow’r, and show’d the mortal state
Of too much confidence in man, with this superfluous brave:
“Sarpedon, what necessity or needless humour drave
Thy form to these wars, which in heart I know thou dost abhor,
A man not seen in deeds of arms, a Lycian counsellor?
They lie that call thee son to Jove, since Jove bred none so late;
The men of elder times were they, that his high pow’r begat,
Such men as had Herculean force. My father Hercules
Was Jove’s true issue; he was bold; his deeds did well express
They sprung out of a lion’s heart. He whilome came to Troy,
(For horse that Jupiter gave Tros, for Ganymed, his boy)
With six ships only, and few men, and tore the city down,
Left all her broad ways desolate, and made the horse his own.
For thee, thy mind is ill dispos’d, thy body’s pow’rs are poor,
And therefore are thy troops so weak; the soldier evermore
Follows the temper of his chief; and thou pull’st down a side.
But say thou art the son of Jove, and hast thy means supplied
With forces fitting his descent, the pow’rs that I compel
Shall throw thee hence, and make thy head run ope the gates of hell.”
Jove’s Lycian issue answer’d him: “Tlepolemus, ’tis true
Thy father holy Ilion in that sort overthrew;
Th’ injustice of the king was cause, that, where thy father had
Us’d good deservings to his state, he quitted him with bad.
Hesione, the joy and grace of king Laomedon,
Thy father rescu’d from a whale, and gave to Telamon
In honour’d nuptials (Telamon, from whom your strongest Greek
Boasts to have issu’d) and this grace might well expect the like;
Yet he gave taunts for thanks, and kept, against his oath, his horse,
And therefore both thy father’s strength, and justice, might enforce
The wreak he took on Troy; but this and thy cause differ far.
Sons seldom heir their fathers’ worths. Thou canst not make his war.
What thou assum’st for him, is mine, to be on thee impos’d.”
With this, he threw an ashen dart; and then Tlepolemus los’d
Another from his glorious hand. Both at one instant flew,
Both strook, both wounded. From his neck Sarpedon’s jav’lin drew
The life blood of Tlepolemus; full in the midst it fell;
And what he threaten’d, th’ other gave, that darkness, and that hell.
Sarpedon’s left thigh took the lance; it pierc’d the solid bone,
And with his raging head ran through; but Jove preserv’d his son.
The dart yet vex’d him bitterly, which should have been pull’d out,
But none consider’d then so much, so thick came on the rout,
And fill’d each hand so full of cause to ply his own defence;
‘Twas held enough, both fall’n that both were nobly carried thence
Ulysses knew th’ events of both, and took it much to heart
That his friend’s enemy should ’scape; and in a twofold part
His thoughts contended, if he should pursue Sarpedon’s life,
Or take his friend’s wreak on his men. Fate did conclude this strife,
By whom ’twas otherwise decreed than that Ulysses’ steel
Should end Sarpedon. In this doubt Minerva took the wheel
From fickle Chance, and made his mind resolve to right his friend
With that blood he could surest draw. Then did Revenge extend
Her full pow’r on the multitude; then did he never miss;
Alastor, Halius, Chromius, Noemon, Prytanis,
Alcander, and a number more, he slew, and more had slain,
If Hector had not understood; whose pow’r made in amain,
And strook fear through the Grecian troops, but to Sarpedon gave
Hope of full rescue, who thus cried: “O Hector! Help and save
My body from the spoil of Greece, that to your lovéd town
My friends may see me borne, and then let earth possess her own
In this soil, for whose sake I left my country’s; for no day
Shall ever show me that again, nor to my wife display,
And young hope of my name, the joy of my much thirsted sight;
All which I left for Troy, for them let Troy then do this right.”
To all this Hector gives no word, but greedily he strives
With all speed to repel the Greeks, and shed in floods their lives,
And left Sarpedon; but what face soever he put on
Of following the common cause, he left this prince alone
For his particular grudge, because, so late, he was so plain
In his reproof before the host, and that did he retain;
However, for example sake, he would not show it then,
And for his shame too, since ’twas just. But good Sarpedon’s men
Ventur’d themselves, and forc’d him off, and set him underneath
The goodly beech of Jupiter, where now they did unsheath
The ashen lance; strong Pelagon, his friend, most lov’d, most true,
Enforc’d it from his maiméd thigh; with which his spirit flew,
And darkness over-flew his eyes; yet with a gentle gale,
That round about the dying prince cool Boreas did exhale,
He was reviv’d, recomforted, that else had griev’d and died.
All this time flight drave to the fleet the Argives, who applied
No weapon ’gainst the proud pursuit, nor ever turn’d a head,
They knew so well that Mars pursu’d, and dreadful Hector led.
Then who was first, who last, whose lives the iron Mars did seize,
And Priam’s Hector? Helenus, surnam’d Œnopides;
Good Teuthras; and Orestes, skill’d in managing of horse;
Bold Œnomaus; and a man renown’d for martial force,
Trechus, the great Ætolian chief; Oresbius, that did wear
The gaudy mitre, studied wealth extremely, and dwelt near
Th’ Atlantic lake Cephisides, in Hyla, by whose seat
The good men of Bœotia dwelt. This slaughter grew so great,
It flew to heav’n; Saturnia discern’d it, and cried out
To Pallas: “O unworthy sight! To see a field so fought,
And break our words to Sparta’s king, that Ilion should be rac’d,
And he return reveng’d; when thus we see his Greeks disgrac’d,
And bear the harmful rage of Mars! Come, let us use our care,
That we dishonour not our pow’rs.” Minerva was as yare
As she at the despite of Troy. Her golden-bridled steeds
Then Saturn’s daughter brought abroad; and Hebe, she proceeds
T’ address her chariot; instantly she gives it either wheel,
Beam’d with eight spokes of sounding brass; the axle-tree was steel;
The fell’ffs incorruptible gold, their upper bands of brass,
Their matter most unvalued, their work of wondrous grace;
The naves, in which the spokes were driv’n, were all with silver bound;
The chariot’s seat two hoops of gold and silver strengthen’d round,
Edg’d with a gold and silver fringe; the beam, that look’d before,
Was massy silver; on whose top, gears all of gold it wore,
And golden poitrils. Juno mounts, and her hot horses rein’d,
That thirsted for contentión, and still of peace complain’d.
Minerva wrapt her in the robe, that curiously she wove,
With glorious colours, as she sate on th’ azure floor of Jove,
And wore the arms that he puts on, bent to the tearful field.
About her broad-spread shoulders hung his huge and horrid shield,
Fring’d round with ever-fighting snakes; through it was drawn to life
The miseries and deaths of fight; in it frown’d bloody Strife,
In it shin’d sacred Fortitude, in it fell Púrsuit flew,
In it the monster Gorgon’s head, in which held out to view
Were all the dire ostents of Jove; on her big head she plac’d
His four-plum’d glitt’ring casque of gold, so admirably vast
It would an hundred garrisons of soldiers comprehend.
Then to her shining chariot her vig’rous feet ascend;
And in her violent hand she takes his grave, huge, solid lance,
With which the conquests of her wrath she useth to advance,
And overturn whole fields of men, to show she was the Seed
Of him that thunders. Then heav’n’s Queen, to urge her horses’ speed,
Takes up the scourge, and forth they fly. The ample gates of heav’n
Rung, and flew open of themselves; the charge whereof is giv’n,
With all Olympus, and the sky, to the distinguish’d Hours,
That clear, or hide it all in clouds, or pour it down in show’rs.
This way their scourge-obeying horse made haste, and soon they won
The top of all the topful heav’ns, where aged Saturn’s son
Sat sever’d from the other Gods; then stay’d the white-arm’d Queen
Her steeds, and ask’d of Jove, if Mars did not incense his spleen
With his foul deeds, in ruining so many and so great
In the command and grace of Greece, and in so rude a heat?
At which, she said, Apollo laugh’d, and Venus, who still sue
To that mad God, for violence that never justice knew;
For whose impiety, she ask’d, if, with his wishéd love,
Herself might free the field of him? He bade her rather move
Athenia to the charge she sought, who us’d of old to be
The bane of Mars, and had as well the gift of spoil as he.
This grace she slack’d not, but her horse scourg’d, that in nature flew
Betwixt the cope of stars and earth; and how far at a view
A man into the purple sea may from a hill descry,
So far a high-neighing horse of heav’n at ev’ry jump would fly.[2]
Arriv’d at Troy, where, broke in curls, the two floods mix their force,
Scamander and bright Simois, Saturnia stay’d her horse,
Took them from chariot, and a cloud of mighty depth diffus’d
About them; and the verdant banks of Simois produc’d
In nature what they eat in heav’n. Then both the Goddesses[3]
March’d, like a pair of tim’rous doves, in hasting their access
To th’ Argive succour. Being arriv’d, where both the most and best
Were heap’d together (showing all, like lions at a feast
Of new-slain carcasses, or boars, beyond encounter strong)
There found they Diomed; and there, ’midst all th’ admiring throng,
Saturnia put on Stentor’s shape, that had a brazen voice,
And spake as loud as fifty men; like whom she made a noise,
And chid the Argives: “O ye Greeks, in name and outward rite
But princes only, not in act, what scandal, what despite,
Use ye to honour! All the time the great Æacides
Was conversant in arms, your foes durst not a foot address
Without their ports, so much they fear’d his lance that all controll’d,
And now they outray to your fleet.” This did with shame make bold
The gen’ral spirit and pow’r of Greece: when, with particular note
Of their disgrace, Athenia made Tydeus’ issue hot.
She found him at his chariot, refreshing of his wound
Inflicted by slain Pandarus; his sweat did so abound,
It much annoy’d him, underneath the broad belt of his shield;
With which, and tiréd with his toil, his soul could hardly yield
His body motion. With his hand he lifted up the belt,
And wip’d away that clotter’d blood the fervent wound did melt.
Minerva lean’d against his horse, and near their withers laid
Her sacred hand, then spake to him: “Believe me, Diomed,
Tydeus exampled not himself in thee his son; not great,
But yet he was a soldier; a man of so much heat,
That in his ambassy for Thebes, when I forbad his mind
To be too vent’rous, and when feasts his heart might have declin’d,
With which they welcom’d him, he made a challenge to the best,
And foil’d the best; I gave him aid, because the rust of rest,
That would have seiz’d another mind, he suffer’d not, but us’d
The trial I made like a man, and their soft feasts refus’d.
Yet, when I set thee on, thou faint’st; I guard thee, charge, exhort
That, I abetting thee, thou shouldst be to the Greeks a fort,
And a dismay to Ilion, yet thou obey’st in nought,
Afraid, or slothful, or else both; henceforth renounce all thought
That ever thou wert Tydeus’ son.” He answer’d her: “I know
Thou art Jove’s daughter, and, for that, in all just duty owe
Thy speeches rev’rence, yet affirm ingeniously that fear
Doth neither hold me spiritless, nor sloth. I only bear
Thy charge in zealous memory, that I should never war
With any blesséd Deity, unless (exceeding far
The limits of her rule) the Queen, that governs chamber sport,
Should press to field; and her thy will enjoin’d my lance to hurt.
But, He whose pow’r hath right in arms, I knew in person here,
Besides the Cyprian Deity; and therefore did forbear,
And here have gather’d in retreat these other Greeks you see,
With note and rev’rence of your charge.” “My dearest mind,” said she,
“What then was fit is chang’d. ’Tis true, Mars hath just rule in war,
But just war; otherwise he raves, not fights. He’s alter’d far.
He vow’d to Juno, and myself, that his aid should be us’d
Against the Trojans, whom it guards; and therein he abus’d
His rule in arms, infring’d his word, and made his war unjust.
He is inconstant, impious, mad. Resolve then; firmly trust
My aid of thee against his worst, or any Deity;
Add scourge to thy free horse, charge home; he fights perfidiously.”
This said; as that brave king, her knight, with his horse-guiding friend,
Were set before the chariot, for sign he should descend,
That she might serve for waggoness, she pluck’d the wagg’ner back,
And up into his seat she mounts; the beechen tree did crack
Beneath the burthen; and good cause, it bore so huge a thing,
A Goddess so replete with pow’r, and such a puissant king.
She snatch’d the scourge up and the reins, and shut her heaven’ly look
In Hell’s vast helm from Mars’s eyes; and full career she took
At him, who then had newly slain the mighty Periphas,
Renown’d son to Ochesius, and far the strongest was
Of all th’ Ætolians; to whose spoil the bloody God was run.
But when this man-plague saw the approach of god-like Tydeus’ son,
He let his mighty Periphas lie, and in full charge he ran
At Diomed; and he at him. Both near; the God began,
And, thirsty of his blood, he throws a brazen lance that bears
Full on the breast of Diomed, above the reins and gears;
But Pallas took it on her hand, and strook the eager lance
Beneath the chariot. Then the knight of Pallas doth advance,
And cast a jav’lin off at Mars, Minerva sent it on,
That, where his arming girdle gilt, his belly graz’d upon,
Just at the rim, and ranch’d the flesh; the lance again he got,
But left the wound, that stung him so, he laid out such a throat
As if nine or ten thousand men had bray’d out all their breaths
In one confusion, having felt as many sudden deaths.
The roar made both the hosts amaz’d. Up flew the God to heav’n;
And with him was through all the air as black a tincture driv’n
To Diomed’s eyes, as when the earth half-choked with smoking heat
Of gloomy clouds, that stifle men, and pitchy tempests threat,
Usher’d with horrid gusts of wind; with such black vapours plum’d,
Mars flew t’ Olympus, and broad heav’n, and there his place resum’d.
Sadly he went and sat by Jove, show’d his immortal blood,
That from a mortal-man-made wound pour’d such an impious flood,
And weeping pour’d out these complaints: “O Father, storms’t thou not
To see us take these wrongs from men? Extreme griefs we have got
Ev’n by our own deep councils, held for gratifying them;
And thou, our council’s president, conclud’st in this extreme
Of fighting ever; being rul’d by one that thou hast bred;
One never well, but doing ill; a girl so full of head
That, though all other Gods obey, her mad moods must command,
By thy indulgence, nor by word, nor any touch of hand,
Correcting her; thy reason is, she is a spark of thee,
And therefore she may kindle rage in men ’gainst Gods, and she
May make men hurt Gods, and those Gods that are besides thy seed.
First in the palm’s hit Cyprides; then runs the impious deed
On my hurt person; and, could life give way to death in me,
Or had my feet not fetched me off, heaps of mortality
Had kept me consort.” Jupiter, with a contracted brow,
Thus answered Mars: “Thou many minds, inconstant changeling thou,
Sit not complaining thus by me, whom most of all the Gods,
Inhabiting the starry hill, I hate; no periods
Being set to thy contentions, brawls, fights, and pitching fields;
Just of thy mother Juno’s moods, stiff-neck’d, and never yields,
Though I correct her still, and chide, nor can forbear offence,
Though to her son; this wound I know tastes of her insolence;
But I will prove more natural; thou shalt be cur’d, because
Thou com’st of me, but hadst thou been so cross to sacred laws,
Being born to any other God, thou had’st been thrown from heav’n
Long since, as low as Tartarus, beneath the giants driv’n.”
This said, he gave his wound in charge to Pæon, who applied
Such sov’reign med’cines, that as soon the pain was qualified,
And he recur’d; as nourishing milk, when runnet is put in,
Runs all in heaps of tough thick curd, though in his nature thin,
Ev’n so soon his wound’s parted sides ran close in his recure;
For he, all deathless, could not long the parts of death endure,
Then Hebe bath’d, and put on him fresh garments, and he sate
Exulting by his sire again, in top of all his state.
So, having, from the spoils of men, made his desir’d remove,
Juno and Pallas re-ascend the starry court of Jove.