George Chapman's Iliad, Book Five

THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS

THE ARGUMENT

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 inflaméd lance

Draws blood from Mars, and Venus. In a trance

He casts Æneas, with a weighty stone;

Apollo quickens him, and get him gone.

Mars is recur’d by Pæon, but by Jove

Rebuk’d for authoring breach of human love.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT

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,

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 Tory,

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 heav’y 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, lest he force what we 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 many 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 50

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 hi, 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 renowm’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 100

Drown’d in his outrage; Tydeus’ son so overran the field,

Stew’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 hast 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 though 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 cote 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 150

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 had not 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, the 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 repied: “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; 200

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 though 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 mayst try our Trojan horse, how skill’d in field they be,

And in pursing 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 brook

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; 250

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 towrads 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 ion 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) 300

Her dear-lov’d issue from the field. Then Sthenelus in haste,

Rememb’ring what his friend advis’d, from forth the press 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’ring Greeks, he did their guard commend

To his belov’d Deipylus, who was his inward friend,

And, of his equals, one to whom eh 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, Shee 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 hi 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 350

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, he whom most my heart esteems of all my lov’d dscent,

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 stepdame’s eye,

Far Erebæa, had not seen; who told it Mercury,

And he by stealth enfranchis’d him; though he could scare 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 hands, 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 they 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. 400

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.

Grey-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 450

Æneas, great Anchises’ son, whose prowess we renown

As much as Hector’s; fetch him off from this contentious preace.”

“With this, the strength and spirts of all his courage did increse;

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 our our supplies,

And troubling not a citizen) the city safe would hold?

In all thy friends’ and brothers’ helps I see not, nor am told

Of any one 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 would lose

There 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,

Be 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 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, expecting 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 grey with dust, that strook the solid heav’n, 500

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 Tory, 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 and honest shame, and love ofhonour 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,

Deïcoön 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 Pylos’ 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. 550

As two young lions (with their dams, 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 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 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, 600

And thus would make good his amaze: “O friends, we all admir’d

Great Hector, as one of himself, well-darting, 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 light’ned 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 struck

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 bread 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 they 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 compell 650

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 oat, 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 considr’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 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 repell 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 700

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 Arives, 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; Oresibus, 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 unvaluéd, 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 the’ 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 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 soldierrs comprehend. 750

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 wereof 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 agéd 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 ruing 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.

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

March’d, like a pair of tim’rous doves, in hasting their access

To the’ 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 out-ray 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, 800

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 sone; 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 triall I made like a man, and their soft feasts refus’d.

Yet, when I set the 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 ingenuously 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 heav’nly 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 the’ Ætolians; to whose spoil the bloody God was run.

But when this man-plague saw th’ 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 850

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 set it on,

That, where his arming girdle girt, 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-chok’d 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, storm’st 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 has 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 fetch’d me off, heaps of mortality

Had kept me consort.” Jupiter, with a contracted brow,

Thus answer’d 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,

Tough 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 hadst 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 900

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.