Classic Poem

Thus fighting for this well-built ship, Patroclus all that space
Stood by his friend, preparing words to win the Greeks his grace
With powre of uncontained teares: and (like a fountaine pour'd
In blacke streams, from a lofty rocke) the Greeks so plagu'd deplor'd.
Achilles (ruthfull for his teares) said: ‘Wherefore weepes my friend
So like a girle, who, though she sees her mother cannot tend
Her childish humours, hangs on her and would be taken up,
Stil viewing her with teare-drownd eyes when she hath made her stoope.
To nothing liker I can shape thy so unseemely teares.
What causeth them? Hath any ill sollicited thine eares,
Befalne my Myrmidons? Or newes from loved Phthia brought,
Told onely thee lest I should grieve, and therefore thus hath wrought
On thy kind spirit? Actor's sonne, the good Menœtius
(Thy father) lives and Peleus (mine), great sonne of Æacus,
Amongst his Myrmidons, whose deaths, in dutie we should mourne.
Or is it what the Greeks sustaine that doth thy stomacke turne,
On whom (for their injustice sake) plagues are so justly laide?
Speake, man, let both know either's heart.’ Patroclus (sighing) said:
‘O Peleus’ sonne (thou strongest Greeke, by all degrees, that lives)
Still be not angrie; our sad state such cause of pittie gives.
Our greatest Greeks lie at their ships sore wounded—Ithacus,
King Agamemnon, Diomed, and good Eurypylus.
But these much-medcine-knowing men (Physitions) can recure,
Thou yet unmedcinable still though thy wound all endure.
Heaven blesse my bosome from such wrath as thou sooth'st as thy blisse
(Unprofitably vertuous). How shall our progenies,
Borne in thine age, enjoy thine aide, when these friends in thy flowre
Thou leav'st to such unworthy death? O idle, cruell powre!
Great Peleus never did beget, nor Thetis bring foorth thee;
Thou from the blew sea and her rockes deriv'st thy pedegree.
What so declines thee? If thy mind shuns any augurie
Related by thy mother Queene from heaven's foreseeing eye,
And therefore thou forsak'st thy friends, let me go ease their mones
With those brave reliques of our host, thy mightie Myrmidons,
That I may bring to field more light to Conquest than hath bene.
To which end grace me with thine armes, since any shadow seene
Of thy resemblance, all the powre of perjur'd Troy will flie
And our so tired friends will breathe: our fresh-set-on supplie
Will easily drive their wearied off.’ Thus (foolish man) he su'd
For his sure death; of all whose speech Achilles first renu'd
The last part, thus: ‘O worthy friend, what have thy speeches bene?
I shun the fight for Oracles, or what my mother Queene
Hath told from Jove? I take no care nor note of one such thing.
But this fit anger stings me still, that the insulting king
Should from his equall take his right, since he exceeds in powre.
This (still his wrong) is still my griefe; he tooke my Paramour
That all men gave and whom I wonne by vertue of my speare,
That (for her) overturn'd a Towne. This rape he made of her
And usde me like a fugitive, an Inmate in a towne
That is no citie libertine, nor capable of their gowne.
But beare we this as out of date; tis past, nor must we still
Feed anger in our noblest parts; yet thus I have my will
As well as our great king of men, for I did ever vow
Never to cast off my disdaine till (as it fals out now)
Their misse of me knockt at my fleet and told me in their cries
I was reveng'd and had my wish of all my enemies.
And so of this repeate enough. Take thou my fame-blaz'd armes
And my fight-thirstie Myrmidons leade to these hote alarmes.
Whole clouds of Troyans circle us with hatefull eminence,
The Greeks shut in a little shore, a sort of citizens
Skipping upon them—all because their prowd eyes do not see
The radiance of my helmet there, whose beames had instantly
Thrust backe and all these ditches fild with carrion of their flesh,
If Agamemnon had bene kind: where now they fight as fresh
As thus farre they had put at ease, and at our tents contend—
And may, for the repulsive hand of Diomed doth not spend
His raging darts there that their Death could fright out of our fleet:
Nor from that head of enmitie can my poore hearers meet
The voice of great Atrides now. Now Hector's onely voyce
Breakes all the aire about both hosts, and with the very noise,
Bred by his lowd encouragements, his forces fill the field
And fight the poore Achaians downe. But on, put thou my shield
Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet: rush bravely on and turne
Warre's tide as headlong on their throtes. No more let them ajourne
Our sweet home-turning. But observe the charge I lay on thee
To each least point, that thy rul'd hand may highly honour me
And get such glorie from the Greeks that they may send againe
My most sweet wench and gifts to boote, when thou hast cast a raine
On these so head-strong citizens and forc't them from our fleet.
With which grace, if the gods of sounds thy kind egression greet,
Retire and be not tempted on (with pride to see thy hand
Raine slaughterd carkasses on earth) to runne forth thy command
As farre as Ilion, lest the gods that favour Troy come forth
To thy encounter—for the Sunne much loves it—and my worth
(In what thou suffer'st) will be wrong'd, that I would let my friend
Assume an action of such weight without me and transcend
His friend's prescription. Do not then affect a further fight
Than I may strengthen: let the rest (when thou hast done this right)
Performe the rest. O would to Jove, thou Pallas, and thou Sunne,
That not a man housd underneath those towres of Ilion,
Nor any one of all the Greeks (how infinite a summe
Soever altogether make) might live unovercome,
But onely we two (scaping death) might have the thundring downe
Of every stone stucke in the wals of this so sacred towne.’
Thus spake they onely twixt themselves. And now the foe no more
Could Ajax stand, being so opprest with all the iron store
The Troyans powr'd on, with whose darts, and with Jove's will beside,
His powres were cloyd, and his bright helme did deafning blowes abide;
His plume and all head-ornaments could never hang in rest.
His arme yet laboured up his shield, and, having done their best,
They could not stirre him from his stand, although he wrought it out
With short respirings and with sweate that ceaslesse flow'd about
His reeking lims—no least time given to take in any breath.
Ill strengthned ill; when one was up, another was beneath.
Now, Muses, you that dwell in heaven, the dreadfull meane inspire
That first enforc't the Grecian fleete to take in Troyan fire.
First Hector with his huge brode sword cut off, at setting on,
The head of Ajax' Ashen lance; which Ajax seeing gone,
And that he shooke a headlesse speare (a little while unware)
His warie spirits told him straight the hand of heaven was there,
And trembld'd under his conceipt, which was that twas Jove's deed,
Who, as he pold off his darts' heads, so sure he had decreed
That all the counsels of their warre he would polle off like it
And give the Troyans victorie. So, trusted he his wit,
And left his darts. And then the ship was heapt with horrid brands
Of kindling fire, which instantly was seene through all the strands
In unextinguishible flames that all the ship embrac't.
And then Achilles beate his thighes, cryed out: ‘Patroclus, haste,
Make way with horse; I see at fleet a fire of fearfull rage.
Arme, arme, lest all our fleet it fire and all our powre engage.
Arme quickly, I'le bring up the troopes.’ To these so dreadfull warres
Patroclus, in Achilles' armes (enlightned all with starres
And richly ameld), all haste made: he wore his sword, his shield,
His huge-plum'd helme and two such speares as he could nimbly wield.
But the most fam'd Achilles' speare, big, solid, full of weight,
He onely left of all his armes, for that farre past the might
Of any Greeke to shake but his. Achilles' onely ire
Shooke that huge weapon, that was given by Chiron to his sire,
Cut from the top of Pelion to be Heroes' deaths.
His steeds Automedon straight joyn'd, like whom no man that breaths
(Next Peleus' sonne) Patroclus lov'd, for like him none so great
He found, in faith, at every fight, nor to out-looke a threat.
Automedon did therefore guide (for him) Achilles' steeds,
Xanthus and Balius, swift as wind, begotten by the seeds
Of Zephyr and the Harpie-borne Pordarge in a meade
Close to the Wavie Ocean, where that fierce Harpye feade.
Automedon joyn'd these before and with the hindmost geres
He fastn'd famous Pedasus, whom from the massakers
Made by Achilles when he tooke Eetion's wealthie towne
He brought, and (though of mortall race) yet gave him the renowne
To follow his immortall horse. And now before his tents
Himselfe had seene his Myrmidons in all habiliments
Of dreadfull warre. And when ye see (upon a mountaine bred)
A den of Wolves (about whose hearts unmeasur'd strengths are fed)
New come from currie of a Stagge, their jawes all blood-besmeard,
And when from some blacke water-fount they altogether herd,
There having plentifully lapt with thin and thrust-out tongs
The top and clearest of the spring, go belching from their lungs
The clotterd gore, looke dreadfully and entertaine no dread,
Their bellies gaunt, all taken up with being so rawly fed:
Then say that such in strength and looke were great Achilles' men
Now orderd for the dreadfull fight: and so with all them then
Their Princes and their Chiefes did show about their General's friend—
His friend and all about himselfe, who chiefly did intend
Th' embattelling of horse and foote. To that siege, held so long,
Twise five and twenty saile he brought; twise five and twentie strong
Of able men was every saile; five Colonels he made
Of all those forces—trustie men, and all of powre to leade,
But he of powre beyond them all. Menesthius was one,
That ever wore discolour'd armes; he was a river's sonne
That fell from heaven, and good to drinke was his delightfull streame—
His name, unwearied Sperchius; he lov'd the lovely dame
Faire Polydora, Peleus' seed and deare in Borus' sight,
And she to that celestiall flood gave this Menesthius light—
A woman mixing with a god. Yet Borus bore the name
Of father to Menesthius, he marrying the dame
And giving her a mightie dowre; he was the kind descent
Of Perieres. The next man renown'd with regiment
Was strong Eudorus, brought to life by one supposd a maide,
Bright Polymela (Phylas' seed) but had the wanton plaid
With Argus-killing Mercurie, who (fir'd with her faire eyes
As she was singing in the quire of her that makes the cries
In clamorous hunting and doth beare the crooked bow of gold)
Stole to her bed in that chaste roome that Phœbe chast did hold
And gave her that swift warrelike sonne Eudorus, brought to light
As she was dancing: but as soone as she that rules the plight
Of labouring women easd her throwes and shew'd her sonne the Sunne,
Strong Echeclæus, Actor's heire, woo'd earnestly and wonne
Her second favour, feeing her with gifts of infinite prise,
And after brought her to his house, where in his grandsire's eyes
(Old Phylas) Polymela's sonne obtaind exceeding grace
And found as carefull bringing up as of his naturall race
He had descended. The third chiefe was faire Mæmalides
Pisandrus, who in skill of darts obtaind supremest praise
Of all the Myrmidons except their Lord's companion.
The fourth charge aged Phœnix had. The fifth, Alcimedon,
Sonne of Laerces, and much fam'd. All these digested thus
In fit place by the mightie sonne of royall Peleus,
This sterne remembrance he gave all: ‘You Myrmidons,’ said he,
‘Lest any of you should forget his threatnings usde to me
In this place, and through all the time that my just anger raign'd
Attempting me with bitter words for being so restrain'd
(For my hote humour) from the fight, remember them as these:
“Thou cruell sonne of Peleus, whom she that rules the seas
Did onely nourish with her gall, thou dost ungently hold
Our hands against our wills from fight; we will not be controld
But take our ships and saile for home before we loyter here
And feed thy furie.” These high words exceeding often were
The threates that, in your mutinous troopes, ye usde to me for wrath
To be detaind so from the field: now then, your splenes may bath
In sweate of those great works ye wisht; now he that can employ
A generous heart, go fight and fright these bragging sonnes of Troy.’
This set their minds and strengths on fire, the speech enforcing well,
Being usde in time; but being their king's, it much more did impell
And closer rusht-in all the troopes. And, as for buildings hie
The Mazon layes his stones more thicke against th' extremitie
Of wind and weather, and even then, if any storme arise,
He thickens them the more for that, the present act so plies
His honest mind to make sure worke: so, for the high estate
This worke was brought to, these men's minds (according to the rate)
Were raisd and all their bodies joyn'd: but their well-spoken king
With his so timely-thought-on speech more sharpe made valour's sting
And thickn'd so their targets bost, so all their helmets then,
That shields propt shields, helmes helmets knockt and men encourag'd men.
Patroclus and Automedon did arme before them all
Two bodies with one mind inform'd; and then the Generall
Betooke him to his private Tent, where (from a coffer wrought
Most rich and curiously, and given by Thetis to be brought
In his owne ship, top-fild with vests, warme robes to checke cold wind
And tapistries all golden-fring'd and curl'd with thrumbs behind)
He tooke a most unvalewed boule, in which none dranke but he,
Nor he but to the deities, nor any deitie
But Jove himselfe was serv'd with that. And that he first did clense
With sulphure, then with fluences of sweetest water rense.
Then washt his hands and drew himselfe a mightie boule of wine,
Which (standing midst the place enclosde for services divine
And looking up to heaven and Jove, who saw him well) he pour'd
Upon the place of sacrifice, and humbly thus implor'd:
‘Great Dodonæus, President of cold Dodona's towres,
Divine Pelasgicus that dwell'st farre hence, about whose bowres
Th' austere prophetique Selli dwell that still sleepe on the ground,
Go bare and never clense their feete—as I before have found
Grace to my vowes and hurt to Greece, so now my prayres intend.
I still stay in the gatherd fleete, but have dismist my friend
Amongst my many Myrmidons to danger of the dart.
O grant his valour my renowne; arme with my mind his hart,
That Hector's selfe may know my friend can worke in single warre
And not then onely shew his hands so hote and singular
When my kind presence seconds him. But fight he nere so well,
No further let him trust his fight but, when he shall repell
Clamor and Danger from our fleete, vouchsafe a safe retreate
To him and all his companies, with fames and armes compleate.’
He prayd, and heaven's great Counsellor gave satisfying eare
To one part of his orisons, but left the other there:
He let him free the fleete of foes but safe retreate denide.
Achilles left that utter part where he his zeale applide
And turn'd into his inner tent, made fast his cup and then
Stood forth and with his mind beheld the foe's fight and his men
That follow'd his great-minded friend embattail'd till they brake
With gallant spirit upon the foe. And as fell waspes that make
Their dwellings in the broade high way, which foolish children use
(Their cottages being neare their nests) to anger and abuse
With ever vexing them and breed (to sooth their childish warre)
A common ill to many men, since if a traveller
(That would his journey's end apply and passe them unassayd)
Come neare and vexe them, upon him the children's faults are layd,
For on they flie as he were such and still defend their owne:
So far'd it with the fervent mind of every Myrmidon,
Who pour'd themselves out of their fleete upon their wanton foes,
That needs would stirre them, thrust so neare, and cause the overthrowes
Of many others that had else bene never toucht by them
Nor would have toucht. Patroclus then put his wind to the streame,
And thus exhorted: ‘Now my friends, remember you expresse
Your late-urg'd vertue, and renowme our great Æacides,
That, he being strongst of all the Greeks, his eminence may dimme
All others likewise in our strengths that farre off imitate him.
And Agamemnon now may see his fault as generall
As his place high, dishonoring him that so much honors all.’
Thus made he sparkle their fresh fire, and on they rusht; the fleete
Fild full her hollow sides with sounds that terribly did greete
Th' amazed Troyans, and their eyes did second their amaze
When great Menœtius' sonne they saw and his friend's armor blaze.
All troupes stood troubl'd with conceit that Peleus' sonne was there,
His anger cast off at the ships, and each lookt every where
For some authoritie to leade the then prepared flight.
Patroclus greeted with a lance the region where the fight
Made strongest tumult, neare the ship Protesilaus brought,
And strooke Pyræchmen, who before the faire-helmd Pæons fought,
Led from Amydon, neare whose wals the broad-stream'd Axius flowes.
Through his right shoulder flew the dart, whose blow strooke all the blowes
In his powre from his powrelesse arme, and downe he groning fell—
His men all flying (their Leader fled). This one dart did repell
The whole guard plac't about the ship, whose fire extinct halfe burn'd
The Pæons left her, and full crie to clamorous flight return'd.
Then spread the Greeks about their ships; triumphant tumult flow'd.
And as from top of some steepe hill the lightner strips a clowd
And lets a great skie out from heaven, in whose delightsome light
All prominent foreheads, forrests, towres and temples cheare the sight:
So chear'd these Greeks this Troyan cloud, and at their ships and tents
Obtain'd a litle time to breathe, but found no present vents
To their inclusions; nor did Troy (though these Pæonians fled)
Lose any ground, but from this ship they needfully turn'd head.
Then every man a man subdude. Patroclus in the thigh
Strooke Areilycus; his dart the bone did breake and flie
Quite through, and sunke him to the earth. Good Menelaus slew
Accomplisht Thoas, in whose breast (being nak'd) his lance he threw
Above his shield, and freed his soule. Phylides (taking note
That bold Amphiclus bent at him) prevented him, and smote
His thighe's extreme part where (of man) his fattest muscle lies,
The nerves torne with his lance's pile, and darknesse closde his eyes.
Antilochus Atymnius seizd, his steele lance did impresse
His first three guts and loosd his life. At yong Nestorides,
Maris, Atymnius' brother flew, and at him Thrasymed
(The brother to Antilochus); his eager Javelin's head
The muscles of his arme cut out and shiver'd all the bone;
Night closde his eyes; his livelesse corse his brother fell upon.
And so by two kind brothers' hands did two kind brothers bleed—
Both being divine Sarpedon's friends, and were the darting seed
Of Amisodarus, that kept the bane of many men,
Abhord Chimæra—and such bane now caught his childeren.
Ajax Oiliades did take Cleobulus alive,
Invading him (staid by the prease) and at him then let drive
With his short sword, that cut his necke; whose bloud warm'd all the steele,
And cold Death with a violent fate his sable eyes did seele.
Peneleus and Lycon cast together off their darts;
Both mist, and both together then went with their swords; in parts
The blade and hilt went, laying on upon the helmet's height.
Peneleus' sword caught Lycon's necke and cut it thorough quite.
His head hung by the very skin. The swift Meriones,
Pursuing flying Acamas, just as he got accesse
To horse and chariot overtooke, and tooke him such a blow
On his right shoulder that he left his chariot, and did strow
The dustie earth; life left his lims and night his eyes possest.
Idomeneus his sterne dart at Erymas addrest,
As (like to Acamas) he fled; it cut the sundry bones
Beneath his braine betwixt his necke and foreparts, and so runs
(Shaking his teeth out) through his mouth, his eyes all drown'd in blood:
So through his nostrils and his mouth (that now dart-open stood)
He breath'd his spirit. Thus had death from every Grecian Chiefe
A Chiefe of Troy. For as to Kids, or Lambes, their cruelst thiefe
(The Wolfe) steales in, and when he sees that, by the shepheard's sloth,
The dams are sperst about the hils, then serves his ravenous tooth
With ease, because his prey is weake: so serv'd the Greeks their foes,
Discerning well how shrieking flight did all their spirits dispose,
Their biding vertues quite forgot. And now the naturall splene
That Ajax bore to Hector still by all meanes would have bene
Within his bosome with a dart: but he, that knew the warre,
(Well cover'd in a well-lin'd shield) did well perceive how farre
The arrowes and the javelins reacht, by being within their sounds
And ominous singings, and observ'd the there-inclining bounds
Of Conquest in her aide of him, and so obeyd her change,
Tooke safest course for him and his, and stood to her as strange.
And as when Jove intends a storme, he lets out of the starres
From steepe Olympus a blacke cloud, that all heaven's splendor barres
From men on earth: so from the hearts of all the Troyan host
All comfort lately found from Jove in flight and cries was lost.
Nor made they any faire retreat; Hector's unruly horse
Would needs retire him, and he left engag'd his Troyan force,
Forc't by the steepnesse of the dike that in ill place they tooke
And kept them that would faine have gone. Their horses quite forsooke
A number of the Troyan kings and left them in the dike,
Their chariots in their foreteames broke. Patroclus then did strike
While steele was hote and chear'd his friends; nor meant his enemies good,
Who, when they once began to flie, each way receiv'd a flood
And chok't themselves with drifts of dust. And now were clouds begot
Beneath the clouds with flight and noise; the horse neglected not
Their home intendments, and where rout was busiest, there pour'd on
Patroclus' most exhorts and threats. And then lay overthrowne
Numbers beneath their axle-trees, who (lying in flight's streame)
Made th' after chariots jot and jumpe in driving over them.
Th' immortall horse Patroclus rode did passe the dike with ease
And wisht the depth and danger more: and Menœtiades
As great a spirit had to reach retiring Hector's hast,
But his fleete horse had too much law and fetcht him off too fast.
And as in Autumne the blacke earth is loden with the stormes
That Jove in gluts of raine poures downe, being angry with the formes
Of judgement in authorisde men that in their courts maintaine
(With violent office) wrested lawes and (fearing gods nor men)
Exile all justice, for whose faults, whole fields are overflowne
And many valleys cut away with torrents headlong throwne
From neighbour mountaines, till the sea receive them, roring in—
And judg'd men's labours then are vaine, plagu'd for their Judge's sin:
So now the foule defaults of some all Troy were laid upon,
So like those torrents roar'd they backe to windie Ilion,
And so like tempests blew the horse with ravishing backe againe
Those hote assailants, all their workes at fleete now rendred vaine.
Patroclus (when he had disperst the formost Phalanxes)
Cald backe his forces to the fleete and would not let them prease
(As they desir'd) too neare the towne; but twixt the ships and floud
And their steepe rampire his hand steept Revenge in seas of bloud.
Then Pronous was first that fell beneath his fierie lance,
Which strooke his bare brest neare his shield. The second, Thestor's chance
(Old Enops' sonne) did make himselfe, who, shrinking and set close
In his faire seate (even with th' approch Patroclus made), did lose
All manly courage, insomuch that from his hands his raines
Fell flowing downe, and his right jaw Patroclus' lance attaines,
Strooke through his teeth; and there it stucke, and by it to him drew
Dead Thestor to his chariot. It shewd as when you view
An Angler from some prominent rocke draw with his line and hooke
A mightie fish out of the sea: for so the Greeke did plucke
The Troyan gaping from his seate, his jawes op't with the dart—
Which when Patroclus drew, he fell; his life and brest did part.
Then rusht he on Euryalus, at whom he hurl'd a stone
Which strake his head so in the midst that two was made of one;
Two wayes it fell, cleft through his caske. And then Tlepolemus,
Epaltes, Damastorides, Evippus, Echius,
Ipheus, bold Amphoterus and valiant Erymas,
And Polymelus (by his sire surnam'd Argeadas)
He heapt upon the much-fed earth. When Jove's most worthy sonne
(Divine Sarpedon) saw these friends thus stayd and others runne:
‘O shame! why flie ye?’ then he cride, ‘Now shew ye feete enow.
On, keepe your way; my selfe will meete the man that startles you,
To make me understand his name, that flants in conquest thus
And hath so many able knees so soon dissolv'd to us.’
Downe jumpt he from his chariot; downe leapt his foe as light.
And as on some farre-looking rocke a cast of Vultures fight,
Flie on each other, strike and trusse, part, meete, and then sticke by,
Tug both with crooked beakes and seres, crie, fight, and fight and cry:
So fiercely fought these angry kings and shew'd as bitter gals.
Jove (turning eyes to this sterne fight) his wife and sister cals,
And (much mov'd for the Lycian Prince) said: ‘O that to my sonne
Fate, by this day and man, should cut a thread so nobly spunne!
Two minds distract me—if I should now ravish him from fight
And set him safe in Lycia, or give the Fates their right.’
‘Austere Saturnius,’ she replide, ‘what unjust words are theise?
A mortall long since markt by Fate wouldst thou immortalise?
Do; but by no god be approv'd. Free him, and numbers more
(Sonnes of immortals) will live free, that death must taste before
These gates of Ilion; every god will have his sonne a god
Or storme extremely. Give him then an honest period
In brave fight by Patroclus' sword, if he be deare to thee
And grieves thee for his danger'd life: of which, when he is free,
Let Death and Somnus beare him hence, till Lycia's naturall wombe
Receive him from his brother's hands, and citizens a Tombe
And columne raise to him; this is the honor of the dead.’
She said, and her speech rul'd his powre: but in his safetie's stead,
For sad ostent of his neare death, he steept his living name
In drops of blood; heaven swet for him, which earth drunke to his fame.
And now, as this high combat grew to this too humble end,
Sarpedon's death had this state more; twas usherd by his friend
And chariotere, brave Thrasymed, whom in his bellie's rim
Patroclus wounded with his lance, and endlesse ended him.
And then another act of name foreranne his princely fate;
His first lance missing, he let flie a second that gave date
Of violent death to Pedasus, who (as he joy'd to die
By his so honorable hand) did (even in dying) ney.
His ruine startl'd th' other steeds; the geres crackt and the raines
Strappl'd his fellowes, whose mis-rule Automedon restraines
By cutting the intangling geres and so dissundering quite
The brave-slaine Beast, when both the rest obeyd and went foreright.
And then the royall combattants fought for the finall stroke,
When Lycia's Generall mist againe; his high-raisde Javelin tooke
Above his shoulder emptie way. But no such speedlesse flight
Patroclus let his speare performe, that on the breast did light
Of his brave foe where life's strings close about the solid hart,
Impressing a recurelesse wound; his knees then left their part
And let him fall, when, like an Oke, a Poplar or a Pine
New feld by arts-men on the hils, he stretcht his forme divine
Before his horse and chariot. And as a Lion leapes
Upon a goodly yellow Bull, drives all the herd in heapes,
And under his unconquerd jawes the brave beast sighing dies:
So sigh'd Sarpedon underneath this prince of enemies,
Cald Glaucus to him (his deare friend) and said: ‘Now, friend, thy hands
Much dutie owe to fight and armes; now, for my love, it stands
Thy heart in much hand to approve that warre is harmefull; now
How active all thy forces are this one houre's act must show.
First call our Lycian Captaines up, looke round and bring up all,
And all exhort to stand like friends about Sarpedon's fall.
And spend thy selfe thy steele for me: for be assur'd, no day
Of all thy life to thy last houre can cleare thy blacke dismay
In woe and infamie for me if I be taken hence
Spoil'd of mine armes and thy renowme despoil'd of my defence.
Stand firme then, and confirme thy men.’ This said, the bounds of death
Concluded all sight to his eyes and to his nosthrils breath.
Patroclus (though his guard was strong) forc't way through every doubt,
Climb'd his high bosome with his foote and pluckt his javelin out,
And with it drew the filme and strings of his yet-panting hart—
And last, together with the pile, his princely soule did part.
His horse (spoil'd both of guide and king, thicke snoring and amaz'd,
And apt to flight) the Myrmidons made nimbly to and seaz'd.
Glaucus, to heare his friend aske aide of him past all the rest
(Though well he knew his wound uncur'd) Confusion fild his brest—
Not to have good in any powre, and yet so much good will.
And (laying his hand upon his wound, that pain'd him sharply still,
And was by Teucer's hand set on from their assail'd steepe wall,
In keeping hurt from other men) he did on Phœbus call
(The god of Medcines) for his cure: ‘Thou king of cures,’ said he,
‘That art perhaps in Lycia with her rich progenie,
Or here in Troy, but any where, since thou hast powre to heare—
O give a hurt and wofull man (as I am now) thine eare.
This arme sustaines a cruell wound whose paines shoot every way,
Afflict this shoulder and this hand, and nothing long can stay,
A fluxe of blood still issuing; nor therefore can I stand
With any enemie in fight, nor hardly make my hand
Support my lance. And here lies dead the worthiest of men,
Sarpedon, worthy sonne to Jove (whose power could yet abstaine
From all aide in this deadly need). Give thou then aide to me
(O king of all aide to men hurt), asswage th' extremitie
Of this arme's anguish, give it strength that by my president
I may excite my men to blowes, and this dead corse prevent
Of further violence.’ He praid, and kind Apollo heard,
Allayd his anguish and his wound of all the blacke bloud clear'd
That vext it so, infusde fresh powres into his weakened mind
And all his spirits flow'd with joy that Phœbus stood inclin'd
(In such quicke bountie) to his prayres. Then, as Sarpedon wild,
He cast about his greedie eye, and first of all instild
To all his Captaines all the stings that could inflame their fight
For good Sarpedon. And from them he stretcht his speedie pace
T' Agenor, Hector, Venus' sonne and wise Polydamas,
And (onely naming Hector) said: ‘Hector, you now forget
Your poore auxiliarie friends that in your toiles have swet
Their friendlesse soules out farre from home. Sarpedon, that sustain'd
With Justice and his vertues all broade Lycia, hath not gain'd
The like guard for his person here, for yonder dead he lies
Beneath the great Patroclus' lance. But come, let your supplies,
Good friends, stand neare him. O disdaine to see his corse defil'd
With Grecian furie and his armes by their oppressions spoil'd.
The Myrmidons are come enrag'd that such a mightie boote
Of Greekes Troy's darts have made at fleete.’ This said, from head to foote
Griefe strooke their powres past patience and not to be restrain'd
To heare newes of Sarpedon's death, who, though he appertain'd
To other cities, yet to theirs he was the very Fort
And led a mightie people there, of all whose better sort
Himselfe was best. This made them runne in flames upon the foe—
The first man, Hector, to whose heart Sarpedon's death did go.
Patroclus stird the Grecian spirits, and first th' Ajaces, thus:
‘Now, brothers, be it deare to you to fight and succour us,
As ever heretofore ye did, with men first excellent.
The man lies slaine that first did scale and raze the battlement
That crown'd our wall, the Lycian Prince. But if we now shall adde
Force to his corse and spoile his armes, a prise may more be had
Of many great ones that for him will put on to the death.’
To this worke these were prompt enough; and each side ordereth
Those Phalanxes that most had rate of resolutions—
The Troyans and the Lycian powres, the Greeks and Myrmidons.
These ranne together for the corse and closde with horrid cries,
Their armours thundering with the claps laid on about the prise
And Jove about th' impetuous broile pernicious night powr'd ou
As long as for his loved sonne pernicious Labour fought.
The first of Troy the first Greekes foil'd, when not the last indeed
Amongst the Myrmidons was slaine—the great Agacleus' seed,
Divine Epigeus, that before had exercisde command
In faire Budeius; but because he laid a bloudie hand
On his owne sister's valiant sonne, to Peleus and his Queene
He came for pardon and obtain'd—his slaughter being the meane
He came to Troy, and so to this. He ventur'd even to touch
The princely carkasse, when a stone did more to him by much;
(Sent out of able Hector's hand) it cut his skull in twaine
And strooke him dead. Patroclus (griev'd to see his friend so slaine)
Before the foremost thrust himselfe. And as a Faulcon frayes
A flocke of Stares or Caddesses, such feare brought his assayes
Amongst the Troyans and their friends; and (angry at the hart
As well as griev'd for him so slaine) another stonie dart,
As good as Hector's he let flie, that dusted in the necke
Of Sthenelaus, thrust his head to earth first, and did breake
The nerves in sunder with his fall. Off fell the Troyans too,
Even Hector's selfe, and all as farre as any man can throw
(Provokt for games, or in the warres to shed an enemie's soule)
A light, long dart. The first that turn'd was he that did controule
The Targatiers of Lycia, Prince Glaucus, who to hell
Sent Bathycleus, Chalcon's sonne; he did in Hellas dwell
And shin'd, for wealth and happinesse, amongst the Myrmidons.
His bosome's midst the Javelin strooke, his fall gat earth with grones.
The Greeks griev'd and the Troyans joy'd for so renowm'd a man,
About whom stood the Grecians firme. And then the death began
On Troy's side by Meriones; he slue one great in warre,
Laogonus, Onetor's sonne, the Priest of Jupiter
Created in th' Idæan hill. Betwixt his jaw and eare
The dart stucke fast and loosde his soule, sad mists of Hate and Feare
Invading him. Anchises' sonne dispatcht a brazen lance
At bold Meriones, and hop't to make an equall chance
On him with bold Laogonus, though under his broade shield
He lay so close. But he discern'd and made his bodie yeeld
So low that over him it flew and, trembling, tooke the ground,
With which Mars made it quench his thirst; and, since the head could wound
No better bodie and yet throwne from nere the worse a hand,
It turnd from earth and lookt awrie. Æneas let it stand,
Much angrie at the vaine event, and told Meriones
He scap't but hardly, nor had cause to hope for such successe
Another time, though well he knew his dancing facultie
By whose agilitie he scap't—for, had his dart gone by
With any least touch, instantly he had bene ever slaine.
He answerd: ‘Though thy strength be good, it cannot render vaine
The strength of others with thy jests; nor art thou so divine,
But when my lance shall touch at thee with equall speed to thine,
Death will share with it thy life's powres. Thy confidence can shun
No more than mine what his right claimes.’ Menœtius' noble sonne
Rebuk't Meriones, and said: ‘What needst thou use this speech?
Nor thy strength is approv'd with words, good friend, nor can we reach
The bodie nor make th' enemie yeeld with these our counterbraves.
We must enforce the binding earth to hold them in her graves.
If you will warre, fight. Will you speake? Give counsell. Counsell, blowes
Are th' ends of warres and words. Talke here the time in vaine bestowes.’
He said, and led; and nothing lesse for any thing he said
(His speech being season'd with such right) the Worthy seconded.
And then, as in a sounding vale (neare neighbour to a hill)
Wood-fellers make a farre-heard noise, with chopping, chopping still,
And laying on on blocks and trees: so they on men laid lode,
And beate like noises into aire both as they strooke and trod.
But (past their noise) so full of bloud, of dust, of darts, lay smit
Divine Sarpedon that a man must have an excellent wit
That could but know him; and might faile—so from his utmost head
Even to the low plants of his feete his forme was altered.
All thrusting neare it every way, as thicke as flies in spring
That in a sheepe-cote (when new milke assembles them) make wing
And buzze about the top-full pailes. Nor ever was the eye
Of Jove averted from the fight; he viewd, thought ceaslesly
And diversly upon the death of great Achilles' friend—
If Hector there (to wreake his sonne) should with his javelin end
His life and force away his armes, or still augment the field.
He then concluded that the flight of much more soule should yeeld
Achilles' good friend more renowne, and that even to their gates
He should drive Hector and his host: and so disanimates
The mind of Hector that he mounts his chariot and takes Flight
Up with him, tempting all to her—affirming his insight
Knew evidently that the beame of Jove's all-ordering scoles
Was then in sinking on their side, surcharg'd with flockes of soules.
Then not the noble Lycians staid, but left their slaughterd Lord
Amongst the corses' common heape—for many more were pour'd
About and on him while Jove's hand held out the bitter broile.
And now they spoil'd Sarpedon's armes, and to the ships the spoile
Was sent by Menœtiades. Then Jove thus charg'd the Sunne:
‘Haste, honor'd Phœbus, let no more Greeke violence be done
To my Sarpedon but his corse, of all the sable bloud
And javelins purg'd, then carry him farre hence to some cleare floud,
With whose waves wash, and then embalme, each thorough-cleansed lim
With our Ambrosia; which perform'd, divine weeds put on him,
And then to those swift mates and twins, sweete Sleepe and Death, commit
His princely person, that with speed they both may carrie it
To wealthy Lycia, where his friends and brothers will embrace
And tombe it in some monument as fits a Prince's place.’
Then flew Apollo to the fight from the Idalian hill,
At all parts putting into act his great Commander's will—
Drew all the darts, washt, balm'd the corse, which (deckt with ornament,
By Sleepe and Death, those featherd twins) he into Lycia sent.
Patroclus then Automedon commands to give his steeds
Large raines, and all way to the chace: so madly he exceeds
The strict commission of his friend—which had he kept had kept
A blacke death from him. But Jove's mind hath evermore outstept
The mind of man, who both affrights and takes the victorie
From any hardiest hand with ease; which he can justifie,
Though he himselfe commands him fight—as now he put this chace
In Menœtiades his mind. How much then weighs the grace,
Patroclus, that Jove gives thee now, in scoles put with thy death,
Of all these great and famous men the honorable breath?
Of which, Adrestus first he slue, and next Autonous,
Epistora, and Perimus, Pylartes, Elasus,
Swift Melanippus, Molius—all these were overthrowne
By him, and all else put in rout. And then proud Ilion
Had stoopt beneath his glorious hand, he rag'd so with his lance,
If Phœbus had not kept the towre and helpt the Ilians,
Sustaining ill thoughts gainst the Prince. Thrice to the prominence
Of Troy's steepe wall he bravely leapt: thrice Phœbus thrust him thence,
Objecting his all-dazeling shield with his resistlesse hand.
But fourthly, when (like one of heaven) he would have stird his stand,
Apollo threatned him, and said: ‘Ceasse, it exceeds thy fate,
Forward Patroclus, to expugne with thy bold lance this state;
Nor under great Achilles' powres (to thine superiour farre)
Lies Troy's grave ruine.’ When he spake, Patroclus left that warre,
Leapt farre backe, and his anger shund. Hector detain'd his horse
Within the Scæan ports, in doubt to put his personall force
Amongst the rout and turne their heads, or shun in Troy the storme.
Apollo, seeing his suspence, assum'd the goodly forme
Of Hector's unkle, Asius, the Phrygian Dymas' sonne,
Who neare the deepe Sangarius had habitation,
Being brother to the Troyan Queene. His shape Apollo tooke.
And askt of Hector why his spirit so cleare the fight forsooke—
Affirming twas unfit for him, and wisht his forces were
As much above his as they mov'd in an inferiour sphere.
He should (with shame to him) be gone; and so bad, drive away
Against Patroclus, to approve, if he that gave them day,
Would give the glorie of his death to his preferred lance.
So left he him, and to the fight did his bright head advance,
Mixt with the multitude, and stird foule Tumult for the foe.
Then Hector bad Cebriones put on; himselfe let go
All other Greeks within his reach and onely gave command
To front Patroclus. He at him jumpt downe. His strong left hand
A Javelin held, his right, a stone—a marble sharpe and such
As his large hand had powre to gripe, and gave it strength as much
As he could lie to. Nor stood long in feare of that huge man
That made against him, but full on with his huge stone he ran,
Discharg'd and drave it twixt the browes of bold Cebriones.
Nor could the thicke bone there prepar'd extenuate so th' accesse
But out it drave his broken eyes, which in the dust fell downe,
And he div'd after—which conceit of diving tooke the sonne
Of old Menœtius, who thus plaid upon the other's bane:
‘O heavens! For truth, this Troyan was a passing active man!
With what exceeding ease he dives, as if at worke he were
Within the fishie seas! This man alone would furnish cheare
For twentie men, though twere a storme, to leape out of a saile
And gather oisters for them all; he does it here as well.
And there are many such in Troy.’ Thus jested he so neare
His owne grave death, and then made in to spoile the Chariotere,
With such a Lion's force and fate as (often ruining
Stals of fat oxen) gets at length a mortall wound to sting
His soule out of that ravenous breast that was so insolent,
And so his life's blisse proves his bane: so deadly confident
Wert thou, Patroclus, in pursuite of good Cebriones,
To whose defence now Hector leapt. The opposite addresse
These masters of the crie in warre now made was of the kind
Of two fierce kings of beasts, opposd in strife about a Hind
Slaine on the forehead of a hill, both sharpe and hungry set,
And to the Currie never came but like two Deaths they met.
Nor these two entertain'd lesse mind of mutuall prejudice
About the bodie, close to which, when each had prest for prise,
Hector the head laid hand upon, which, once gript, never could
Be forc't from him; Patroclus then upon the feete got hold
And he pincht with as sure a naile. So both stood tugging there,
While all the rest made eager fight and grappl'd every where.
And as the East and South wind strive to make a loftie wood
Bow to their greatnesse, barkie Elmes, wild Ashes, Beeches bowd
Even with the earth, in whose thicke armes the mightie vapors lie
And tosse by turnes all either way; their leaves at randon flie,
Boughs murmure and their bodies cracke; and with perpetuall din
The Sylvans falter, and the stormes are never to begin:
So rag'd the fight, and all from Flight pluckt her forgotten wings,
While some still stucke; still new-wingd shafts flew dancing from their strings,
Huge stones sent after that did shake the shields about the corse,
Who now (in dust's soft forehead stretcht) forgat his guiding horse.
As long as Phœbus turn'd his wheeles about the midst of heaven,
So long the touch of either's darts the fals of both made even:
But when his waine drew neare the West, the Greeks past measure were
The abler souldiers, and so swept the Troyan tumult cleare
From off the bodie, out of which they drew the hurl'd-in darts
And from his shoulders stript his armes. And then to more such parts
Patroclus turn'd his striving thoughts to do the Troyans ill.
Thrice, like the god of warre he charg'd, his voice as horrible:
And thrice nine those three charges slue. But in the fourth assay,
O then, Patroclus, shew'd thy last. The dreadfull Sunne made way
Against that on-set, yet the Prince discern'd no deitie—
He kept the prease so, and besides obscur'd his glorious eye
With such felt darknesse. At his backe he made a sodaine stand,
And twixt his necke and shoulders laid downe-right with either hand
A blow so weightie that his eyes a giddie darknesse tooke,
And from his head his three-plum'd helme the bounding violence shooke,
That rung beneath his horses hooves and, like a water-spout,
Was crusht together with the fall—the plumes that set it out
All spatterd with blacke bloud and dust, when ever heretofore
It was a capitall offence to have or dust or gore
Defile the triple-feather'd helme, but on the head divine
And youthfull temples of their Prince it usde untoucht to shine.
Yet now Jove gave it Hector's hands; the other's death was neare—
Besides whose lost and filed helme, his huge long weightie speare,
Well bound with iron, in his hand was shiverd and his shield
Fell from his shoulders to his feete, the bawdricke strewing the field.
His Curets left him like the rest, and all this onely done
By great Apollo. Then his mind tooke in confusion;
The vigorous knittings of his joynts dissolv'd; and (thus dismaid)
A Dardan (one of Panthus' sons, and one that overlaid
All Troyans of his place with darts, swift footing, skill, and force
In noble horsmanship, and one that tumbl'd from their horse,
One after other, twentie men, and when he did but learne
The art of warre—nay when he first did in the field discerne
A horse and chariot of his guide) this man with all these parts
(His name Euphorbus) comes behind and twixt the shoulders darts
Forlorne Patroclus, who yet liv'd, and th' other (getting forth
His Javelin) tooke him to his strength. Nor durst he stand the worth
Of thee, Patroclus, though disarmd, who yet (discomfited
By Phœbus' and Euphorbus' wound) the red heape of the dead
He now too late shund, and retir'd. When Hector saw him yeeld
And knew he yeelded with a wound, he scour'd the armed field,
Came close up to him and both sides strooke quite through with his lance.
He fell, and his most weightie fall gave fit tune to his chance—
For which all Greece extremely mourn'd. And as a mightie strife
About a litle fount begins and riseth to the life
Of some fell Bore resolv'd to drinke, when likewise to the spring
A Lion comes alike disposde; the Bore thirsts, and his King,
Both proud and both will first be serv'd; and then the Lion takes
Advantage of his soveraigne strength, and th' other (fainting) makes
Resigne his thirst up with his bloud: Patroclus (so enforc't
When he had forc't so much brave life) was from his owne divorc't.
And thus his great Divorcer brav'd: ‘Patroclus, thy conceit
Gave thee th' eversion of our Troy, and to thy fleete a freight
Of Troyan Ladies, their free lives put all in bands by thee:
But (too much priser of thy selfe) all these are propt by me.
For these have my horse stretcht their hoofes to this so long a warre,
And I (farre best of Troy in armes) keepe off from Troy as farre—
Even to the last beame of my life—their necessary day.
And here (in place of us and ours) on thee shall Vultures prey,
Poore wretch. Nor shall thy mightie Friend affoord thee any aid,
That gave thy parting much deepe charge. And this perhaps he said:
“Martiall Patroclus, turne not face nor see my fleete before
The curets from great Hector's breast, all guilded with his gore,
Thou hew'st in peeces.” If thus vaine were his far-stretcht commands,
As vaine was thy heart to beleeve his words lay in thy hands.’
He, languishing, replide: ‘This proves thy glory worse than vaine,
That when two gods have given thy hands what their powres did obtaine
(They conquering, and they spoiling me both of my armes and mind,
It being a worke of ease for them) thy soule should be so blind
To oversee their evident deeds and take their powres to thee—
When, if the powres of twentie such had dar'd t' encounter me,
My lance had strew'd earth with them all. Thou onely doest obtaine
A third place in my death, whom first a harmfull fate hath slaine
Effected by Latona's sonne; second, and first of men,
Euphorbus. And this one thing more concernes thee; note it then:
Thou shalt not long survive thy selfe; nay, now Death cals for thee,
And violent fate. Achilles' lance shall make this good for me.’
Thus death joyn'd to his words his end; his soule tooke instant wing,
And to the house that hath no lights descended, sorrowing
For his sad fate, to leave him yong and in his ablest age.
He dead, yet Hector askt him why, in that prophetique rage,
He so forespake him, when none knew but great Achilles might
Prevent his death and on his lance receive his latest light?
Thus, setting on his side his foote, he drew out of his wound
His brazen lance, and upwards cast the body on the ground—
When quickly, while the dart was hote, he charg'd Automedon
(Divine guide of Achilles' steeds) in great contention
To seise him too: but his so swift and deathlesse horse, that fetch
Their gift to Peleus from the gods, soone rap't him from his reach.