Classic Poem

And now they reacht the goodly swelling channell of the flood,
Gulfe-eating Xanthus, whom Jove mixt with his immortall brood.
And there Achilles cleft the host of Ilion: one side fell
On Xanthus, th' other on the towne: and that did he impell
The same way that the last daie's rage put all the Greeks in rout,
When Hector's furie reign'd. These now Achilles powr'd about
The scatterd field. To stay the flight, Saturnia cast before
Their hastie feete a standing fogge, and then Flight's violence bore
The other halfe full on the flood. The silver-gulphed deepe
Receiv'd them with a mightie crie, the billowes vast and steepe
Ror'd at their armours, which the shores did round about resound.
This way and that they swum, and shriekt as in the gulphs they drownd.
And as in fir'd fields Locusts rise, as the unwearied blaze
Plies still their rising, till in swarmes all rush as in amaze
(For scape) into some neighbour flood: so th' Achilleian stroke
Here drave the foe. The gulfie flood with men and horse did choke.
Then on the shore the Worthy hid and left his horrid lance
Amids the Tamriskes, and spritelike did with his sword advance
Up to the river. Ill affaires tooke up his furious braine
For Troy's engagements: every way he doubl'd slaine on slaine.
A most unmanly noise was made with those he put to sword,
Of grones and outcries; the flood blusht to be so much engor'd
With such base soules. And as small fish the swift-finn'd Dolphin flie,
Filling the deepe pits in the ports, on whose close strength they lie,
And there he swallowes them in sholes: so here, to rockes and holes
About the flood the Troyans fled, and there most lost their soules,
Even till he tir'd his slaughterous arme. Twelve faire yong Princes then
He chusde of all to take alive, to have them freshly slaine
On that most solemne day of wreake resolv'd on for his friend.
These led he trembling forth the flood, as fearefull of their end
As any Hinde calves: all their hands he pinnioned behind
With their owne girdles worne upon their rich weeds, and resign'd
Their persons to his Myrmidons to beare to fleete—and he
Plung'd in the streame againe to take more worke of Tragedie.
He met, then issuing the flood with all intent of flight,
Lycaon (Dardan Priam's sonne) whom lately in the night
He had surprisde, as in a wood of Priam's he had cut
The greene armes of a wild figge tree, to make him spokes to put
In Naves of his new chariot. An ill then, all unthought,
Stole on him in Achilles' shape, who tooke him thence and brought
To well-built Lemnos, selling him to famous Jason's sonne,
From whom a guest then in his house (Imbrius Eetion)
Redeem'd at high rate and sent home t' Arisbe; whence he fled
And saw againe his father's court; eleven daies banquetted
Amongst his friends, the twelfth, god thrust his haplesse head againe
In th' hands of sterne Æacides, who now must send him slaine
To Pluto's Court, and gainst his will. Him, when Achilles knew,
Naked of helmet, shield, sword, lance (all which for ease he threw
To earth, being overcome with sweate, and labour wearying
His flying knees) he storm'd, and said: ‘O heaven, a wondrous thing
Invades mine eyes! Those Ilians that heretofore I slue
Rise from the darke dead, quicke againe. This man fate makes eschew
Her owne steele fingers: he was sold in Lemnos, and the deepe
Of all Seas twixt this Troy and that (that many a man doth keepe
From his lov'd countrie) barres not him. Come then; he now shall tast
The head of Pelias, and trie if steele will downe as fast
As other fortunes, or kind earth can any surer seise
On his slie person, whose strong armes have held downe Hercules.’
His thoughts thus mov'd, while he stood firme to see if he he spide
Would offer flight (which first he thought), but, when he had descride
He was descried and flight was vaine, fearefull, he made more nie,
With purpose to embrace his knees, and now long'd much to flie
His blacke fate and abhorred death by coming in. His foe
Observ'd all this, and up he raisd his lance as he would throw.
And then Lycaon close ran in, fell on his breast and tooke
Achilles' knees, whose lance (on earth now staid) did overlooke
His still-turn'd backe, with thirst to glut his sharpe point with the blood
That lay so readie. But that thirst Lycaon's thirst withstood.
To save his blood, Achilles' knee in his one hand he knit,
His other held the long lance hard and would not part with it,
But thus besought: ‘I kisse thy knees, divine Æacides.
Respect me, and my fortunes rue. I now present th' accesse
Of a poore suppliant for thy ruth: and I am one that is
Worthy thy ruth, O Jove's belov'd. First houre my miseries
Fell into any hand, twas thine. I tasted all my bread
By thy gift since—O since that houre that thy surprisall led
From forth the faire wood my sad feete, farre from my lov'd allies,
To famous Lemnos, where I found an hundred Oxen's prise
To make my ransome: for which now I thrise the worth will raise.
This day makes twelve since I arriv'd in Ilion, many daies
Being spent before in sufferance; and now a cruell fate
Thrusts me againe into thy hands. I should hant Jove with hate,
That with such set malignitie gives thee my life againe.
There were but two of us for whom Laothoe sufferd paine,
(Laothoe, old Altes' seed—Altes, whose pallace stood
In height of upper Pedasus, neare Satnius' silver flood,
And rulde the warre-like Lelegi). Whose seed (as many more)
King Priam married, and begot the godlike Polydor
And me acurst. Thou slaughterdst him, and now thy hand on me
Will prove as mortall. I did thinke, when here I met with thee,
I could not scape thee; yet give eare and adde thy mind to it.
I told my birth to intimate, though one sire did beget
Yet one wombe brought not into light Hector (that slue thy friend)
And me. O do not kill me then, but let the wretched end
Of Polydor excuse my life. For halfe our being bred
Brothers to Hector he (halfe) paid; no more is forfeited.’
Thus su'd he humbly, but he heard with this austere replie:
‘Foole, urge not ruth nor price to me, til that solemnitie
Resolv'd on for Patroclus' death pay all his rites to fate.
Till his death, I did grace to Troy, and many lives did rate
At price of ransome: but none now of all the brood of Troy
(Who ever Jove throwes to my hands) shall any breath enjoy
That death can beate out—specially that touch at Priam's race.
Die, die, my friend. What teares are these? What sad lookes spoile thy face?
Patroclus died, that farre past thee. Nay, seest thou not beside,
My selfe, even I, a faire yong man and rarely magnifide,
And (to my father, being a king) a mother have that sits
In ranke with goddesses; and yet, when thou hast spent thy spirits,
Death and as violent a fate must overtake even me—
By twilight, morne-light, day, high noone, when ever Destinie
Sets on her man to hurle a lance or knit out of his string
An arrow that must reach my life.’ This said, alanguishing,
Lycaon's heart bent like his knees, yet left him strength t' advance
Both hands for mercie as he kneeld. His foe yet leaves his lance
And forth his sword flies, which he hid in furrow of a wound
Driven through the joynture of his necke; flat fell he on the ground,
Stretcht with death's pangs, and all the earth embrew'd with timelesse blood.
Then gript Æacides his heele and to the loftie flood
Flung (swinging) his unpitied corse, to see it swim and tosse
Up on the rough waves, and said: ‘Go, feed fat the fish with losse
Of thy left blood: they cleane will sucke thy greene wounds, and this saves
Thy mother teares upon thy bed. Deepe Xanthus on his waves
Shall hoyse thee bravely to a tombe that in her burly breast
The sea shall open, where great fish may keepe thy funerall feast
With thy white fat, and on the waves dance at thy wedding fate,
Clad in blacke horror, keeping close inaccessible state.
So perish Ilians, till we plucke the browes of Ilion
Downe to her feete, you flying still, I flying still upon
Thus in the rere, and (as my browes were forckt with rabid hornes)
Tosse ye together. This brave flood, that strengthens and adornes
Your citie with his silver gulfes, to whom so many buls
Your zeale hath offerd, which blind zeale his sacred current guls
With casting chariots and horse quicke to his prayd-for aide,
Shall nothing profite. Perish then, till cruell'st Death hath laide
All at the red feet of Revenge for my slaine friend, and all
With whom the absence of my hands made yours a festivall.’
This speech great Xanthus more enrag'd, and made his spirit contend
For meanes to shut up the o'pt vaine against him, and defend
The Troyans in it from his plague. In meane time Peleus' sonne
(And now with that long lance he hid) for more blood set upon
Asteropæus, the descent of Pelegon, and he
Of brode-stream'd Axius and the dame (of first nativitie
To all the daughters that renown'd Acessamenus' seed),
Bright Peribœa, whom the flood (arm'd thicke with loftie reed)
Comprest. At her grandchild now went Thetis' great sonne, whose foe
Stood arm'd with two darts, being set on by Xanthus, angerd so
For those youths' blood shed in his streame by vengefull Thetis' sonne
Without all mercie. (Both being neare) great Thetides begunne
With this high question: ‘Of what race art thou that dar'st oppose
Thy powre to mine thus? Cursed wombs they ever did disclose
That stood my anger.’ He reply'd: ‘What makes thy furie's heate
Talke and seeke Pedigrees? Farre hence lies my innative seate
In rich Pæonia. My race from brode-stream'd Axius runs—
Axius that gives earth purest drinke of all the watrie sons
Of great Oceanus, and got the famous-for-his-speare
Pelegonus, that fatherd me; and these Pæonians here,
Arm'd with long lances, here I leade; and here th' eleventh faire light
Shines on us since we enterd Troy. Come now, brave man, let's fight.’
Thus spake he, threatning; and to him Pelides made replie
With shaken Pelias. But his foe with two at once let flie
(For both his hands were dexterous): one javelin strooke the shield
Of Thetis' sonne but strooke not through (the gold, god's gift, repeld
The eager point); the other lance fell lightly on the part
Of his faire right hand's cubit. Forth the blacke blood spunne; the dart
Glanc't over, fastening on the earth, and there his splene was spent
That wisht the body. With which wish, Achilles his lance sent,
That quite mist and infixt it selfe fast in the steepe-up shore.
Even to the midst it enterd it. Himselfe then fiercely bore
Upon his enemie with his sword. His foe was tugging hard
To get his lance out: thrise he pluckt, and thrise sure Pelias bard
His wisht evulsion. The fourth plucke, he bow'd and meant to breake
The Ashen plant, but (ere that act) Achilles' sword did checke
His bent powre, and brake out his soule. Full in the navill stead
He ript his belly up, and out his entrailes fell, and dead
His breathlesse body. Whence his armes Achilles drew, and said:
‘Lie there, and prove it dangerous to lift up adverse head
Against Jove's sonnes, although a flood were Ancestor to thee.
Thy vants urg'd him; but I may vant a higher pedigree—
From Jove himselfe. King Peleus was sonne to Æacus;
Infernall Æacus, to Jove; and I, to Peleus.
Thunder-voic't Jove farre passeth floods, that onely murmures raise
With earth and water, as they runne with tribute to the seas.
And his seede theirs exceeds as farre. A flood, a mightie flood,
Rag'd nere thee now, but with no aide. Jove must not be withstood.
King Achelous yeelds to him, and great Oceanus,
Whence all floods, all the sea, all founts, wells, all deepes humorous,
Fetch their beginnings; yet even he feares Jove's flash and the cracke
His thunder gives, when out of heaven it teares atwo his racke.’
Thus pluckt he from the shore his lance, and left the waves to wash
The wave-sprung entrailes, about which Fausens and other fish
Did shole, to nibble at the fat which his sweet kidneyes hid.
This for himselfe; now to his men (the well-rode Pæons) did
His rage contend. All which cold Feare shooke into flight, to see
Their Captaine slaine; at whose mazde flight (as much enrag'd) flew he.
And then fell all these: Thrasius, Mydon, Astypylus,
Great Ophelestes, Ænius, Mnesus, Thersilochus.
And on these many more had falne, unlesse the angry flood
Had tooke the figure of a man and in a whirlepit stood,
Thus speaking to Æacides: ‘Past all, powre feeds thy will,
Thou great grandchild of Æacus, and past all, th' art in ill—
And gods themselves, confederates, and Jove (the best of gods)
All deaths gives thee, all places, not. Make my shore's periods
To all shore service. In the field let thy field acts run hie,
Not in my waters. My sweet streames choake with mortalitie
Of men slaine by thee. Carkasses so glut me that I faile
To powre into the sacred sea my waves. Yet still assaile
Thy cruell forces. Ceasse; amaze affects me with thy rage,
Prince of the people.’ He reply'd: ‘Shall thy command asswage,
Gulfe-fed Scamander, my free wrath? I'le never leave pursude
Prowd Ilion's slaughters till this hand in her fild walls conclude
Her flying forces, and hath tried in single fight the chance
Of warre with Hector; whose event with starke death shall advance
One of our conquests.’ Thus againe he like a Furie flew
Upon the Troyans; when the flood his sad plaint did pursue
To bright Apollo, telling him he was too negligent
Of Jove's high charge, importuning by all meanes vehement
His helpe of Troy till latest Even should her blacke shadowes poure
On earth's brode breast. In all his worst, Achilles yet from shore
Leapt to his middest. Then sweld his waves, then rag'd, then boyld againe
Against Achilles. Up flew all, and all the bodies slaine
In all his deeps (of which the heapes made bridges to his waves)
He belcht out, roring like a Bull. The unslaine yet he saves
In his blacke whirlepits, vast and deepe. A horrid billow stood
About Achilles. On his shield the violence of the flood
Beate so, it drave him backe and tooke his feet up, his faire palme
Enforc't to catch into his stay a brode and loftie Elme,
Whose roots he tost up with his hold, and tore up all the shore.
With this then he repeld the waves, and those thicke armes it bore
He made a bridge to beare him off (for all fell in), when he
Forth from the channell threw himselfe. The rage did terrifie
Even his great spirit and made him adde wings to his swiftest feet,
And treade the land. And yet not there the flood left his retreate,
But thrust his billowes after him, and blackt them all at top,
To make him feare and flie his charge, and set the brode field ope
For Troy to scape in. He sprong out a dart's cast, but came on
Againe with a redoubl'd force. As when the swiftest flowne
And strong'st of all fowles, Jove's blacke Hawke, the huntresse, stoopes upon
A much lov'd Quarrie: so charg'd he. His armes with horror rung
Against the blacke waves: yet againe he was so urg'd, he flung
His body from the flood, and fled. And after him againe
The waves flew roring. As a man that finds a water vaine,
And from some blacke fount is to bring his streames through plants and groves,
Goes with his Mattocke, and all checks set to his course removes,
When that runnes freely; under it the pibbles all give way
And, where it finds a fall, runnes swift; nor can the leader stay
His current then; before himselfe, full pac't, it murmures on:
So, of Achilles evermore the strong flood vantage wonne.
Though most deliver, gods are still above the powres of men.
As oft as th' able godlike man endevour'd to maintaine
His charge on them that kept the flood (and charg'd as he would trie
If all the gods inhabiting the brode unreached skie
Could dant his spirit), so oft still the rude waves charg'd him round,
Rampt on his shoulders, from whose depth his strength and spirit would bound
Up to the free aire vext in soule. And now the vehement flood
Made faint his knees: so overthwart his waves were, they withstood
All the denyed dust which he wisht; and now was faine to crie,
Casting his eyes to that brode heaven that late he long'd to trie,
And said: ‘O Jove, how am I left? No god vouchsafes to free
Me, miserable man. Helpe now, and after torture me
With any outrage. Would to heaven, Hector (the mightiest
Bred in this region) had imbrew'd his javelin in my breast,
That strong might fall by strong. Where now weake water's luxurie
Must make my death blush: one heaven-borne shall like a hog-herd die,
Drown'd in a durtie torrent's rage. Yet none of you in heaven
I blame for this: but she alone by whom this life was given,
That now must die thus. She would still delude me with her tales,
Affirming Phœbus' shafts should end within the Troyan walls
My curst beginning.’ In this straight, Neptune and Pallas flew
To fetch him off. In men's shapes, both close to his danger drew,
And, taking both, both hands, thus spake the shaker of the world:
‘Pelides, do not stirre a foot, nor these waves, prowdly curld
Against thy bold breast, feare a jote, thou hast us two thy friends
(Neptune and Pallas), Jove himselfe approving th' aide we lend.
Tis nothing as thou fearst with fate; she will not see thee drown'd.
This height shall soone downe; thine owne eyes shall see it set aground.
Be rulde then, weele advise thee well; take not thy hand away
From putting all indifferently to all that it can lay
Upon the Troyans, till the walles of haughtie Ilion
Conclude all in a desperate flight. And when thou hast set gone
The soule of Hector, turne to fleet: our hands shall plant a wreath
Of endlesse glorie on thy browes.’ Thus to the free from death
Both made retreate. He (much impeld by charge the godheads gave)
The field, that now was overcome with many a boundlesse wave,
He overcame: on their wild breasts they tost the carkasses
And armes of many a slaughterd man. And now the winged knees
Of this great Captaine bore aloft; against the flood he flies
With full assault, nor could that god make shrinke his rescu'd thies.
Nor shrunke the flood, but, as his foe grew powrefull, he grew mad,
Thrust up a billow to the skie and cristall'Simois bad
To his assistance: ‘Simois, hoe, brother,’ out he cried,
‘Come, adde thy current and resist this man halfe deified,
Or Ilion he will pul downe straite; the Troyans cannot stand
A minute longer. Come, assist; and instantly command
All fountaines in thy rule to rise, all torrents to make in
And stuffe thy billowes; with whose height engender such a din
(With trees torne up and justling stones) as so immane a man
May shrinke beneath us; whose powre thrives, do my powre all it can—
He dares things fitter for a god. But nor his forme, nor force,
Nor glorious armes shall profit him: all which, and his dead corse,
I vow to rowle up in my sands—nay, burie in my mud—
Nay, in the very sincks of Troy: that, pour'd into my flood,
Shall make him drowning worke enough, and, being drown'd, I'le set
A fort of such strong filth on him that Greece shall never get
His bones from it. There, there shall stand Achilles' sepulcher,
And save a buriall for his friends.’ This Furie did transferre
His high-ridg'd billowes on the Prince, roring with blood and fome
And carkasses. The crimson streame did snatch into her wombe
Surprisd Achilles, and her height stood, held up by the hand
Of Jove himselfe. Then Juno cried, and cald (to countermand
This watry Deitie) the god that holds command in fire,
Affraid lest that gulf-stomackt flood would satiate his desire
On great Achilles: ‘Mulciber! my best-lov'd sonne!’ she cried,
‘Rouse thee: for all the gods conceive this flood thus amplified
Is raisd at thee, and shewes as if his waves would drowne the skie
And put out all the sphere of fire. Haste, helpe thy Emperie.
Light flames deepe as his pits. Our selfe the West wind and the South
Will call out of the sea, and breathe in either's full-charg'd mouth
A storme t' enrage thy fires gainst Troy, which shall (in one exhal'd)
Blow flames of sweate about their browes and make their armors skald.
Go thou then, and (gainst these winds rise) make worke on Xanthus' shore
With setting all his trees on fire, and in his owne breast poure
A fervor that shall make it burne. Nor let faire words or threats
Avert thy furie till I speake; and then subdue the heates
Of all thy Blazes.’ Mulciber prepar'd a mightie fire,
First in the field usde, burning up the bodies that the ire
Of great Achilles reft of soules; the quite-drown'd field it dried
And shrunke the flood up. And as fields that have bene long time cloide
With catching wether, when their corne lies on the gavill heape,
Are with a constant North wind dried, with which for comfort leape
Their hearts that sow'd them: so this field was dride, the bodies burn'd,
And even the flood into a fire as bright as day was turn'd.
Elmes, willowes, tamrisks were enflam'd; the lote trees, sea-grasse reeds
And rushes, with the galingale rootes (of which abundance breeds
About the sweet flood) all were fir'd: the gliding fishes flew
Upwards in flames; the groveling Eeles crept upright—all which slew
Wise Vulcan's unresisted spirit. The flood out of a flame
Cried to him: ‘Ceasse, O Mulciber. No deitie can tame
Thy matchlesse virtue, nor would I (since thou art thus hote) strive.
Ceasse then thy strife, let Thetis' sonne with all thy wisht hast drive
Even to their gates these Ilians. What toucheth me their aide,
Or this Contention?’ Thus, in flames, the burning river prayde.
And as a Caldron, underput with store of fire, and wrought
With boyling of a well-fed Brawne, up leapes his wave aloft,
Bavins of sere wood urging it and spending flames apace,
Till all the Caldron be engirt with a consuming blaze:
So round this flood burn'd, and so sod his sweete and tortur'd streames—
Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes of Vulcan's fierie beames.
Who (then not mov'd) his mother's ruth by all his meanes he craves,
And askt, why Vulcan should invade and so torment his waves
Past other floods, when his offence rose not to such degree
As that of other gods for Troy; and that himselfe would free
Her wrath to it if she were pleasde; and prayd her that her sonne
Might be reflected; adding this, that he would nere be wonne
To helpe keepe off the ruinous day in which all Troy should burne,
Fir'd by the Grecians. This vow heard, she charg'd her sonne to turne
His fierie spirits to their homes, and said it was not fit
A god should suffer so for men. Then Vulcan did remit
His so unmeasur'd violence, and backe the pleasant flood
Ranne to his channell. Thus these gods she made friends; th' other stood
At weightie difference; both sides ranne together with a sound
That Earth resounded, and great heaven about did surrebound.
Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laught to see the gods
Buckle to armes like angry men; and (he pleasde with their ods)
They laid it freely. Of them all thump-buckler Mars began,
And at Minerva with a lance of brasse he headlong ran,
These vile words ushering his blowes: ‘Thou, dog-flie, what's the cause
Thou mak'st gods fight thus? Thy huge heart breakes all our peacefull lawes
With thy insatiate shamelesnesse. Rememberst thou the houre
When Diomed charg'd me, and by thee, and thou with all thy powre
Took'st lance thy selfe and in all sights rusht on me with a wound?
Now vengeance fals on thee for all.’ This said, the shield fring'd round
With fighting Adders, borne by Jove, that not to thunder yeelds,
He clapt his lance on; and this god, that with the bloud of fields
Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierst and hurt the armed Maid.
But backe she leapt, and with her strong hand rapt a huge stone, laid
Above the Champaine, blacke and sharpe, that did in old time breake
Partitions to men's lands. And that she dusted in the necke
Of that impetuous challenger. Downe to the earth he swayd
And overlaid seven Acres land; his haire was all berayd
With dust and bloud mixt, and his armes rung out. Minerva laught,
And thus insulted: ‘O thou foole, yet hast thou not bene taught
To know mine eminence? Thy strength opposest thou to mine?
So pay thy mother's furies then, who for these aides of thine
(Ever affoorded perjur'd Troy, Greece ever left) takes spleene
And vowes thee mischiefe.’ Thus she turn'd her blew eyes, when Love's Queen
The hand of Mars tooke, and from earth raisd him with thick-drawne breath,
His spirits not yet got up againe. But from the prease of death
Kind Aphrodite was his guide. Which Juno seeing, exclam'd:
‘Pallas, see, Mars is helpt from field! Dog-flie, his rude tongue nam'd
Thy selfe even now; but that his love, that dog-flie, will not leave
Her old consort. Upon her. Flie.’ Minerva did receave
This excitation joyfully and at the Cyprian flew,
Strooke with her hard hand her soft breast a blow that overthrew
Both her and Mars, and there both lay together in broad field—
When thus she triumpht: ‘So lie all that any succours yeeld
To these false Troyans gainst the Greeks—so bold and patient
As Venus (shunning charge of me), and no lesse impotent
Be all their aides than hers to Mars: so short worke would be made
In our depopulating Troy (this hardiest to invade
Of all earth's cities).’ At this wish white-wristed Juno smil'd.
Next Neptune and Apollo stood upon the point of field,
And thus spake Neptune: ‘Phœbus! Come, why at the lance's end
Stand we two thus? Twill be a shame for us to re-ascend
Jove's golden house, being thus in field and not to fight. Begin,
For tis no gracefull worke for me: thou hast the yonger chin,
I older and know more. O foole! what a forgetfull heart
Thou bear'st about thee, to stand here, prest to take th' Ilian part
And fight with me! Forgetst thou then what we two, we alone
(Of all the gods), have sufferd here, when proud Laomedon
Enjoyd our service a whole yeare for our agreed reward?
Jove in his sway would have it so, and in that yeare I rear'd
This broad brave wall about this towne, that (being a worke of mine)
It might be inexpugnable. This service then was thine—
In Ida (that so many hils and curld-head forrests crowne)
To feed his oxen, crooked-shankt and headed like the Moone.
But when the much-joy-bringing houres brought terme for our reward,
The terrible Laomedon dismist us both and scard
Our high deservings—not alone to hold our promist fee,
But give us threats too. Hands and feete he swore to fetter thee
And sell thee as a slave, dismist farre hence to forreine Iles—
Nay more, he would have both our eares. His vowe's breach and reviles
Made us part angry with him then. And doest thou gratulate now
Such a king's subjects, or with us not their destruction vow,
Even to their chast wives and their babes?’ He answerd, he might hold
His wisedome litle, if with him (a god) for men he would
Maintaine contention—wretched men, that flourish for a time
Like leaves, eate some of that Earth yeelds, and give Earth, in their prime,
Their whole selves for it: ‘Quickly then let us flie fight for them,
Nor shew it offerd: let themselves beare out their owne extreme.’
Thus he retir'd, and fear'd to change blowes with his unkle's hands.
His sister therefore chid him much (the goddesse that commands
In games of hunting) and thus spake: ‘Fliest thou, and leav'st the field
To Neptune's glorie? And no blowes? O foole! why doest thou wield
Thy idle bow? No more my eares shall heare thee vant in skies
Dares to meete Neptune, but I'le tell thy coward's tongue it lies.’
He answerd nothing, yet Jove's wife could put on no such raines,
But spake thus loosly: ‘How dar'st thou, dog, whom no feares containes,
Encounter me? Twill prove a match of hard condition,
Though the great Ladie of the bow and Jove hath set thee downe
For Lion of thy sexe, with gift to slaughter any Dame
Thy proud will envies. Yet some Dames will prove th' hadst better tame
Wilde Lions upon hils than them. But if this question rests
Yet under judgement in thy thoughts, and that thy mind contests,
I'le make thee know it.’ Sodainly, with her left hand she catcht
Both Cynthia's palmes, lockt fingers fast, and with her right she snatcht
From her faire shoulders her guilt bow, and (laughing) laid it on
About her eares; and every way her turnings seisd upon,
Till all her arrowes scatterd out, her quiver emptied quite.
And as a Dove, that (flying a Hauke) takes to some rocke her flight
And in his hollow breasts sits safe, her fate not yet to die:
So fled she mourning, and her bow left there. Then Mercurie
His opposite thus undertooke: ‘Latona, at no hand
Will I bide combat; tis a worke right dangerous to stand
At difference with the wives of Jove. Go therefore, freely vant
Amongst the deities th' hast subdu'd and made thy combattant
Yeeld with plaine powre.’ She answer'd not, but gather'd up the bow
And shafts falne from her daughter's side, retiring. Up did go
Diana to Jove's starrie hall, her incorrupted vaile
Trembling about her, so she shooke. Phœbus (lest Troy should faile
Before her Fate) flew to her wals; the other deities flew
Up to Olympus, some enrag'd, some glad. Achilles slew
Both men and horse of Ilion. And as a citie, fir'd,
Casts up a heate that purples heaven, Clamors and shriekes expir'd
In every corner, toile to all, to many, miserie,
Which fire th' incensed gods let fall; Achilles so let flie
Rage on the Troyans, toiles and shriekes as much by him imposde.
Old Priam in his sacred towre stood, and the flight disclosde
Of his forc't people, all in rout, and not a stroke return'd
By fled Resistance. His eyes saw in what a furie burnd
The sonne of Peleus, and downe went weeping from the towre
To all the port-guards, and their Chiefes told of his flying powre,
Commanding th' opening of the ports, but not to let their hands
Stirre from them, for Æacides would poure in with his bands.
‘Destruction comes. O shut them straight, when we are in,’ he praid,
‘For not our walls, I feare, will checke this violent man.’ This said,
Off lifted they the barres, the ports hal'd open, and they gave
Safetie her entrie with the host; which yet they could not save
Had not Apollo sallied out and strooke Destruction
(Brought by Achilles in their neckes) backe; when they right upon
The ports bore all, drie, dustie, spent; and on their shoulders rode
Rabide Achilles with his lance, still Glorie being the gode
That prickt his Furie. Then the Greeks high-ported Ilion
Had seiz'd, had not Apollo stird Antenor's famous sonne,
Divine Agenor, and cast in an undertaking spirit
To his bold bosome, and himselfe stood by to strengthen it
And keepe the heavie hand of death from breaking in. The god
Stood by him, leaning on a beach, and cover'd his abode
With night-like darknesse; yet for all the spirit he inspir'd,
When that great citie-racer's force his thoughts strooke, he retir'd,
Stood, and went on, a world of doubts still falling in his way—
When (angry with himselfe) he said: ‘Why suffer I this stay
In this so strong need to go on? If, like the rest, I flie,
Tis his best weapon to give chace, being swift, and I should die
Like to a coward. If I stand, I fall too. These two wayes
Please not my purpose; I would live. What if I suffer these
Still to be routed, and (my feete affoording further length)
Passe all these fields of Ilion till Ida's sylvane strength
And steepe heights shroud me, and at Even refresh me in the flood
And turne to Ilion? O my soule, why drown'st thou in the blood
Of these discourses? If this course that talkes of further flight
I give my feete, his feete, more swift, have more ods. Get he sight
Of that passe, I passe least; for pace, and length of pace, his thies
Will stand out all men. Meete him then; my steele hath faculties
Of powre to pierce him; his great breast but one soule holds, and that
Death claimes his right in (all men say). But he holds speciall state
In Jove's high bountie: that's past man, that every way will hold,
And that serves all men every way.’ This last heart made him bold
To stand Achilles, and stird up a mightie mind to blowes.
And as a Panther (having heard the hounds' traile) doth disclose
Her freckl'd forhead, and stares forth from out some deepe-growne wood
To trie what strength dares her abroad; and, when her fierie blood
The hounds have kindl'd, no quench serves of love to live or feare;
Though strooke, though wounded, though quite through she feels the mortal speare,
But till the man's close strength she tries, or strowes earth with his dart,
She puts her strength out: so it far'd with brave Agenor's hart;
And till Achilles he had prov'd, no thoughts, no deeds, once stird
His fixed foote. To his broad breast his round shield he preferd,
And up his arme went with his aime, his voice out, with this crie:
‘Thy hope is too great, Peleus' sonne, this day to shew thine eye
Troy's Ilion at thy foote. O foole! the Greeks with much more woes,
More than are sufferd yet, must buy great Ilion's overthrowes.
We are within her many strong, that for our parents' sakes,
Our wives and children, will save Troy, and thou (though he that makes
Thy name so terrible) shalt make a sacrifice to her
With thine owne ruines.’ Thus he threw, nor did his javelin erre,
But strooke his foe's leg neare his knee; the fervent steele did ring
Against his tin greaves and leapt backe. The fire's strong-handed king
Gave vertue of repulse; and then Æacides assail'd
Divine Agenor, but in vaine; Apollo's powre prevail'd,
And rapt Agenor from his reach, whom quietly he plac't
Without the skirmish, casting mists to save from being chac't
His tenderd person, and (he gone), to give his souldiers scape,
The deitie turn'd Achilles still by putting on the shape
Of him he thirsted; evermore he fed his eye, and fled,
And he with all his knees pursu'd. So cunningly he led
That still he would be neare his reach to draw his rage with hope,
Farre from the conflict, to the flood, maintaining still the scope
Of his attraction. In meane time, the other frighted powres
Came to the citie, comforted, when Troy and all her towres
Strooted with fillers; none would stand to see who staid without,
Who scapt, and who came short. The ports cleft to receive the rout
That pour'd it selfe in. Every man was for himselfe—most fleete,
Most fortunate. Who ever scapt, his head might thanke his feete.