Iliad

They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus

Came to Æacides, whose mind was much solicitous

For that which, as he fear'd, was fall'n. He found him near the fleet

With upright sail-yards, utt'ring this to his heroic conceit:

“Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field,

And routed headlong to their fleet? O let not heaven yield

Effect to what my sad soul fears, that, as I was foretold,

The strongest Myrmidon next me, when I should still behold

The sun's fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menœtius' son

Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone

What I commanded; that, the fleet once freed of hostile fire,

Not meeting Hector, instantly he should his pow'rs retire.”

As thus his troubled mind discours'd, Antilochus appear'd,

And told with tears the sad news thus: “My lord, that must be heard

Which would to heav'n I might not tell! Menœtius' son lies dead,

And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited,

And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement.”

This said, grief darken'd all his pow'rs. With both his hands he rent

The black mould from the forcéd earth, and pour'd it on his head,

Smear'd all his lovely face; his weeds, divinely fashionéd,

All fil'd and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore,

Lay, as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore

His gracious curls. His ecstasy he did so far extend,

That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter'd friend,

Afflicted strangely for his plight, came shrieking from the tents,

And fell about him, beat their breasts, their tender lineaments

Dissolv'd with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor's warlike son,

Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done

His person violence; his heart, extremely straiten'd, burn'd,

Beat, swell'd, and sigh'd as it would burst. So terribly he mourn'd,

That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father's seas,

Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides

Flock'd all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend.

There Glauce, and Cymodoce, and Spio, did attend,

Nessea, and Cymothoe, and calm Amphithoe,

Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene,

Actæa, and Limnoria, and Halia the fair

Fam'd for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair,

Iæra, Proto, Clymene, and curl'd Dexamene,

Pherusa, Doris, and with these the smooth Amphinome,

Chaste Galatea so renown'd, and Callianira, came,

With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame.

Apseudes likewise visited, and Callianassa gave

Her kind attendance, and with her Agave grac'd the cave,

Nemertes, Mæra, followéd, Melita, Ianesse,

With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides

That in the deep seas make abode; all which together beat

Their dewy bosoms; and to all, thus Thetis did repeat

Her cause of mourning: “Sisters, hear, how much the sorrows weigh,

Whose cries now call'd ye. Hapless I brought forth unhappily

The best of all the sons of men; who, like a well-set plant

In best soils, grew and flourishéd; and when his spirit did want

Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet

To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confinéd feet

Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth,

The glorious court of Peleüs, must entertain his worth

Never hereafter. All the life he hath to live with me

Must waste in sorrows. And this son I now am bent to see,

Being now afflicted with some grief not usually grave,

Whose knowledge and recure I seek.” This said, she left her cave,

Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves, as they sworn,

Cleft with their bosoms, curl'd, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come,

They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour'd shore,

Till where the fleet of Myrmidons, drawn up in heaps, it bore.

There stay'd they at Achilles' ship; and there did Thetis lay

Her fair hand on her son's curl'd head, sigh'd, wept, and bade him say

What grief drew from his eyes those tears? “Conceal it not,” said she,

“Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee.

The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns, have pour'd out tears enow,

And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow.”

He said, “'Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace,

But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place

Loss of my whole self in my friend? Whom, when his foe had slain,

He spoil'd of those profanéd arms, that Peleus did obtain

From heav'n's high Pow'rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands,

As th' only present of them all, and fitted well their hands,

Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heav'n thy throne,

With these fair Deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon,

And Peleus had a mortal wife; since by his means is done

So much wrong to thy grievéd mind, my death being set so soon,

And never suff'ring my return to grace of Peleus' court!

Nor do I wish it; nor to live in any man's resort,

But only that the crying blood, for vengeance of my friend

Mangled by Hector, may be still'd; his foe's death paying his end.”

She, weeping, said: “That hour is near, and thy death's hour then nigh;

Which, in thy wish serv'd of thy foe, succeedeth instantly.”

“And instantly it shall succeed,” he answer'd “since my fate

Allow'd not to my will a pow'r to rescue, ere the date

Of his late slaughter, my true friend. Far from his friends he died,

Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied.

Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light,

That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite

Slaughter'd by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish'd repair

To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air,

And only live a load to earth with all my strength, though none

Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one

Is my superior; what I have, no grace gets; what I want

Disgraceth all. How then too soon can hastiest death supplant

My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity

Being that black fiend Contention; whom would to God might die

To Gods and men; and Anger too, that kindles tyranny

In men most wise, being much more sweet than liquid honey is

To men of pow'r to satiate their watchful enmities;

And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts; as late

It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate

That is our Gen'ral. But the fact so long past, the effect

Must vanish with it, though both griev'd; nor must we still respect

Our soothéd humours. Need now takes the rule of either's mind.

And when the loser of my friend his death in me shall find,

Let death take all. Send him, ye Gods, I'll give him my embrace.

Not Hercules himself shunn'd death, though dearest in the grace

Of Jupiter; ev'n him Fate stoop'd, and Juno's cruelty.

And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes I will lie.

Meantime I wish a good renown that these deep breasted dames

Of Ilion and Dardania may, for the extinguish'd flames

Of their friends' lives, with both their hands wipe miserable tears

From their so-curiously-kept cheeks, and be the officers

To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat

But gather'd strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat)

They well may know 'twas I lay still, and that my being away

Presented all their happiness. But any further stay

(Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade;

All vows are kept, all pray'rs heard; now, free way for fight is made.”

The silver-footed Dame replied: “It fits thee well, my son,

To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won

And worn by Hector, that should keep thyself in keeping them,

Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him,

Whose cruel glory they are yet. By all means then forbear

To tread the massacres of war, till I again appear

From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see

The sun next rise, shall enter here with his first beams and me.”

Thus to her Sisters of the Sea she turn'd, and bade them ope

The doors and deeps of Nereüs; she in Olympus' top

Must visit Vulcan for new arms to serve her wreakful son,

And bade inform her father so, with all things further done.

This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav'n.

In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv'n

In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam's son,

Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on

With such impression. Thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz'd,

And thrice th' Ajaces thump'd him off. With whose repulse displeas'd,

He wreak'd his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again

Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulséd men,

And would not quit him quite for death. A lion almost sterv'd

Is not by upland herdsman driv'n, from urging to be serv'd,

With more contention, than his strength by those two of a name;

And had perhaps his much-prais'd will, if th' airy-footed Dame,

Swift Iris, had not stoop'd in haste, ambassadress from heav'n

To Peleus' son, to bid him arm; her message being giv'n

By Juno, kept from all the Gods; she thus excited him:

“Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb

Of thy belov'd; in whose behalf, the conflict now runs high

Before the fleet, the either host fells other mutually,

These to retain, those to obtain. Amongst whom most of all

Is Hector prompt, he's apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall

Will make his shoulders; his head forc'd, he'll be most famous; rise,

No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize

Of thy friend's value than let dogs make him a monument,

Where thy name will be grav'n.” He ask'd, “What Deity hath sent

Thy presence hither?” She replied: “Saturnia, she alone,

Not high Jove knowing, nor one God that doth inhabit on

Snowy Olympus.” He again: “How shall I set upon

The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam's son?

How will my Goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm

Till she brought arms from Mulciber! But should I do such harm

To her and duty, who is he, but Ajax, that can vaunt

The fitting my breast with his arms; and he is conversant

Amongst the first in use of his, and rampires of the foe

Slain near Patroclus builds to him?” “All this,” said she, “we know,

And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes

Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid of further enterprise,

The Greeks may gain some little breath.” She woo'd, and he was won;

And straight Minerva honour'd him, who Jove's shield clapp'd upon

His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold

That cast beams round about his brows. And as when arms enfold

A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears,

Being in the day, but, when the even her cloudy forehead rears,

Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh,

Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply;

So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav'n,

And forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv'n

By his great mother, mix'd in fight, but sent abroad his voice;

Which Pallas far-off echoéd, who did betwixt them hoise

Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard

With emulous affectión, when any town is spher'd

With siege of such a foe as kills men's minds, and for the town

Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice from Thetis' issue thrown

Won emulously th' ears of all. His brazen voice once heard,

The minds of all were startled so they yielded; and so fear'd

The fair-man'd horses, that they flew back, and their chariots turn'd,

Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn'd

A little after; and their guides a repercussive dread

Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head,

Which Pallas set on fire with grace. Thrice great Achilles spake,

And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back.

Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal'd

Their chariots and their darts, to death with his three summons call'd.

And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse,

And hears'd it, bearing it to fleet; his friends with all remorse

Marching about it. His great friend dissolving then in tears

To see his truly-lov'd return'd, so hors'd upon an hearse,

Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole,

Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul,

Never again to be restor'd, never receiv'd but so,

He follow'd mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go)

Juno commanded to go down; who, in his pow'r's despite,

Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night.

And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts.

The Trojans all to council call'd, ere they refresh'd their hearts

With any supper, nor would sit; they grew so stiff with fear

To see, so long from heavy fight, Æacides appear.

Polydamas began to speak, who only could discern

Things future by things past, and was vow'd friend to Hector, born

In one night both. He thus advis'd: “Consider well, my friends,

In this so great and sudden change, that now itself extends,

What change is best for us t' oppose. To this stands my command:

Make now the town our strength, not here abide light's rosy hand,

Our wall being far off, and our foe, much greater, still as near.

Till this foe came, I well was pleas'd to keep our watches here,

My fit hope of the fleet's surprise inclin'd me so; but now

'Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength increas'd, we must allow

Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly

That this indiff'rency of fight 'twixt us and th' enemy,

And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine

Th' uncurb'd mind of Æacides. The height of his design

Aims at our city and our wives; and all bars in his way

(Being back'd with less than walls) his pow'r will scorn to make his stay,

And over-run, as over-seen and not his object. Then

Let Troy be freely our retreat; lest, being enforc'd, our men

'Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night

May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might

To spend at random; that being sure. If next light show us here

To his assaults, each man will wish, that Troy his refuge were,

And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heav'n mine ear

Were free ev'n now of those complaints, that you must after hear

If ye remove not! If ye yield, though wearied with a fight

So late and long, we shall have strength in council and the night.

And (where we here have no more force, than need will force us to,

And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow'rs, walls will do

What wants in us; and in the morn, all arm'd upon our tow'rs,

We all will stand out to our foe. 'Twill trouble all his pow'rs,

To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse

His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way's course,

Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls,

And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals.

For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst,

Or ever feed him with sack'd Troy? The dogs shall eat him first.”

At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said: “This makes not great

Your grace with me, Polydamas, that argue for retreat

To Troy's old prison. Have we not enough of those tow'rs yet?

And is not Troy yet charg'd enough, with impositions set

Upon her citizens, to keep our men from spoil without,

But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout

As well as purses may be plagu'd? Before time, Priam's town

Traffick'd with divers-languag'd men, and all gave the renown

Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding; but her store

Is now from ev'ry house exhaust; possessions evermore

Are sold out into Phrygia and lovely Mæony;

And have been ever since Jove's wrath. And now his clemency

Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude

The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, to slack it, and extrude

His offer'd bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray

This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey;

If any will, I'll check his will. But what our self command,

Let all observe. Take suppers all, keep watch of ev'ry hand.

If any Trojan have some spoil, that takes his too much care,

Make him dispose it publicly; 'tis better any fare

The better for him, than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies,

Let all arm for a fierce assault. If great Achilles rise,

And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him.

On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb

To stand his worst, and give or take. Mars is our common lord,

And the desirous swordsman's life he ever puts to sword.”

This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise;

Minerva robb'd them of their brains, to like the ill advice

The great man gave, and leave the good since by the meaner given.

All took their suppers; but the Greeks spent all the heavy even

About Patroclus' mournful rites, Pelides leading all

In all the forms of heaviness. He by his side did fall,

And his man-slaught'ring hands impos'd into his oft-kiss'd breast,

Sighs blew up sighs; and lion-like, grac'd with a goodly crest,

That in his absence being robb'd by hunters of his whelps,

Returns to his so desolate den, and, for his wanted helps,

Beholding his unlook'd-for wants, flies roaring back again,

Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain;

So mourn'd Pelides his late loss, so weighty were his moans,

Which, for their dumb sounds, now gave words to all his Myrmidons:

“O Gods,” said he, “how vain a vow I made, to cheer the mind

Of sad Menœtius, when his son his hand to mine resign'd,

That high-tow'r'd Opus he should see, and leave ras'd Ilion

With spoil and honour, ev'n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none

Wish'd passages to all his vows; we both were destinate

To bloody one earth here in Troy; nor any more estate

In my return hath Peleüs or Thetis; but because

I last must undergo the ground, I'll keep no fun'ral laws,

O my Patroclus, for thy corse, before I hither bring

The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering.

Twelve youths, the most renown'd of Troy, I'll sacrifice beside,

Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified.

In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me,

And round about thy honour'd corse, these dames of Dardanie,

And Ilion, with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow'rs

And labours purchas'd from the rich and by-us-ruin'd tow'rs,

And cities strong and populous with divers-languag'd men)

Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens'd to abstain

From solemn watches, their toil'd eyes held ope with endless tears.”

This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers

To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester'd gore

From off the person. They obey'd, and presently did pour

Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame

The belly of the tripod girt, till fire's hot quality came

Up to the water. Then they wash'd, and fill'd the mortal wound

With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp'd the body round

In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed;

When all watch'd all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead.

Then Jove ask'd Juno: “If at length she had sufficed her spleen,

Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been

The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer

Their quarrel?” She, incens'd, ask'd: “Why he still was taunting her,

For doing good to those she lov'd? since man to man might show

Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know

Half such deep counsels as disclos'd beneath her far-seeing state,

She, reigning queen of Goddesses, and being in generate

Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife

And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife

From time to time 'twixt him and her?” This private speech they had.

And now the Silver-footed Queen had her ascension made

To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court

Of fi'ry Vulcan, beautiful amongst th' immortal sort,

Which yet the lame God built himself. She found him in a sweat

About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat.

To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall,

To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal,

And enter his rich dining room, alone, their motion free,

And back again go out alone, miraculous to see.

And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add,

For which he now was making studs. And while their fashion had

Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near;

Whom first fair well-hair'd Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere

Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said:

“Why, fair-train'd, lov'd, and honour'd dame, are we thus visited

By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before.

Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more.”

She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit

Of Vulcan's hand) she made her sit, a footstool of a suit

Apposing to her crystal feet; and call'd the God of fire,

For Thetis was arriv'd, she said, and entertain'd desire

Of some grace that his art might grant. “Thetis to me,” said he,

“Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish'd me,

When grief consum'd me, being cast from heaven by want of shame

In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame,

Would have me made away; and then, had I been much distress'd

Had Thetis and Eurynome in either's silver breast

Not rescu'd me; Eurynome that to her father had

Reciprocal Oceanus. Nine years with them I made

A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave,

Whistles, and carquenets. My forge stood in a hollow cave,

About which, murmuring with foam, th' unmeasur'd ocean

Was ever beating; my abode known nor to God nor man,

But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still,

They were my loving guardians. Now then the starry hill,

And our particular roof, thus grac'd with bright-hair'd Thetis here,

It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear

To her thoughts, as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose

Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose

From fire, and lay up all my tools.” Then from an anvil rose

Th' unwieldy monster, halt'd down, and all awry he went.

He took his bellows from the fire, and ev'ry instrument

Lock'd safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest

His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast;

Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth,

Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth

Living young damsels, fill'd with minds and wisdom, and were train'd

In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain'd,

And mov'd with voluntary pow'rs; and these still wait'd on

Their fi'ry sov'reign, who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne

Of fair-hair'd Thetis, took her hand, and thus he court'd her:

“For what affair, O fair-train'd queen, rev'rend to me, and dear,

Is our court honour'd with thy state, that hast not heretofore

Perform'd this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more

Than my mind gives me charge to grant. Can my pow'r get it wrought?

Or that it have not only pow'r of only act in thought?”

She thus: “O Vulcan, is there one, of all that are of heav'n,

That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv'n

So much affliction as to me: whom only he subjects,

Of all the sea-nymphs, to a man; and makes me bear th' affects

Of his frail bed; and all against the freedom of my will;

And he worn to his root with age? From him another ill

Ariseth to me; Jupiter, you know, hath giv'n a son,

The excellent'st of men, to me; whose education

On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown

As in a fruitful soil a tree, that puts not up alone

His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth

A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought,

That never I shall see him more return'd to Peleus' court.

And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort;

For first he won a lovely dame, and had her by the hands

Of all the Grecians, yet this dame Atrides countermands;

For which in much disdain he mourn'd, and almost pin'd away.

And yet for this wrong he receiv'd some honour, I must say;

The Greeks, being shut up at their ships, not suffer'd to advance

A head out of their batter'd sterns; and mighty suppliance

By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos'd

For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos'd

Their whole host in this gen'ral plague. But now his friend put on

His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon

In conduct of him. All the day, they fought before the gates

Of Scæa, and, most certainly, that day had seen the dates

Of all Troy's honours in her dust, if Phœbus (having done

Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menœtius' son

Had not with partial hands enforc'd, and all the honour giv'n

To Hector, who hath pris'd his arms. And therefore I am driv'n

T' embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov'd son. Alas!

His life, prefix'd so short a date, had need spent that with grace.

A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets, such

As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much,

I sue for at thy famous hands.” “Be confident,” said he,

“Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care. I would it lay in me

To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him,

As well as with renownéd arms to fit his goodly limb;

Which thy hands shall convey to him; and all eyes shall admire,

See, and desire again to see, thy satisfied desire.”

This said, he left her there, and forth did to his bellows go,

Appos'd them to the fire again, commanding them to blow.

Through twenty holes made to his hearth at once blew twenty pair,

That fir'd his coals, sometimes with soft, sometimes with vehement, air,

As he will'd, and his work requir'd. Amids the flame he cast

Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass; and in a stock he plac'd

A mighty anvil; his right hand a weighty hammer held,

His left his tongs. And first he forg'd a strong and spacious shield

Adorn'd with twenty sev'ral hues; about whose verge he beat

A ring, three-fold and radiant, and on the back he set

A silver handle; five-fold were the equal lines he drew

About the whole circumference, in which his hand did shew

(Directed with a knowing mind) a rare variety;

For in it he presented Earth; in it the Sea and Sky;

In it the never-wearied Sun, the Moon exactly round,

And all those Stars with which the brows of ample heav'n are crown'd,

Orion, all the Pleiades, and those sev'n Atlas got,

The close-beam'd Hyades, the Bear, surnam'd the Chariot,

That turns about heav'n's axle-tree, holds ope a constant eye

Upon Orion, and, of all the cressets in the sky,

His golden forehead never bows to th' Ocean empery.

Two cities in the spacious shield he built, with goodly state

Of divers-languag'd men. The one did nuptials celebrate,

Observing at them solemn feasts, the brides from forth their bow'rs

With torches usher'd through the streets, a world of paramours

Excited by them; youths and maids in lovely circles danc'd,

To whom the merry pipe and harp their spritely sounds advanc'd,

The matrons standing in their doors admiring. Other where

A solemn court of law was kept, where throngs of people were.

The case in question was a fine, impos'd on one that slew

The friend of him that follow'd it, and for the fine did sue;

Which th' other pleaded he had paid. The adverse part denied,

And openly affirm'd he had no penny satisfied.

Both put it to arbitrement. The people cried 'twas best

For both parts, and th' assistants too gave their dooms like the rest.

The heralds made the people peace. The seniors then did bear

The voiceful heralds' sceptres, sat within a sacred sphere,

On polish'd stones, and gave by turns their sentence. In the court

Two talents' gold were cast, for him that judg'd in justest sort.

The other city other wars employ'd as busily;

Two armies glittering in arms, of one confed'racy,

Besieg'd it; and a parlè had with those within the town.

Two ways they stood resolv'd; to see the city overthrown,

Or that the citizens should heap in two parts all their wealth,

And give them half. They neither lik'd, but arm'd themselves by stealth,

Left all their old men, wives, and boys, behind to man their walls,

And stole out to their enemy's town. The Queen of martials,

And Mars himself, conducted them; both which, being forg'd of gold,

Must needs have golden furniture, and men might so behold

They were presented Deities. The people, Vulcan forg'd

Of meaner metal. When they came, where that was to be urg'd

For which they went, within a vale close to a flood, whose stream

Us'd to give all their cattle drink, they there enambush'd them,

And sent two scouts out to descry, when th' enemy's herds and sheep

Were setting out. They straight came forth, with two that us'd to keep

Their passage always; both which pip'd, and went on merrily,

Nor dream'd of ambuscadoes there. The ambush then let fly,

Slew all their white-fleec'd sheep, and neat, and by them laid their guard.

When those in siege before the town so strange an uproar heard,

Behind, amongst their flocks and herds (being then in council set)

They then start up, took horse, and soon their subtle enemy met,

Fought with them on the river's shore, where both gave mutual blows

With well-pil'd darts. Amongst them all perverse Contention rose,

Amongst them Tumult was enrag'd, amongst them ruinous Fate

Had her red-finger; some they took in an unhurt estate,

Some hurt yet living, some quite slain, and those they tugg'd to them

By both the feet, stripp'd off and took their weeds, with all the stream

Of blood upon them that their steels had manfully let out.

They far'd as men alive indeed drew dead indeed about.

To these the fi'ry Artizan did add a new-ear'd field,

Large and thrice plough'd, the soil being soft, and of a wealthy yield;

And many men at plough he made, that drave earth here and there,

And turn'd up stitches orderly; at whose end when they were,

A fellow ever gave their hands full cups of luscious wine;

Which emptied, for another stitch, the earth they undermine,

And long till th' utmost bound be reach'd of all the ample close.

The soil turn'd up behind the plough, all black like earth arose,

Though forg'd of nothing else but gold, and lay in show as light

As if it had been plough'd indeed, miraculous to sight.

There grew by this a field of corn, high, ripe, where reapers wrought,

And let thick handfuls fall to earth, for which some bought

Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood, and took the handfuls reap'd

From boys that gather'd quickly up, and by them armfuls heap'd.

Amongst these at furrow's end, the king stood pleas'd at heart,

Said no word, but his sceptre show'd. And from him, much apart,

His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar'd

And having kill'd a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar'd

Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress'd,

And many white wheat-cakes bestow'd, to make it up a feast.

He set near this a vine of gold, that crack'd beneath the weight

Of bunches black with being ripe; to keep which at the height,

A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow'd

An azure moat, and to this guard, a quickset was bestow'd

Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came

In time of vintage. Youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame

Of manly Hymen, baskets bore, of grapes and mellow fruit.

A lad that sweetly touch'd a harp, to which his voice did suit,

Center'd the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do

The wanton's pleasure to their minds, that danc'd, sung, whistled too.

A herd of oxen then he carv'd, with high rais'd heads, forg'd all

Of gold and tin, for colour mix'd, and bellowing from their stall

Rush'd to their pastures at a flood, that echo'd all their throats,

Exceeding swift, and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats

Four herdsmen follow'd; after whom, nine mastiffs went. In head

Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowéd,

Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz'd, and tugg'd off bellowing still;

Both men and dogs came; yet they tore the hide, and lapp'd their fill

Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay'd

To set their dogs on; none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay'd

In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled.

Then in a passing pleasant vale, the famous Artsman fed,

Upon a goodly pasture ground, rich flocks of white-fleec'd sheep,

Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep

From wind and weather. Next to these, he cut a dancing place,

All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze

For fair-hair'd Ariadne made, by cunning Dædalus;

And in it youths and virgins danc'd, all young and beauteous,

And glewéd in another's palms. Weeds that the wind did toss

The virgins wore; the youths wov'n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss

Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too, the virgins' temples crown'd;

The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound.

Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun

As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run,

While he is set; and out again, as full of speed they wound,

Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round,

Delighted with their nimble sport; to end which two begun,

Mids all, a song, and turning sung the sports conclusión,

All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about,

In all his rage, the Ocean, that it might never out.

This shield thus done, he forg'd for him, such curets as outshin'd

The blaze of fire. A helmet then (through which no steel could find

Forc'd passage) he compos'd, whose hue a hundred colours took,

And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr'd, he stuck.

All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her.

She took them all, and like t' the hawk, surnam'd the osspringer,

From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show,

Stoop'd from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow.