| |
| THE CHIEFS 1 were set; the Soldiers crown’d the Field: | |
| To these the Master of the sevenfold Shield | |
| Upstarted fierce: And kindled with Disdain | |
| Eager to speak, unable to contain | |
| His boiling Rage, he rowl’d his Eyes around | 5 |
| The Shore, and Grecian Gallies hall’d a-ground. | |
| Then stretching out his Hands, O Jove, he cry’d, | |
| Must then our Cause before the Fleet be try’d? | |
| And dares Ulysses for the Prize contend, | |
| In sight of what he durst not once defend? | 10 |
| But basely fled that memorable Day, | |
| When I from Hector’s Hands redeem’d the flaming Prey. | |
| So much ’tis safer at the noisy Bar | |
| With Words to flourish than ingage in War. | |
| By different Methods we maintain our Right, | 15 |
| Nor am I made to Talk, nor he to Fight. | |
| In bloody Fields I labour to be great; | |
| His Arms are a smooth Tongue, and soft deceit: | |
| Nor need I speak my Deeds, for those you see; | |
| The Sun and Day are Witnesses for me, | 20 |
| Let him who fights unseen relate his own, | |
| And vouch the silent Stars, and conscious Moon; | |
| Great is the Prize demanded, I confess, | |
| But such an abject Rival makes it less; | |
| That Gift, those Honours, he but hop’d to gain | 25 |
| Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain: | |
| Losing he wins, because his Name will be | |
| Enobled by Defeat, who durst contend with me. | |
| Were my known Valour question’d, yet my Blood | |
| Without that Plea wou’d make my Title good: | 30 |
| My Sire was Telamon whose Arms, employ’d | |
| With Hercules, these Trojan Walls destroy’d; | |
| And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece, | |
| In the first Ship brought home the Golden Fleece; | |
| Great Telamon from Æacus derives | 35 |
| His birth (th’ Inquisitor of guilty Lives | |
| In Shades below where Sysiphus whose Son | |
| This Thief is thought rouls up the restless heavy Stone,) | |
| Just Æacus the King of Gods above | |
| Begot: Thus Ajax is the third from Jove. | 40 |
| Nor shou’d I seek advantage from my Line, | |
| Unless (Achilles) it were mix’d with thine: | |
| As next of Kin Achilles Arms I claim; | |
| This Fellow wou’d ingraft a Foreign Name | |
| Upon our Stock, and the Sysiphian Seed | 45 |
| By Fraud and Theft asserts his Father’s Breed: | |
| Then must I lose these Arms, because I came | |
| To fight uncall’d, a voluntary Name, | |
| Nor shun’d the Cause, but offer’d you my Aid, | |
| While he long lurking was to War betray’d? | 50 |
| Forc’d to the Field he came, but in the Reer; | |
| And feign’d Distraction to conceal his Fear: | |
| Till one more cunning caught him in the Snare; | |
| (Ill for himself) and drag’d him into War. | |
| Now let a Hero’s Arms a Coward vest, | 55 |
| And he who shun’d all Honours, gain the best: | |
| And let me stand excluded from my Right | |
| Rob’d of my Kinsman’s Arms, who first appear’d in Fight. | |
| Better for us at home had he remain’d | |
| Had it been true, the Madness which he feign’d, | 60 |
| Or so believ’d; the less had been our Shame, | |
| The less his counsell’d Crime which brands the Grecian Name; | |
| Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos’d | |
| In a bare Isle to Wants and Pains expos’d, | |
| Where to the Rocks, with solitary Groans | 65 |
| His Suff’rings and our Baseness he bemoans; | |
| And wishes (so may Heav’n his Wish fulfill) | |
| The due Reward to him who caus’d his Ill. | |
| Now he, with us to Troy’s Destruction sworn | |
| Our Brother of the War, by whom are borne | 70 |
| Alcides Arrows, pent in narrow Bounds | |
| With Cold and Hunger pinch’d, and pain’d with Wounds, | |
| To find him Food and Cloathing must employ | |
| Against the Birds the Shafts due to the Fate of Troy. | |
| Yet still he lives, and lives from Treason free, | 75 |
| Because he left Ulysses Company: | |
| Poor Palamede might wish, so void of Aid, | |
| Rather to have been left, than so to Death betray’d. | |
| The Coward bore the Man immortal Spight, | |
| Who sham’d him out of Madness into Fight: | 80 |
| Nor daring otherwise to vent his Hate | |
| Accus’d him first of Treason to the State, | |
| And then for Proof produc’d the golden Store, | |
| Himself had hidden in his Tent before: | |
| Thus of two Champions he depriv’d our Hoast, | 85 |
| By Exile one, and one by Treason lost. | |
| Thus fights Ulysses, thus his Fame extends, | |
| A formidable Man, but to his Friends | |
| Great, for what Greatness is in Words and Sound: | |
| Ev’n faithful Nestor less in both is found: | 90 |
| But that he might without a Rival reign, | |
| He left this faithful Nestor on the Plain; | |
| Forsook his Friend ev’n at his utmost Need, | |
| Who tir’d, and tardy with his wounded Steed | |
| Cry’d out for Aid, and call’d him by his Name; | 95 |
| But Cowardice has neither Ears nor Shame: | |
| Thus fled the good old Man, bereft of Aid, | |
| And for as much as lay in him, betray’d: | |
| That this is not a Fable forg’d by me, | |
| Like one of his, an Ulyssean Lie, | 100 |
| I vouch ev’n Diomede, who tho’ his Friend | |
| Cannot that Act excuse, much less defend: | |
| He call’d him back aloud, and tax’d his Fear; | |
| And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear. | |
| The Gods with equal Eyes on Mortals look, | 105 |
| He justly was forsaken, who forsook: | |
| Wanted that Succour he refus’d to lend, | |
| Found ev’ry Fellow such another Friend: | |
| No wonder, if he roar’d that all might hear; | |
| His Elocution was increas’d by Fear: | 110 |
| I heard, I ran, I found him out of Breath, | |
| Pale, trembling, and half dead, with Fear of Death. | |
| Though he had judg’d himself by his own Laws, | |
| And stood condemn’d, I help’d the common Cause: | |
| With my broad Buckler hid him from the Foe; | 115 |
| (Ev’n the Shield trembled as he lay below;) | |
| And from impending Fate the Coward freed: | |
| Good Heav’n forgive me for so bad a Deed! | |
| If still he will persist, and urge the Strife, | |
| First let him give me back his forfeit Life: | 120 |
| Let him return to that opprobrious Field: | |
| Again creep under my protecting Shield: | |
| Let him lie wounded, let the Foe be near, | |
| And let his quiv’ring Heart confess his Fear; | |
| There put him in the very Jaws of Fate; | 125 |
| And let him plead his Cause in that Estate: | |
| And yet, when snatch’d from Death, when from below | |
| My lifted Shield I loos’d, and let him go: | |
| Good Heav’ns, how light he rose, with what a bound | |
| He sprung from Earth, forgetful of his Wound; | 130 |
| How fresh, how eager then his Feet to ply; | |
| Who had not Strength to stand, had Speed to fly! | |
| Hector came on, and brought the Gods along; | |
| Fear seiz’d alike the Feeble and the Strong: | |
| Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a Dread | 135 |
| Th’ approach, and e’en the sound of Hector bred: | |
| Him, flesh’d with Slaughter, and with Conquest crown’d, | |
| I met, and over-turn’d him to the Ground. | |
| When after, matchless as he deem’d, in Might, | |
| He challeng’d all our Hoast to single Fight; | 140 |
| All Eyes were fix’d on me: The Lots were thrown; | |
| But for your Champion I was wish’d alone: | |
| Your Vows were heard, we Fought and neither yield; | |
| Yet I return’d unvanquish’d from the Field. | |
| With Jove to friend th’ insulting Trojan came, | 145 |
| And menac’d us with Force, our Fleet with Flame: | |
| Was it the Strength of this Tongue-valiant Lord, | |
| In that black Hour, that sav’d you from the Sword? | |
| Or was my Breast expos’d alone, to brave | |
| A thousand Swords, a thousand Ships to save? | 150 |
| The hopes of your return! And can you yield, | |
| For a sav’d Fleet, less than a single Shield? | |
| Think it no Boast, O Grecians, if I deem | |
| These Arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them; | |
| Or, I with them an equal Honour share; | 155 |
| They honour’d to be worn, and I to wear. | |
| Will he compare my Courage with his Slight? | |
| As well he may compare the Day with Night. | |
| Night is indeed the Province of his Reign: | |
| Yet all his dark Exploits no more contain | 160 |
| Than a Spy taken, and a Sleeper slain; | |
| A Priest made Pris’ner, Pallas made a Prey | |
| But none of all these Actions done by Day: | |
| Nor ought of these was done, and Diomed away. | |
| If on such petty Merits you confer | 165 |
| So vast a Prize, let each his Portion share; | |
| Make a just Dividend: and if not all, | |
| The greater part to Diomed will fall. | |
| But why for Ithacus such Arms as those, | |
| Who naked and by Night invades his Foes? | 170 |
| The glitt’ring Helm by Moonlight will proclaim | |
| The latent Robber, and prevent his Game: | |
| Nor could he hold his tott’ring Head upright | |
| Beneath that Motion, or sustain the Weight; | |
| Nor that right Arm cou’d toss the beamy Lance; | 175 |
| Much less the left that ampler Shield advance; | |
| Pond’rous with precious Weight, and rough with Cost | |
| Of the round World in rising Gold emboss’d. | |
| That Orb would ill become his Hand to wield, | |
| And look as for the Gold he stole the Shield; | 180 |
| Which shou’d your Error on the Wretch bestow, | |
| It would not frighten, but allure the Foe: | |
| Why asks he, what avails him not in Fight, | |
| And wou’d but cumber and retard his Flight, | |
| In which his only Excellence is plac’d? | 185 |
| You give him Death, that intercept his hast. | |
| Add, that his own is yet a Maiden-Shield, | |
| Nor the least Dint has suffer’d in the Field, | |
| Guiltless of Fight: Mine batter’d, hew’d, and bor’d, | |
| Worn out of Service, must forsake his Lord. | 190 |
| What farther need of Words our Right to scan? | |
| My Arguments are Deeds, let Action speak the Man. | |
| Since from a Champion’s Arms the Strife arose, | |
| So cast the glorious Prize amid the Foes; | |
| Then send us to redeem both Arms and Shield, | 195 |
| And let him wear who wins ’em in the Field. | |
| He said: A Murmur from the Multitude, | |
| Or somewhat like a stiffled Shout, ensu’d: | |
| Till from his Seat arose Laertes Son, | |
| Look’d down awhile, and paus’d e’er he begun; | 200 |
| Then to th’ expecting Audience rais’d his Look, | |
| And not without prepar’d Attention spoke: | |
| Soft was his Tone, and sober was his Face; | |
| Action his Words, and Words his Action grace. | |
| If Heav’n, my Lords, had heard our common Pray’r, | 205 |
| These Arms had caus’d no Quarrel for an Heir; | |
| Still great Achilles had his own possess’d, | |
| And we with great Achilles had been bless’d. | |
| But since hard Fate, and Heav’ns severe Decree, | |
| Have ravish’d him away from you and me, | 210 |
| (At this he sigh’d, and wip’d his Eyes, and drew, | |
| Or seem’d to draw some Drops of kindly Dew) | |
| Who better can succeed Achilles lost, | |
| Than he who gave Achilles to your Hoast? | |
| This only I request, that neither He | 215 |
| May gain, by being what he seems to be, | |
| A stupid Thing, nor I may lose the Prize, | |
| By having Sense, which Heav’n to him denies: | |
| Since, great or small, the Talent I enjoy’d | |
| Was ever in the common Cause employ’d: | 220 |
| Nor let my Wit, and wonted Eloquence | |
| Which often has been us’d in your Defence | |
| And in my own, this only time be brought | |
| To bear against my self, and deem’d a Fault. | |
| Make not a Crime, where Nature made it none; | 225 |
| For ev’ry Man may freely use his own. | |
| The Deeds of long descended Ancestors | |
| Are but by grace of Imputation ours, | |
| Theirs in effect: but since he draws his Line | |
| From Jove, and seems to plead a Right Divine, | 230 |
| From Jove, like him, I claim my Pedigree, | |
| And am descended in the same degree: | |
| My sire Laertes was Arcesius Heir, | |
| Arcesius was the Son of Jupiter: | |
| No Paricide, no banish’d Man, is known | 235 |
| In all my Line: Let him excuse his own. | |
| Hermes ennobles too my Mother’s Side, | |
| By both my Parents to the Gods ally’d; | |
| But not because that on the Female Part | |
| My Blood is better, dare I claim Desert, | 240 |
| Or that my Sire from Paricide is free, | |
| But judge by Merit betwixt Him and Me: | |
| The Prize be to the best; provided yet, | |
| That Ajax for awhile his Kin forget, | |
| And his great Sire, and greater Uncles Name, | 245 |
| To fortify by them his feeble Claim: | |
| Be Kindred and Relation laid aside, | |
| And Honours Cause by Laws of Honour try’d: | |
| For if he plead Proximity of Blood; | |
| That empty Title is with Ease withstood. | 250 |
| Peleus, the Hero’s Sire, more nigh than he, | |
| And Pyrrhus, his undoubted Progeny, | |
| Inherit first these Trophies of the Field; | |
| To Scyros, or to Phthya, 2 send the Shield: | |
| And Teucer has an Uncle’s Right; yet he | 255 |
| Waves his Pretensions, nor contends with me. | |
| Then since the Cause on pure Desert is plac’d, | |
| Whence shall I take my Rise, what reckon last? | |
| I not presume on ev’ry Act to dwell, | |
| But take these few, in order as they fell. | 260 |
| Thetis, who knew the Fates, apply’d her Care, | |
| To keep Achilles in Disguise from War; | |
| And till the threat’ning Influence were past, | |
| A Woman’s Habit on the Hero cast: | |
| All Eyes were couzen’d by the borrow’d Vest, | 265 |
| And Ajax (never wiser than the rest) | |
| Found no Pelides there: At length I came | |
| With proffer’d Wares to this pretended Dame; | |
| She not discover’d by her Mien or Voice, | |
| Betray’d her Manhood by her manly Choice; | 270 |
| And while on Female Toys her Fellows look, | |
| Grasp’d in her Warlike Hand, a Javelin shook; | |
| Whom, by this Act reveal’d, I thus bespoke: | |
| O Goddess-born! resist not Heav’ns Decree, | |
| The Fall of Ilium is reserv’d for thee; | 275 |
| Then seiz’d him, and, produc’d in open Light, | |
| Sent blushing to the Field the fatal Knight. | |
| Mine then are all his Actions of the War; | |
| Great Telephus was conquer’d by my Spear, | |
| And after cur’d: To me the Thebans owe, | 280 |
| Lesbos and Tenedos, their Overthrow; | |
| Syros and Cylla! Not on all to dwell, | |
| By me Lyrnesus, and strong Chrysa fell: | |
| And since I sent the Man who Hector slew, | |
| To me the noble Hector’s Death is due: | 285 |
| Those Arms I put into his living Hand, | |
| Those Arms, Pelides dead, I now demand. | |
| When Greece was injur’d in the Spartan Prince, | |
| And met at Aulis to revenge th’ Offence, | |
| ’Twas a dead Calm, or adverse Blasts that reign’d, | 290 |
| And in the Port the Wind-bound Fleet detain’d: | |
| Bad Signs were seen, and Oracles severe | |
| Were daily thunder’d in our General’s Ear: | |
| That by his Daughter’s Blood we must appease | |
| Diana’s kindled Wrath, and free the Seas. | 295 |
| Affection, Int’rest, Fame, his Heart assail’d; | |
| But soon the Father o’er the King prevail’d: | |
| Bold, on himself he took the pious Crime, | |
| As angry with the Gods, as they with him. | |
| No Subject cou’d sustain their Sov’raign’s Look, | 300 |
| Till this hard Enterprize I undertook: | |
| I only durst th’ Imperial Pow’r controul, | |
| And undermin’d the Parent in his Soul; | |
| Forc’d him t’ exert the King for common Good, | |
| And pay our Ransom with his Daughters Blood. | 305 |
| Never was Cause more difficult to plead, | |
| Than where the Judge against himself decreed: | |
| Yet this I won by Dint of Argument; | |
| The Wrongs his injur’d Brother underwent, | |
| And his own office sham’d him to consent. | 310 |
| ’Twas harder yet to move the Mother’s Mind, | |
| And to this heavy Task was I design’d: | |
| Reasons against her Love I knew were vain: | |
| I circumvented whom I could not gain: | |
| Had Ajax been employ’d, our slacken’d Sails | 315 |
| Had still at Aulis waited happy Gales. | |
| Arriv’d at Troy, your Choice was fix’d on me, | |
| A fearless Envoy, fit for a bold Embassy: | |
| Secure, I enter’d through the hostile Court, | |
| Glitt’ring with Steel, and crowded with Resort: | 320 |
| There, in the midst of Arms, I plead our Cause, | |
| Urge the foul Rape, and violated Laws; | |
| Accuse the Foes, as Authors of the Strife, | |
| Reproach the Ravisher, demand the Wife | |
| Priam, Antenor, and the wiser few, | 325 |
| I mov’d; but Paris and his lawless Crew | |
| Scarce held their Hands, and lifted Swords: But stood | |
| In Act to quench their Impious thirst of Blood: | |
| This Menelaus knows; expos’d to share | |
| With me the rough Preludium of the War. | 330 |
| Endless it were to tell what I have done, | |
| In Arms, or Council, since the Siege begun: | |
| The first Encounters pass’d, the Foe repell’d, | |
| They skulk’d within the Town we kept the Field. | |
| War seem’d asleep for nine long Years, at length, | 335 |
| Both Sides resolv’d to push, we try’d our Strength. | |
| Now what did Ajax while our Arms took Breath, | |
| Vers’d only in the gross mechanick Trade of Death? | |
| If you require my Deeds, with ambush’d Arms | |
| I trap’d the Foe, or tir’d with false Alarms; | 340 |
| Secur’d the Ships, drew Lines along the Plain, | |
| The Fainting chear’d, chastis’d the Rebel-train, | |
| Provided Forage, our spent Arms renew’d; | |
| Employ’d at home, or sent abroad, the common Cause pursu’d. | |
| The King, deluded in a Dream by Jove, | 345 |
| Despair’d to take the Town, and order’d to remove. | |
| What Subject durst arraign the Pow’r supreme, | |
| Producing Jove to justify his Dream? | |
| Ajax might wish the Soldiers to retain | |
| From shameful Flight, but Wishes were in vain: | 350 |
| As wanting of effect had been his Words, | |
| Such as of course his thundring Tongue affords. | |
| But did this Boaster threaten, did he pray, | |
| Or by his own Example urge their stay? | |
| None, none of these, but ran himself away. | 355 |
| I saw him run, and was asham’d to see; | |
| Who ply’d his Feet so fast to get aboard as He? | |
| Then speeding through the Place, I made a stand, | |
| And loudly cry’d, O base degen’rate Band, | |
| To leave a Town already in your Hand! | 360 |
| After so long expence of Blood, for Fame, | |
| To bring home nothing but perpetual Shame! | |
| These Words, or what I have forgotten since, | |
| (For Grief inspir’d me then with Eloquence) | |
| Reduc’d their Minds, they leave the crowded Port, | 365 |
| And to their late forsaken Camp resort; | |
| Dismay’d the Council met: This Man was there, | |
| But mute, and not recover’d of his Fear. | |
| Thersites tax’d the King, and loudly rail’d, | |
| But his wide opening Mouth with Blows I seal’d. | 370 |
| Then, rising, I excite their Souls to Fame, | |
| And kindle sleeping Virtue into Flame, | |
| From thence, whatever he perform’d in Fight | |
| Is justly mine, who drew him back from Flight. | |
| Which of the Grecian Chiefs consorts with Thee? | 375 |
| But Diomede desires my Company, | |
| And still communicates his Praise with me. | |
| As guided by a God, secure he goes, | |
| Arm’d with my Fellowship amid the Foes: | |
| And sure no little Merit I may boast, | 380 |
| Whom such a Man selects from such an Hoast; | |
| Unforc’d by Lots I went without Affright, | |
| To dare with him the Dangers of the Night: | |
| On the same Errand sent, we met the Spy | |
| Of Hector, double tongu’d, and us’d to lie; | 385 |
| Him I dispatch’d, but not till undermin’d | |
| I drew him first to tell what treacherous Troy design’d: | |
| My Task perform’d, with Praise I had retir’d, | |
| But not content with this, to greater Praise aspir’d; | |
| Invaded Rhæsus, and his Thracian Crew, | 390 |
| And him, and his, in their own Strength, I slew; | |
| Return’d a Victor, all my Vows compleat, | |
| With the King’s Chariot, in his Royal Seat: | |
| Refuse me now his Arms, whose fiery Steeds | |
| Were promis’d to the Spy for his Nocturnal Deeds: | 395 |
| And let dull Ajax bear away my Right, | |
| When all his Days out-ballance this one Night. | |
| Nor fought I darkling 3 still: The Sun beheld | |
| With slaughter’d Lycians when I strew’d the Field: | |
| You saw, and counted as I pass’d along, | 400 |
| Alastor, Cromyus, Ceranos the Strong, | |
| Alcander, Prytanis, and Halius, | |
| Noemon, Charopes, and Ennomus, | |
| Choon, Chersidamas; and five beside | |
| Men of obscure Descent, but Courage try’d: | 405 |
| All these this Hand laid breathless on the Ground; | |
| Nor want I Proofs of many a manly Wound: | |
| All honest, all before: Believe not me; | |
| Words may deceive, but credit what you see. | |
| At this he bar’d his Breast, and show’d his Scars, | 410 |
| As of a furrow’d Field, well plough’d with Wars; | |
| Nor is this Part unexercis’d, said he; | |
| That Gyant-bulk of his from Wounds is free: | |
| Safe in his Shield he fears no Foe to try, | |
| And better manages his Blood than I: | 415 |
| But this avails me not; our Boaster strove | |
| Not with our Foes alone, but partial Jove, | |
| To save the Fleet: This I confess is true, | |
| (Nor will I take from any Man his Due:) | |
| But thus assuming all, he robs from you. | 420 |
| Some part of Honour to your share will fall, | |
| He did the best indeed, but did not all. | |
| Patroclus in Achilles Arms, and thought | |
| The Chief he seem’d, with equal Ardour fought; | |
| Preserv’d the Fleet, repell’d the raging Fire, | 425 |
| And forc’d the fearful Trojans to retire. | |
| But Ajax boasts, that he was only thought | |
| A Match for Hector, who the Combat sought: | |
| Sure he forgets the King, the Chiefs, and Me; | |
| All were as eager for the Fight as He: | 430 |
| He but the ninth, and, not by publick Voice, | |
| Or ours preferr’d, was only Fortunes Choice: | |
| They fought, nor can our Hero boast the Event, | |
| For Hector from the Field unwounded went. | |
| Why am I forc’d to name that fatal Day, | 435 |
| That snatch’d the Prop and Pride of Greece away? | |
| I saw Pelides sink, with pious Grief, | |
| And ran in vain, alas, to his Relief; | |
| For the grave Soul was fled: Full of my Friend, | |
| I rush’d amid the War, his Relicks to defend: | 440 |
| Nor ceas’d my Toil till I redeem’d the Prey, | |
| And loaded with Achilles, march’d away: | |
| Those Arms, which on these Shoulders then I bore, | |
| ’Tis just you to these Shoulders should restore. | |
| You see I want not Nerves, who cou’d sustain | 445 |
| The pond’rous Ruins of so great a Man: | |
| Or if in others equal Force you find, | |
| None is endu’d with a more grateful Mind. | |
| Did Thetis then, ambitious in her Care, | |
| These Arms thus labour’d for her Son prepare; | 450 |
| That Ajax after him the heav’nly gift should wear? | |
| For that dull Soul to stare, with stupid Eyes, | |
| On the learn’d unintelligible Prize! | |
| What are to him the Sculptures of the Shield, | |
| Heav’ns Planets, Earth, and Oceans watry Field? | 455 |
| The Pleiads, Hyads; less, and greater Bear, | |
| Undipp’d in Seas; Orion’s angry Star; | |
| Two diff’ring Cities, grav’d on either Hand? | |
| Would he wear Arms he cannot understand? | |
| Beside, what wise Objections he prepares | 460 |
| Against my late Accession to the Wars? | |
| Does not the Fool perceive his Argument | |
| Is with more force against Achilles bent? | |
| For, if Dissembling be so great a Crime, | |
| The Fault is common, and the same in him: | 465 |
| And if he taxes both of long delay, | |
| My Guilt is less, who sooner came away. | |
| His pious Mother anxious for his Life, | |
| Detain’d her Son, and me, my pious Wife. | |
| To them the Blossoms of our Youth were due: | 470 |
| Our riper Manhood we reserv’d for you. | |
| But grant me guilty, ’tis not much my care, | |
| When with so great a Man my Guilt I share: | |
| My Wit to War the matchless Hero brought, | |
| But by this Fool I never had been caught. | 475 |
| Nor need I wonder, that on me he threw | |
| Such foul Aspersions, when he spares not you: | |
| If Palamede unjustly fell by me, | |
| Your Honour suffer’d in th’ unjust Decree: | |
| I but accus’d, you doom’d: And yet he dy’d, | 480 |
| Convinc’d of Treason, and was fairly try’d: | |
| You heard not he was false; your Eyes beheld | |
| The Traytor manifest; the Bribe reveal’d. | |
| That Philoctetes is on Lemnos left, | |
| Wounded, forlorn, of human Aid bereft, | 485 |
| Is not my Crime, or not my Crime alone; | |
| Defend your Justice, for the Fact’s your own: | |
| ’Tis true, th’ Advice was mine: that staying there | |
| He might his weary Limbs with rest repair, | |
| From a long Voyage free, and from a longer War. | 490 |
| He took the Counsel, and he lives at least; | |
| Th’ Event declares I counsell’d for the best: | |
| Though Faith is all in Ministers of State; | |
| For who can promise to be fortunate? | |
| Now since his Arrows are the Fate of Troy, | 495 |
| Do not my Wit, or weak Address, employ; | |
| Send Ajax there, with his persuasive Sense | |
| To mollify the Man, and draw him thence: | |
| But Xanthus shall run backward; Ida stand | |
| A leafless Mountain; and the Grecian Band | 500 |
| Shall fight for Troy; if when my Counsels fail, | |
| The Wit of heavy Ajax can prevail. | |
| Hard Philoctetes, exercise thy Spleen, | |
| Against thy Fellows, and the King of Men; | |
| Curse my devoted Head, above the rest, | 505 |
| And wish in Arms to meet me Breast to Breast: | |
| Yet I the dang’rous Task will undertake | |
| And either die my self, or bring thee back. | |
| Nor doubt the same Success, as when before | |
| The Phrygian Prophet to these Tents I bore, | 510 |
| Surpriz’d by Night, and forc’d him to declare | |
| In what was plac’d the fortune of the War; | |
| Heav’ns dark Decrees, and Answers to display, | |
| And how to take the Town, and where the Secret lay: | |
| Yet this I compass’d, and from Troy convey’d | 515 |
| The fatal Image of their Guardian-Maid; | |
| That Work was mine; for Pallas, though our Friend, | |
| Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend. | |
| Now what has Ajax done, or what design’d, | |
| A noisy Nothing, and an empty Wind? | 520 |
| If he be what he promises in Show, | |
| Why was I sent, and why fear’d he to go | |
| Our boasting Champion thought the Task not light | |
| To pass the Guards, commit himself to Night; | |
| Not only through a hostile Town to pass, | 525 |
| But scale, with steep Ascent, the sacred Place; | |
| With wand’ring Steps to search the Cittadel, | |
| And from the Priests their Patroness to steal: | |
| Then through surrounding Foes to force my way, | |
| And bear in Triumph home the heav’nly Prey; | 530 |
| Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held, | |
| Before that monst’rous Bulk, his sev’nfold Shield | |
| That Night to conquer Troy I might be said | |
| When Troy was liable to Conquest made. | |
| Why point’st thou to my Partner of the War? | 535 |
| Tydides had indeed a worthy share | |
| In all my Toil, and Praise; but when thy Might | |
| Our Ships protected, didst thou singly fight? | |
| All join’d, and thou of many wert but one; | |
| I ask’d no Friend, nor had, but him alone; | 540 |
| Who, had he not been well assur’d, that Art | |
| And Conduct were of War the better part, | |
| And more avail’d than Strength, my valiant Friend | |
| Had urg’d a better Right, than Ajax can pretend: | |
| As good at least Euripylus may claim, | 545 |
| And the more moderate Ajax of the Name: | |
| The Cretan King, and his brave Charioteer, | |
| And Menelaus bold with Sword and Spear; | |
| All these had been my Rivals in the Shield, | |
| And yet all these to my Pretensions yield | 550 |
| Thy boist’rous Hands are then of Use, when I | |
| With this directing Head those Hands apply. | |
| Brawn without Brain is thine: My prudent Care | |
| Foresees, provides, administers the War: | |
| Thy Province is to Fight; but when shall be | 555 |
| The time to Fight, the King consults with me: | |
| No dram of Judgment with thy force is join’d; | |
| Thy Body is of Profit, and my Mind. | |
| By how much more the Ship her Safety owes | |
| To him who steers, than him that only rows, | 560 |
| By how much more the Captain merits Praise | |
| Than he who Fights, and Fighting but obeys; | |
| By so much greater is my Worth than thine, | |
| Who canst but execute what I design. | |
| What gain’st thou brutal Man, if I confess | 565 |
| Thy Strength superiour, when thy Wit is less? | |
| Mind is the Man: I claim my whole Desert | |
| From the Mind’s Vigour, and th’ immortal part. | |
| But you, O Grecian Chiefs, reward my Care, | |
| Be grateful to your Watchman of the War: | 570 |
| For all my Labours in so long a space, | |
| Sure I may plead a Title to your Grace: | |
| Enter the Town; I then unbarr’d the Gates, | |
| When I remov’d their tutelary Fates. | |
| By all our common hopes, if hopes they be | 575 |
| Which I have now reduc’d to Certainty; | |
| By falling Troy, by yonder tott’ring Towers, | |
| And by their taken Gods, which now are ours; | |
| Or if there yet a farther Task remains, | |
| To be perform’d by Prudence or by Pains; | 580 |
| If yet some desperate Action rests behind, | |
| That asks high Conduct, and a dauntless Mind: | |
| If ought be wanting to the Trojan Doom, | |
| Which none but I can manage and o’ercome, | |
| Award those Arms I ask, by your Decree: | 585 |
| Or give to this what you refuse to me. | |
| He ceas’d: And ceasing with Respect he bow’d, | |
| And with his Hand at once the fatal Statue show’d. | |
| Heav’n, Air and Ocean rung, with loud Applause, | |
| And by the general Vote he gain’d his Cause. | 590 |
| Thus Conduct won the Prize, when Courage fail’d, | |
| And Eloquence o’er brutal Force prevail’d. | |
| |
The Death of Ajax He 4 who cou’d often, and alone withstand | |
| The Foe, the Fire, and Jove’s own partial Hand, | |
| Now cannot his unmaster’d Grief sustain, | 595 |
| But yields to Rage, to Madness, and Disdain; | |
| Then snatching out his Fauchion, Thou, said He, | |
| Art mine; Ulysses lays no claim to Thee. | |
| O often try’d, and ever trusty Sword, | |
| Now do thy last kind Office to thy Lord: | 600 |
| ’Tis Ajax, who requests thy Aid, to show | |
| None but himself, himself cou’d overthrow: | |
| He said, and with so good a Will to die | |
| Did to his Breast the fatal Point apply, | |
| It found his Heart, a way till then unknown, | 605 |
| Where never Weapon enter’d but his own. | |
| No Hands cou’d force it thence, so fix’d it stood, | |
| Till out it rush’d, expell’d by Streams of spouting Blood. | |
| The fruitful Blood produc’d a Flow’r, which grew | |
| On a green Stem; and of a Purple Hue: | 610 |
| Like his, whom unaware Apollo slew: | |
| Inscrib’d in both, the Letters are the same, | |
| But those express the Grief, and these the Name. | |
