He said; and, rising at the word, he threw Two pond’rous gauntlets down in open view; Gauntlets which Eryx wont in fight to wield, And sheathe his hands with in the listed field. With fear and wonder seiz’d, the crowd beholds The gloves of death, with sev’n distinguish’d folds Of tough bull hides; the space within is spread With iron, or with loads of heavy lead: Dares himself was daunted at the sight, Renounc’d his challenge, and refus’d to fight. Astonish’d at their weight, the hero stands, And pois’d the pond’rous engines in his hands. “What had your wonder,” said Entellus, “been, Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen, Or view’d the stern debate on this unhappy green! These which I bear your brother Eryx bore, Still mark’d with batter’d brains and mingled gore. With these he long sustain’d th’ Herculean arm; And these I wielded while my blood was warm, This languish’d frame while better spirits fed, Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o’ersnow’d my head. But if the challenger these arms refuse, And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; If great Aeneas and Acestes join In his request, these gauntlets I resign; Let us with equal arms perform the fight, And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right.” This said, Entellus for the strife prepares; Stripp’d of his quilted coat, his body bares; Compos’d of mighty bones and brawn he stands, A goodly tow’ring object on the sands. Then just Aeneas equal arms supplied, Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar; With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. One on his youth and pliant limbs relies; One on his sinews and his giant size. The last is stiff with age, his motion slow; He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow. Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike; Their ways are diff’rent, but their art alike. Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound. A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes. Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground, But with his warping body wards the wound. His hand and watchful eye keep even pace; While Dares traverses and shifts his place, And, like a captain who beleaguers round Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, Views all th’ approaches with observing eyes: This and that other part in vain he tries,