And more on industry than force relies. With hands on high, Entellus threats the foe; But Dares watch’d the motion from below, And slipp’d aside, and shunn’d the long descending blow. Entellus wastes his forces on the wind, And, thus deluded of the stroke design’d, Headlong and heavy fell; his ample breast And weighty limbs his ancient mother press’d. So falls a hollow pine, that long had stood On Ida’s height, or Erymanthus’ wood, Torn from the roots. The diff’ring nations rise, And shouts and mingled murmurs rend the skies, Acestus runs with eager haste, to raise The fall’n companion of his youthful days. Dauntless he rose, and to the fight return’d; With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burn’d. Disdain and conscious virtue fir’d his breast, And with redoubled force his foe he press’d. He lays on load with either hand, amain, And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain; Nor stops, nor stays; nor rest nor breath allows; But storms of strokes descend about his brows, A rattling tempest, and a hail of blows. But now the prince, who saw the wild increase Of wounds, commands the combatants to cease, And bounds Entellus’ wrath, and bids the peace. First to the Trojan, spent with toil, he came, And sooth’d his sorrow for the suffer’d shame. “What fury seiz’d my friend? The gods,” said he, “To him propitious, and averse to thee, Have giv’n his arm superior force to thine. ’Tis madness to contend with strength divine.” The gauntlet fight thus ended, from the shore His faithful friends unhappy Dares bore: His mouth and nostrils pour’d a purple flood, And pounded teeth came rushing with his blood. Faintly he stagger’d thro’ the hissing throng, And hung his head, and trail’d his legs along. The sword and casque are carried by his train; But with his foe the palm and ox remain. The champion, then, before Aeneas came, Proud of his prize, but prouder of his fame: “O goddess-born, and you, Dardanian host, Mark with attention, and forgive my boast; Learn what I was, by what remains; and know From what impending fate you sav’d my foe.” Sternly he spoke, and then confronts the bull; And, on his ample forehead aiming full, The deadly stroke, descending, pierc’d the skull. Down drops the beast, nor needs a second wound, But sprawls in pangs of death, and spurns the ground. Then, thus: “In Dares’ stead I offer this. Eryx, accept a nobler sacrifice; Take the last gift my wither’d arms can yield: Thy gauntlets I resign, and here renounce the field.”