In Lemnos vaunting you the best of all the Grecian host? ‘We are the strongest men,’ ye said, ‘we will command the most, Eating most flesh of high-horn’d beeves, and drinking cups full crown’d, And ev’ry man a hundred foes, two hundred, will confound; Now all our strength, dar’d to our worst; one Hector cannot tame,’ Who presently with horrid fire, will all our fleet inflame. O Father Jove, hath ever yet thy most unsuffer’d hand Afflicted, with such spoil of souls, the king of any land, And taken so much fame from him? when I did never fail, (Since under most unhappy stars; this fleet was under sail) Thy glorious altars, I protest, but, above all the Gods, Have burnt fat thighs of beeves to thee, and pray’d to raze th’ abodes Of rape-defending Ilions. Yet grant, almighty Jove, One favour;—that we may at least with life from hence remove, Not under such inglorious hands, the hands of death employ; And, where Troy should be stoop’d by Greece, let Greece fall under Troy.” To this ev’n weeping king did Jove remorseful audience give, And shook great heav’n to him, for sign his men and he should live. Then quickly cast he off his hawk, the eagle prince of air, That perfects his unspotted vows; who seiz’d in her repair A sucking hind calf, which she truss’d in her enforcive seres, And by Jove’s altar let it fall, amongst th’ amazéd peers, Where the religious Achive kings, with sacrifice did please The author of all oracles, divine Saturnides. Now, when they knew the bird of Jove, they turn’d courageous head. When none, though many kings put on, could make his vaunt, he led Tydides to renew’d assault, or issu’d first the dike, Or first did fight; but, far the first, stone dead his lance did strike Arm’d Agelaus, by descent surnam’d Phradmonides; He turn’d his ready horse to flight, and Diomed’s lance did seize His back betwixt his shoulder-blades, and look’d out at his breast; He fell, and his arms rang his fall. Th’ Atrides next address’d Themselves to fight; th’ Ajaces next, with vehement strength endued; Idomenëus and his friend, stout Merion, next pursued; And after these Eurypylus, Evemon’s honour’d race; The ninth, with backward-wreathéd bow, had little Teucer place, He still fought under Ajax’ shield, who sometimes held it by, And then he look’d his object out, and let his arrow fly, And, whomsoever in the press he wounded; him he slew, Then under Ajax’ sev’n-fold shield, he presently withdrew. He far’d like an unhappy child, that doth to mother run For succour, when he knows full well, he some shrewd turn hath done. What Trojans then were to their deaths, by Teucer’s shafts impress’d? Hapless Orsilochus was first, Ormenus, Ophelest, Dæter, and hardy Chromius, and Lycophon divine, And Amopaon that did spring from Polyæmon’s line, And Menalippus; all, on heaps, he tumbled to the ground. The king rejoic’d to see his shafts the Phrygian ranks confound, Who straight came near, and spake to him: “O Teucer, lovely man,