A wondrous tumult, and a war betwixt the Curets wrought And brave Ætolians. All the while fierce Meleager fought, Ill-far’d the Curets; near the walls none durst advance his crest, Though they were many. But when wrath inflam’d his haughty breast (Which oft the firm mind of the wise with passion doth infest) Since ’twixt his mother-queen and him arose a deadly strife, He left the court, and privately liv’d with his lawful wife, Fair Cleopatra, female birth of bright Marpessa’s pain, And of Ideus; who of all terrestrial men did reign, At that time, king of fortitude, and for Marpessa’s sake, ‘Gainst wanton Phœbus, king of flames; his bow in hand did take, Since he had ravish’d her, his joy; whom her friends after gave The surname of Alcyone, because they could not save Their daughter from Alcyone’s fate. In Cleopatra’s arms Lay Meleager, feeding on his anger, for the harms His mother pray’d might fall on him; who, for her brother slain By Meleager, griev’d, and pray’d the Gods to wreak her pain With all the horror could be pour’d upon her furious birth. Still knock’d she with her impious hands the many-feeding earth, To urge stern Pluto and his Queen t’ incline their vengeful ears, Fell on her knees, and all her breast dew’d with her fi’ry tears, To make them massacre her son, whose wrath enrag’d her thus. Erinnys, wand’ring through the air, heard, out of Erebus, Pray’rs fit for her unpleaséd mind. Yet Meleager lay Obscur’d in fury. Then the bruit of the tumultuous fray Rung through the turrets as they scal’d; then came th’ Ætolian peers To Meleager with low suits, to rise and free their fears; Then sent they the chief priests of Gods, with offer’d gifts t’ atone His diff’ring fury, bade him choose, in sweet-soil’d Calydon, Of the most fat and yieldy soil, what with an hundred steers Might in a hundred days be plough’d, half that rich vintage bears, And half of naked earth to plough; yet yielded not his ire. Then to his lofty chamber-door, ascends his royal sire With ruthful plaints, shook the strong bars; then came his sisters’ cries; His mother then; and all intreat;—yet still more stiff he lies;— His friends, most rev’rend, most esteem’d; yet none impression took, Till the high turrets where he lay, and his strong chamber, shook With the invading enemy, who now forced dreadful way Along the city. Then his wife, in pitifil dismay, Besought him, weeping; telling him the miseries sustain’d By all the citizens, whose town the enemy had gain’d; Men slaughter’d; children bondslaves made; sweet ladies forc’d with lust; Fires climbing tow’rs, and turning them to heaps of fruitless dust. These dangers soften’d his steel heart. Up the stout prince arose, Indu’d his body with rich arms, and freed th’ Ætolian’s woes, His smother’d anger giving air; which gifts did not assuage, But his own peril. And because he did not disengage Their lives for gifts, their gifts he lost. But for my sake, dear friend,