“Trojans! Dardanians! Lycians! All warlike friends, stand close; The Greeks can never bear me long, though tow’r-like they oppose. This lance, be sure, will be their spoil; if ev’n the best of Gods, High thund’ring Juno’s husband, stirs my spirit with true abodes,” With this all strengths and minds he mov’d; but young Deiphobus, Old Priam’s son, amongst them all was chiefly virtuous, He bore before him his round shield, tripp’d lightly through the prease, At all parts cover’d with his shield; and him Meriones Charg’d with a glitt’ring dart, that took his bull-hide orby shield, Yet pierc’d it not, but in the top itself did piecemeal yield, Deiphobus thrust forth his targe, and fear’d the broken ends Of strong Meriones’s lance, who now turn’d to his friends; The great heroë scorning much by such a chance to part With lance and conquest, forth he went to fetch another dart, Left at his tent. The rest fought on, the clamour heighten’d there Was most unmeasur’d. Teucer first did flesh the massacre, And slew a goodly man at arms, the soldier Imbrius, The son of Mentor, rich in horse; he dwelt at Pedasus Before the sons of Greece sieg’d Troy; from whence he married Medesicaste, one that sprung of Priam’s bastard-bed; But when the Greek ships, double-oar’d, arriv’d at Ilion, To Ilion he return’d, and prov’d beyond comparison Amongst the Trojans; he was lodg’d with Priam, who held dear His natural sons no more than him; yet him, beneath the ear, The son of Telamon attain’d, and drew his lance. He fell, As when an ash on some hill’s top (itself topp’d wondrous well) The steel hews down, and he presents his young leaves to the soil; So fell he, and his fair arms groan’d, which Teucer long’d to spoil, And in he ran; and Hector in, who sent a shining lance At Teucer, who, beholding it, slipp’d by, and gave it chance On Actor’s son, Amphimachus, whose breast it strook; and in Flew Hector, at his sounding fall, with full intent to win The tempting helmet from his head; but Ajax with a dart Reach’d Hector at his rushing in, yet touch’d not any part About his body; it was hid quite through with horrid brass; The boss yet of his targe it took, whose firm stuff stay’d the pass, And he turn’d safe from both the trunks; both which the Grecians bore From off the field. Amphimachus Menestheus did restore, And Stichius, to th’ Achaian strength. Th’ Ajaces (that were pleas’d Still most with most hot services) on Trojan Imbrius seiz’d. And as from sharply-bitten hounds, a brace of lions force A new-slain goat, and through the woods bear in their jaws the corse Aloft, lift up into the air; so, up into the skies, Bore both th’ Ajaces Imbrius, and made his arms their prise. Yet, not content, Oïliades, enrag’d to see there dead His much-belov’d Amphimachus, he hew’d off Imbrius’ head; Which, swinging round, bowl-like he toss’d amongst the Trojan prease, And full at Hector’s feet it fell. Amphimachus’ decease, Being nephew to the God of waves, much vex’d the Deity’s mind,