As that small part he seiz’d outweigh’d all th’ under limbs, and strook His heels up, so that head and face the earth’s possessions took, When all the low parts sprung in air; and thus did Ajax quit Panthœdes’ brave: “Now, Panthus’ son, let thy prophetic wit Consider, and disclose a truth, if this man do not weigh Ev’n with Prothenor. I conceive, no one of you will say That either he was base himself, or sprung of any base; Antenor’s brother, or his son, he should be by his face; One of his race, past question, his likeness shows he is,” This spake he, knowing it well enough. The Trojans storm’d at this, And then slew Acamas, to save his brother yet engag’d, Bœotius, dragging him to spoil; and thus the Greeks enrag’d: “O Greeks, ev’n born to bear our darts, yet ever breathing threats, Not always under tears and toils ye see our fortune sweats, But sometimes you drop under death. See now your quick among Our dead, intranc’d with my weak lance, to prove I have ere long Reveng’d my brother. ’Tis the wish of ev’ry honest man His brother, slain in Mars’s field, may rest wreak’d in his fane.” This stirr’d fresh envy in the Greeks, but urg’d Peneleus most, Who hurl’d his lance at Acamas; he ’scap’d; nor yet it lost The force he gave it, for it found the flock-rich Phorbas’ son, Ilionëus, whose dear sire, past all in Ilion, Was lov’d of Hermes, and enrich’d, and to him only bore His mother this now slaughter’d man. The dart did undergore His eye-lid, by his eye’s dear roots, and out the apple fell, The eye pierc’d through. Nor could the nerve that stays the neck repell His strong-wing’d lance, but neck and all gave way, and down he dropp’d. Peneleus then unsheath’d his sword, and from the shoulders chopp’d His luckless head; which down he threw, the helm still sticking on, And still the lance fix’d in his eye; which not to see alone Contented him, but up again he snatch’d, and show’d it all, With this stern brave: “Ilians, relate brave Ilionëus’ fall To his kind parents, that their roofs their tears may overrun; For so the house of Promachus, and Alegenor’s son, Must with his wife’s eyes overflow, she never seeing more Her dear lord, though we tell his death, when to our native shore We bring from ruin’d Troy our fleet, and men so long forgone.” This said, and seen, pale fear possess’d all those of Ilion, And ev’ry man cast round his eye to see where death was not, That he might fly him. Let not then his grac’d hand be forgot, O Muses, you that dwell in heav’n, that first imbru’d the field With Trojan spoil, when Neptune thus had made their irons yield. First Ajax Telamonius the Mysian captain slew, Great Hyrtius Gyrtiades. Antilochus o’erthrew Phalces and Mermer, to their spoil. Meriones gave end To Morys and Hyppotion. Teucer to fate did send Prothoon and Periphetes. Atrides’ jav’lin chac’d Duke Hyperenor, wounding him in that part that is plac’d Betwixt the short ribs and the bones, that to the triple gut