Must bear my absence, now a work of more necessity Calls hence, and I must haste to call Achilles to the field. Who knows, but, God assisting me, my words may make him yield? The motion of a friend is strong.” His feet thus took him thence. The rest yet stood their enemies firm; but all their violence (Though Troy fought there with fewer men) lack’d vigour to repell Those fewer from their navy’s charge, and so that charge as well Lack’d force to spoil their fleet or tents. And as a shipwright’s line (Dispos’d by such a hand as learn’d from th’ Artizan divine The perfect practice of his art) directs or guards so well The naval timber then in frame, that all the laid-on steel Can hew no further than may serve, to give the timber th’ end Fore-purpos’d by the skilful wright; so both hosts did contend With such a line or law applied, to what their steel would gain. At other ships fought other men; but Hector did maintain His quarrel firm at Ajax’ ship. And so did both employ About one vessel all their toil; nor could the one destroy The ship with fire, nor force the man, nor that man yet get gone The other from so near his ship, for God had brought him on. But now did Ajax, with a dart, wound deadly in the breast Caletor, son of Clytius, as he with fire address’d To burn the vessel; as he fell, the brand fell from his hand. When Hector saw his sister’s son lie slaughter’d in the sand, He call’d to all his friends, and pray’d they would not in that strait Forsake his nephew, but maintain about his corse the fight, And save it from the spoil of Greece. Then sent he out a lance At Ajax, in his nephew’s wreak; which miss’d, but made the chance On Lycophron Mastorides, that was the household friend Of Ajax, born in Cythera; whom Ajax did defend, Being fled to his protectión, for killing of a man Amongst the god-like Cytherans. The vengeful jav’lin ran Quite through his head, above his ear, as he was standing by His fautour then astern his ship, from whence his soul did fly, And to the earth his body fell. The hair stood up an end On Ajax, who to Teucer call’d (his brother) saying: “Friend Our lovéd consort, whom we brought from Cythera, and grac’d So like our father, Hector’s hand hath made him breathe his last. Where then are all thy death-borne shafts, and that unvalu’d bow Apollo gave thee?” Teucer straight his brother’s thoughts did know, Stood near him, and dispatch’d a shaft, amongst the Trojan fight. It strook Pisenor’s goodly son, young Clitus, the delight Of the renown’d Polydamas, the bridle in his hand, As he was labouring his horse, to please the high command Of Hector and his Trojan friends, and bring him where the fight Made greatest tumult; but his strife, for honour in their sight, Wrought not what sight or wishes help’d; for, turning back his look, The hollow of his neck the shaft came singing on, and strook, And down he fell; his horses back, and hurried through the field The empty chariot. Panthus’ son made all haste, and withheld