An angler from some prominent rock draw with his line and hook A mighty fish out of the sea; for so the Greek did pluck The Trojan gaping from his seat, his jaws op’d with the dart; Which when Patroclus drew, he fell; his life and breast did part. Then rush’d he on Erylaus; at whom he hurl’d a stone, Which strake his head so in the midst, that two was made of one; Two ways it fell, cleft through his casque. And then Tlepolemus, Epaltes, Damastorides, Evippus, Echius, Ipheas, bold Amphoterus, and valiant Erymas, And Polymelus, by his sire surnam’d Argeadas, He heap’d upon the much-fed earth. When Jove’s most worthy son, Divine Sarpedon, saw these friends thus stay’d, and others run, “O shame! Why fly ye?” then he cried, “Now show ye feet enow. On, keep your way, myself will meet the man that startles you, To make me understand his name that flaunts in conquest thus, And hath so many able knees so soon dissolv’d to us.” Down jump’d he from his chariot; down leap’d his foe as light. And as, on some far-looking rock, a cast of vultures fight, Fly on each other, strike and truss, part, meet, and then stick by, Tug both with crooked beaks and seres, cry, fight, and fight and cry; So fiercely fought these angry kings, and show’d as bitter galls. Jove, turning eyes to this stern fight, his wife and sister calls, And much mov’d for the Lycian Prince, said: “O that to my son Fate, by this day and man, should cut a thread so nobly spun! Two minds distract me; if I should now ravish him from fight, And set him safe in Lycia; or give the Fates their right.” “Austere Saturnius,” she replied, “what unjust words are these? A mortal, long since mark’d by fate, wouldst thou immortalize? Do, but by no God be approv’d. Free him, and numbers more, Sons of Immortals, will live free, that death must taste before These gates of Ilion; ev’ry God will have his son a God, Or storm extremely. Give him then an honest period In brave fight by Patroclus’ sword, if he be dear to thee, And grieves thee for his danger’d life; of which when he is free, Let Death and Somnus bear him hence, till Lycia’s natural womb Receive him from his brother’s hands, and citizens’; a tomb And column rais’d to him. This is the honour of the dead.” She said, and her speech rul’d his pow’r; but in his safety’s stead, For sad ostent of his near death, he steep’d his living name In drops of blood heav’n swet for him, which earth drunk to his fame. And now, as this high combat grew to this too humble end, Sarpedon’s death had this state more; ’twas usher’d by his friend And charioteer, brave Thrasymed; whom in his belly’s rim Patroclus wounded with his lance, and endless ended him. And then another act of name foreran his princely fate. His first lance missing, he let fly a second that gave date Of violent death to Pedasus; who, as he joy’d to die By his so honourable hand, did ev’n in dying neigh. His ruin startled th’ other steeds, the gears crack’d, and the reins