He said, and led; and, nothing less for any thing he said, (His speech being season’d with such right) the worthy seconded. And then, as in a sounding vale, near neighbour to a hill, Wood-fellers make a far-heard noise, with chopping, chopping still, And laying on, on blocks and trees; so they on men laid load, And beat like noises into air, both as they strook and trode. But, past their noise, so full of blood, of dust, of darts, lay smit Divine Sarpedon, that a man must have an excellent wit That could but know him, and might fail, so from his utmost head, Ev’n to the low plants of his feet, his form was alteréd. All thrusting near it ev’ry way, as thick as flies in spring, That in a sheep-cote, when new milk assembles them, make wing, And buzz about the top-full pails. Nor ever was the eye Of Jove averted from the fight; he view’d, thought, ceaselessly And diversly upon the death of great Achilles’ friend, If Hector there, to wreak his son, should with his jav’lin end His life, and force away his arms, or still augment the field; He then concluded that the flight of much more soul should yield Achilles’ good friend more renown, and that ev’n to their gates He should drive Hector and his host; and so disanimates The mind of Hector that he mounts his chariot, and takes Flight Up with him, tempting all to her; affirming his insight Knew evidently that the beam of Jove’s all-ord’ring scoles Was then in sinking on their side, surcharg’d with flocks of souls. Then not the noble Lycians stay’d, but left their slaughter’d lord Amongst the corses’ common heap; for many more were pour’d About and on him, while Jove’s hand held out the bitter broil. And now they spoil’d Sarpedon’s arms, and to the ships the spoil Was sent by Menœtiades. Then Jove thus charg’d the Sun: “Haste, honour’d Phœbus, let no more Greek violence be done To my Sarpedon; but his corse of all the sable blood And jav’lins purg’d; then carry him, far hence to some clear flood, With whose waves wash, and then embalm each thorough-cleanséd limb With our ambrosia; which perform’d, divine weeds put on him, And then to those swift mates and twins, sweet Sleep and Death, commit His princely person, that with speed they both may carry it To wealthy Lycia; where his friends and brothers will embrace, And tomb it in some monument, as fits a prince’s place.” Then flew Apollo to the fight, from the Idalian hill, At all parts putting into act his great Commander’s will; Drew all the darts, wash’d, balm’d the corse; which, deck’d with ornament, By Sleep and Death, those feather’d twins, he into Lycia sent. Patroclus then Automedon commands to give his steeds Large reins, and all way to the chace; so madly he exceeds The strict commission of his friend; which had he kept had kept A black death from him. But Jove’s mind hath evermore outstept The mind of man; who both affrights, and takes the victory From any hardiest hand with ease; which he can justify,