Defile a triple-feather’d helm, but on the head divine And youthful temples of their prince it us’d, untouch’d, to shine. Yet now Jove gave it Hector’s hands, the other’s death was near. Besides whose lost and filéd helm his huge long weighty spear, Well-bound with iron, in his hand was shiver’d, and his shield Fell from his shoulders to his feet, the bawdrick strewing the field; His curets left him, like the rest. And all this only done By great Apollo. Then his mind took in confusion, The vig’rous knittings of his joints dissolv’d; and, thus dismay’d, A Dardan, one of Panthus’ sons, and one that overlaid All Trojans of his place with darts, swift footing, skill, and force In noble horsemanship, and one that tumbled from their horse, One after other, twenty men, and when he did but learn The art of war; nay when he first did in the field discern A horse and chariot of his guide; this man, with all these parts, (His name Euphorbus) comes behind, and ’twixt the shoulders darts Forlorn Patroclus, who yet liv’d, and th’ other (getting forth His jav’lin) took him to his strength; nor durst he stand the worth Of thee, Patroclus, though disarm’d, who yet (discomfited By Phœbus’ and Euphorbus’ wound) the red heap of the dead He now too late shunn’d, and retir’d. When Hector saw him yield, And knew he yielded with a wound, he scour’d the arméd field, Came close up to him, and both sides strook quite through with his lance. He fell, and his most weighty fall gave fit tune to his chance; For which all Greece extremely mourn’d. And as a mighty strife About a little fount begins, and riseth to the life Of some fell boar resolv’d to drink; when likewise to the spring A lion comes alike dispos’d, the boar thirsts, and his king, Both proud, and both will first be serv’d; and then the lion takes Advantage of his sov’reign strength, and th’ other, fainting, makes Resign his thirst up with his blood; Patroclus, so enforc’d When he had forc’d so much brave life, was from his own divorc’d. And thus his great divorcer brav’d: “Patroclus, thy conceit Gave thee th’ eversion of our Troy, and to thy fleet a freight Of Trojan ladies, their free lives put all in bands by thee; But (too much prizer of thy self) all these are propp’d by me, For these have my horse stretch’d their hoofs to this so long a war, And I (far best of Troy in arms) keep off from Troy as far, Ev’n to the last beam of my life, their necessary day. And here, in place of us and ours, on thee shall vultures prey, Poor wretch; nor shall thy mighty friend afford thee any aid, That gave thy parting much deep charge, and this perhaps be said: ‘Martial Patroclus, turn not face, nor see my fleet before The curets from great Hector’s breast, all gilded with his gore, Thou hew’st in pieces.’ If thus vain were his far-stretched commands, As vain was thy heart to believe his words lay in thy hands.” He, languishing, replied: “This proves, thy glory worse than vain,