Nor could his slaughter rest conceal’d from Menelaus’ ear; Who flew amongst the foremost fights, and with his targe and spear Circled the body, as much griev’d, and with as tender heed To keep it theirs, as any dam about her first-born seed, Not proving what the pain of birth would make the love before, Nor to pursue his first attaint Euphorbus’ spirit forbore;[1] But, seeing Menelaus chief in rescue of the dead, Assay’d him thus: “Atrides, cease, and leave the slaughteréd With his embru’d spoil to the man, that first, of all our state, And famous succours, in fair fight, made passage to his fate; And therefore suffer me to wear the good name I have won Amongst the Trojans, lest thy life repay what his hath done.” “O Jupiter,” said he, incens’d, “thou art no honest man To boast so past thy pow’r to do. Not any lion can, Nor spotted leopard, nor boar, whose mind is mightiest In pouring fury from his strength, advance so proud a crest As Panthus’ fighting progeny. But Hyperenor’s pride, That joy’d so little time his youth, when he so vilified My force in arms, and call’d me worst of all our chivalry, And stood my worst, might teach ye all to shun this surcuidrie; I think he came not safely home, to tell his wife his acts. Nor less right of thy insolence my equal fate exacts, And will obtain me, if thou stay’st. Retire then, take advice: A fool sees nought before ’tis done, and still too late is wise.” This mov’d not him but to the worse, since it renew’d the sting That his slain brother shot in him, remember’d by the king, To whom he answer’d: “Thou shalt pay, for all the pains endur’d By that slain brother, all the wounds sustain’d for him, recur’d With one made in thy heart by me. ’Tis true thou mad’st his wife A heavy widow, when her joys of wedlock scarce had life, And hurt’st our parents with his grief; all which thou gloriest in, Forespeaking so thy death, that now their grief’s end shall begin. To Panthus, and the snowy hand of Phrontes, I will bring Those arms, and that proud head of thine. And this laborious thing Shall ask no long time to perform. Nor be my words alone, But their performance; Strength, and Fight, and Terror thus sets on.” This said, he strook his all-round shield; nor shrunk that, but his lance That turn’d head in it. Then the king assay’d the second chance; First praying to the King of Gods; and his dart entry got (The force much driving back his foe) in low part of his throat, And ran his neck through. Then fell pride, and he; and all with gore His locks, that like the Graces were, and which he ever wore In gold and silver ribands wrapp’d, were piteously wet. And when alone in some choice place, a husbandman hath set The young plant of an olive tree, whose root being ever fed With plenty of delicious springs, his branches bravely spread, And all his fresh and lovely head, grown curl’d with snowy flow’rs, That dance and flourish with the winds, that are of gentlest pow’rs;