O Phœbus, brandisher of darts, and thine, whose rage abides No peace in cities. In this state, these Gods in council sate, All ling’ring purpos’d fight, to try who first would elevate His heav’nly weapon. High-thron’d Jove cried out to set them on, Said, all the field was full of men, and that the earth did groan With feet of proud encounterers, burn’d with the arms of men And barbed horse. Two champions for both the armies then Met in their midst prepar’d for blows; divine Æacides, And Venus’ son. Æneas first stepp’d threat’ning forth the prease, His high helm nodding, and his breast barr’d with a shady shield, And shook his jav’lin. Thetis’ son did his part to the field. As when the harmful king of beasts (sore threaten’d to be slain By all the country up in arms) at first makes coy disdain Prepare resistance, but at last, when anyone hath led Bold charge upon him with his dart, he then turns yawning head, Fell anger lathers in his jaws, his great heart swells, his stern Lasheth his strength up, sides and thighs waddled with stripes to learn Their own pow’r, his eyes glow, he roars, and in he leaps to kill, Secure of killing; so his pow’r then rous’d up to his will Matchless Achilles, coming on to meet Anchises’ son. Both near, Achilles thus inquir’d: “Why stand’st thou thus alone, Thou son of Venus? Calls thy heart to change of blows with me? Sure Troy’s whole kingdom is propos’d: some one hath promis’d thee The throne of Priam for my life; but Priam’s self is wise, And, for my slaughter, not so mad to make his throne thy prise. Priam hath sons to second him. Is’t then some piece of land, Past others fit to set and sow, that thy victorious hand The Ilians offer for my head? I hope that prise will prove No easy conquest. Once, I think, my busy jav’lin drove, With terror, those thoughts from your spleen. Retain’st thou not the time, When single on th’ Idæan hill I took thee with the crime Of runaway, thy oxen left, and when thou hadst no face That I could see; thy knees bereft it, and Lyrnessus was The mask for that? Then that mask, too, I open’d to the air (By Jove and Pallas’ help) and took the free light from the fair, Your ladies bearing prisoners; but Jove and th’ other Gods Then saft thee. Yet again I hope, they will not add their odds To save thy wants, as thou presum’st. Retire then, aim not at Troy’s throne by me; fly ere thy soul flies; fools are wise too late.” He answer’d him: “Hope not that words can child-like terrify My stroke-proof breast. I well could speak in this indecency, And use tart terms; but we know well what stock us both put out, Too gentle to bear fruits so rude. Our parents ring about The world’s round bosom, and by fame their dignities are blown To both our knowledges, by sight neither to either known, Thine to mine eyes, nor mine to thine. Fame sounds thy worthiness From famous Peleus; the sea-nymph, that hath the lovely tress, Thetis, thy mother; I myself affirm my sire to be