Paris, betwixt the hosts, to single fight, Of all the Greeks, dares the most hardy knight. King Menelaus doth accept his brave, Conditioning that he again should have Fair Helena, with all she brought to Troy, If he subdu’d; else Paris should enjoy Her, and her wealth, in peace. Conquest doth grant Her dear wreath to the Grecian combatant; But Venus to her champion’s life doth yield Safe rescue, and conveys him from the field Into his chamber, and for Helen sends, Whom much her lover’s foul disgrace offends; Yet Venus for him still makes good her charms, And ends the second combat in his arms. ANOTHER ARGUMENT Gamma the single fight doth sing ‘Twixt Paris and the Spartan king. When ev’ry least commander’s will best soldiers had obey’d, And both the hosts were rang’d for fight, the Trojans would have fray’d The Greeks with noises, crying out, in coming rudely on; At all parts like the cranes that fill, with harsh confusion, Of brutish clangés all the air, and in ridiculous war (Eschewing the unsuffer’d storms, shot from the winter’s star) Visit the ocean, and confer the Pygmei soldiers’ death. The Greeks charg’d silent, and like men, bestow’d their thrifty breath In strength of far-resounding blows, still entertaining care Of either’s rescue, when their strength did their engagements dare. And as, upon a hill’s steep tops, the south wind pours a cloud, To shepherds thankless, but by thieves that love the night, allow’d, A darkness letting down, that blinds a stone’s cast off men’s eyes; Such darkness from the Greeks’ swift feet (made all of dust) did rise. But, ere stern conflict mix’d both strengths, fair Paris stept before The Trojan host; athwart his back a panther’s hide he wore, A crookéd bow, and sword, and shook two brazen-headed darts; With which well-arm’d, his tongue provok’d the best of Grecian hearts To stand with him in single fight. Whom when the man, wrong’d most Of all the Greeks, so gloriously saw stalk before the host; As when a lion is rejoic’d, (with hunger half forlorn,) That finds some sweet prey, as a hart, whose grace lies in his horn, Or sylvan goat, which he devours, though never so pursu’d With dogs and men; so Sparta’s king exulted, when he viewed The fair-fac’d Paris so expos’d to his so thirsted wreak, Whereof his good cause made him sure. The Grecian front did break, And forth he rush’d, at all parts arm’d, leapt from his chariot, And royally prepar’d for charge. Which seen, cold terror shot The heart of Paris, who retir’d as headlong from the king As in him he had shunn’d his death. And as a hilly spring Presents a serpent to a man, full underneath his feet, Her blue neck, swoln with poison, rais’d, and her sting out, to greet His heedless entry, suddenly his walk he altereth, Starts back amaz’d, is shook with fear, and looks as pale as death; So Menelaus Paris scar’d; so that divine-fac’d foe Shrunk in his beauties. Which beheld by Hector, he let go