“O Jove, that Ida dost protect, and hast the titles won Most glorious, most invincible; and thou all-seeing Sun, All-hearing, all-recomforting; Floods; Earth; and Pow’rs beneath, That all the perjuries of men chastise ev’n after death! Be witnesses, and see perform’d the hearty vows we make.— If Alexander shall the life of Menelaus take, He shall from henceforth Helena, with all her wealth, retain, And we will to our household Gods, hoise sail, and home again. If, by my honour’d brother’s hand, be Alexander slain, The Trojans then shall his forc’d queen, with all her wealth, restore, And pay convenient fine to us, aid ours for evermore. If Priam and his sons deny to pay his, thus agreed, When Alexander shall be slain; or that perfidious deed, And for the fine, will I fight here, till dearly they repay, By death and ruin, the amends, that falsehood keeps away.” This said, the throats of both the lambs cut with his royal knife, He laid them panting on the earth, till, quite depriv’d of life, The steel had robb’d them of their strength; then golden cups they crown’d, With wine out of a cistern drawn; which pour’d upon the ground, They fell upon their humble knees to all the Deities, And thus pray’d one of both the hosts, that might do sacrifice: “O Jupiter, most high, most great, and all the deathless Pow’rs! Who first shall dare to violate the late sworn oaths of ours, So let the bloods and brains of them, and all they shall produce, Flow on the stain’d face of the earth, as now this sacred juice; And let their wives with bastardice brand all their future race.” Thus pray’d they; but, with wish’d effects, their pray’rs Jove did not grace; When Priam said: “Lords of both hosts, I can no longer stay To see my lov’d son try his life, and so must take my way To wind-exposéd Ilion. Jove yet and heav’n’s high States Know only, which of these must now pay tribute to the Fates.” Thus, putting in his coach the lambs, he mounts and reins his horse; Antenor to him; and to Troy, both take their speedy course. Then Hector, Priam’s martial son, stepp’d forth, and met the ground, With wise Ulysses, where the blows of combat must resound; Which done, into a helm they put two lots, to let them know Which of the combatants should first his brass-pil’d jav’lin throw; When all the people standing by, with hands held up to heav’n, Pray’d Jove the conquest might not be by force or fortune giv’n, But that the man, who was in right the author of most wrong, Might feel his justice, and no more these tedious wars prolong, But, sinking to the house of death, leave them (as long before) Link’d fast in leagues of amity, that might dissolve no more. Then Hector shook the helm that held the equal dooms of chance, Look’d back, and drew; and Paris first had lot to hurl his lance, The soldiers all sat down enrank’d, each by his arms and horse That then lay down and cool’d their hoofs. And now th’ allotted course