Adrastus’ daughter, and thy wife, the wise Ægiale; When, from this hour not far, she wakes, ev’n sighing with desire To kindle our revenge on thee, with her enamouring fire, In choosing her some fresh young friend, and so drown all thy fame, Won here in war, in her court-piece, and in an opener shame.” This said, with both her hands she cleans’d the tender back and palm Of all the sacred blood they lost; and, never using balm, The pain ceas’d, and the wound was cur’d of this kind Queen of love. Juno and Pallas, seeing this, assay’d to anger Jove, And quit his late-made mirth with them, about the loving Dame, With some sharp jest, in like sort, built upon her present shame. Gray-ey’d Athenia began, and ask’d the Thunderer, If, nothing moving him to wrath, she boldly might prefer, What she conceiv’d, to his conceit; and, staying no reply, She bade him view the Cyprian fruit he lov’d so tenderly, Whom she thought hurt, and by this means;—intending to suborn Some other lady of the Greeks (whom lovely veils adorn) To gratify some other friend of her much-lovéd Troy, As she embrac’d and stirr’d her blood to the Venerean joy, The golden clasp, those Grecian dames upon their girdles wear, Took hold of her delicious hand, and hurt it, she had fear. The Thund’rer smil’d, and call’d to him love’s golden Arbitress, And told her those rough works of war were not for her access; She should be making marriages, embracings, kisses, charms, Stern Mars and Pallas had the charge of those affairs in arms. While these thus talk’d, Tydides’ rage still thirsted to achieve His prise upon Anchises’ son, though well he did perceive The Sun himself protected him; but his desires (inflam’d With that great Trojan prince’s blood, and arms so highly fam’d) Not that great God did reverence. Thrice rush’d he rudely on, And thrice, betwixt his darts and death, the Sun’s bright target shone; But when upon the fourth assault, much like a spirit, he flew, The far-off-working Deity exceeding wrathful grew, And ask’d him: “What! Not yield to gods? Thy equals learn to know. The race of Gods is far above men creeping here below.” This drave him to some small retreat; he would not tempt more near The wrath of him that strook so far; whose pow’r had now set clear Æneas from the stormy field within the holy place Of Pergamus, where, to the hope of his so sov’reign grace, A goodly temple was advanc’d; in whose large inmost part He left him, and to his supply inclin’d his mother’s heart, Latona, and the dart-pleas’d Queen; who cur’d, and made him strong. The silver-bow’d fair God then threw in the tumultuous throng An image, that in stature, look, and arms, he did create Like Venus’ son; for which the Greeks and Trojans made debate, Laid loud strokes on their ox-hide shields, and bucklers eas’ly borne; Which error Phœbus pleas’d to urge on Mars himself in scorn: “Mars, Mars,” said he, “thou plague of men, smear’d with the dust and blood