The lance his target took, Which could not interrupt the blow, that through it clearly strook, And in his belly’s rim was sheath’d, beneath his girdle-stead. He sounded falling, and his arms with him resounded, dead. Then fell two princes of the Greeks by great Æneas’ ire, Diocleus’ sons (Orsilochus and Crethon), whose kind sire In bravely-builded Phæra dwelt, rich, and of sacred blood. He was descended lineally from great Alphæus’ flood, That broadly flows through Pyles’ fields; Alphæus did beget Orsilochus, who in the rule of many men was set; And that Orsilochus begat the rich Diocleüs; Diocleus sire to Crethon was, and this Orsilochus. Both these; arriv’d at man’s estate, with both th’ Atrides went, To honour them in th’ Ilion wars; and both were one day sent, To death as well as Troy, for death hid both in one black hour. As two young lions (with their dam, sustain’d but to devour) Bred on the tops of some steep hill, and in the gloomy deep Of an inaccessible wood, rush out, and prey on sheep, Steers, oxen, and destroy men’s stalls, so long that they come short, And by the owner’s steel are slain; in such unhappy sort Fell these beneath Æneas’ pow’r. When Menelaus view’d Like two tall fir-trees these two fall, their timeless falls he rued, And to the first fight, where they lay, a vengeful force he took; His arms beat back the sun in flames, a dreadful lance he shook; Mars put the fury in his mind, that by Æneas’ hands, Who was to make the slaughter good, he might have strew’d the sands. Antilochus, old Nestor’s son, observing he was bent To urge a combat of such odds, and knowing, the event Being ill on his part, all their pains (alone sustain’d for him) Err’d from their end, made after hard, and took them in the trim Of an encounter. Both their hands and darts advanc’d, and shook, And both pitch’d in full stand of charge; when suddenly the look Of Anchisiades took note of Nestor’s valiant son, In full charge too; which, two to one, made Venus’ issue shun The hot adventure, though he were a soldier well-approv’d. Then drew they off their slaughter’d friends; who giv’n to their belov’d, They turn’d where fight show’d deadliest hate; and there mix’d with the dead Pylæmen, that the targeteers of Paphlagonia led, A man like Mars; and with him fell good Mydon that did guide His chariot, Atymnus’ son. The prince Pylæmen died By Menelaus; Nestor’s joy slew Mydon; one before The other in the chariot. Atrides’ lance did gore Pylæmen’s shoulder, in the blade. Antilochus did force A mighty stone up from the earth, and, as he turn’d his horse, Strook Mydon’s elbow in the midst; the reins of ivory Fell from his hands into the dust; Antilochus let fly His sword withal, and, rushing in, a blow so deadly laid Upon his temples, that he groan’d, tumbled to earth, and stay’d A mighty while preposterously (because the dust was deep) Upon his neck and shoulders there, ev’n till his foe took keep