His rule in arms, infring’d his word, and made his war unjust. He is inconstant, impious, mad. Resolve then; firmly trust My aid of thee against his worst, or any Deity; Add scourge to thy free horse, charge home; he fights perfidiously.” This said; as that brave king, her knight, with his horse-guiding friend, Were set before the chariot, for sign he should descend, That she might serve for waggoness, she pluck’d the wagg’ner back, And up into his seat she mounts; the beechen tree did crack Beneath the burthen; and good cause, it bore so huge a thing, A Goddess so replete with pow’r, and such a puissant king. She snatch’d the scourge up and the reins, and shut her heaven’ly look In Hell’s vast helm from Mars’s eyes; and full career she took At him, who then had newly slain the mighty Periphas, Renown’d son to Ochesius, and far the strongest was Of all th’ Ætolians; to whose spoil the bloody God was run. But when this man-plague saw the approach of god-like Tydeus’ son, He let his mighty Periphas lie, and in full charge he ran At Diomed; and he at him. Both near; the God began, And, thirsty of his blood, he throws a brazen lance that bears Full on the breast of Diomed, above the reins and gears; But Pallas took it on her hand, and strook the eager lance Beneath the chariot. Then the knight of Pallas doth advance, And cast a jav’lin off at Mars, Minerva sent it on, That, where his arming girdle gilt, his belly graz’d upon, Just at the rim, and ranch’d the flesh; the lance again he got, But left the wound, that stung him so, he laid out such a throat As if nine or ten thousand men had bray’d out all their breaths In one confusion, having felt as many sudden deaths. The roar made both the hosts amaz’d. Up flew the God to heav’n; And with him was through all the air as black a tincture driv’n To Diomed’s eyes, as when the earth half-choked with smoking heat Of gloomy clouds, that stifle men, and pitchy tempests threat, Usher’d with horrid gusts of wind; with such black vapours plum’d, Mars flew t’ Olympus, and broad heav’n, and there his place resum’d. Sadly he went and sat by Jove, show’d his immortal blood, That from a mortal-man-made wound pour’d such an impious flood, And weeping pour’d out these complaints: “O Father, storms’t thou not To see us take these wrongs from men? Extreme griefs we have got Ev’n by our own deep councils, held for gratifying them; And thou, our council’s president, conclud’st in this extreme Of fighting ever; being rul’d by one that thou hast bred; One never well, but doing ill; a girl so full of head That, though all other Gods obey, her mad moods must command, By thy indulgence, nor by word, nor any touch of hand, Correcting her; thy reason is, she is a spark of thee, And therefore she may kindle rage in men ’gainst Gods, and she May make men hurt Gods, and those Gods that are besides thy seed. First in the palm’s hit Cyprides; then runs the impious deed On my hurt person; and, could life give way to death in me,