The javelin wounded me; behold the scar. Then was my time to seek the Trojan war; Then I was Hector's match in open field; But he was then unborn, at least a child; Now, I am nothing. I forbear to tell By Periphantes how Pyretus fell, The Centaur by the Knight; nor will I stay On Amphix, or what deaths he dealt that day; What honour, with a pointless lance, he won, Stuck in the front of a four-footed man; What fame young Macareus obtained in fight, Or dwell on Nessus, now returned from flight; How prophet Mopsus not alone divined, Whose valour equalled his foreseeing mind. Already Cæneus, with his conquering hand, Had slaughtered five, the boldest of their band; Pyrachmus, Helymus, Antimachus, Bromus the brave, and stronger Stiphelus; Their names I numbered, and remember well, No trace remaining, by what wounds they fell. Latreus, the bulkiest of the double race, Whom the spoiled arms of slain Halesus grace, In years retaining still his youthful might, Though his black hairs were interspersed with white, Betwixt the embattled ranks began to prance, Proud of his helm, and Macedonian lance; And rode the ring around, that either host Might hear him, while he made this empty boast. And from a strumpet shall we suffer shame? For Cænis still, not Cæneus, is thy name; And still the native softness of thy kind Prevails, and leaves the woman in thy mind. Remember what thou wert; what price was paid To change thy sex, to make thee not a maid; And but a man in show; go card and spin, And leave the business of the war to men.-- While thus the boaster exercised his pride, The fatal spear of Cæneus reached his side; Just in the mixture of the kinds it ran, Betwixt the nether breast and upper man. The monster, mad with rage, and stung with smart, His lance directed at the hero's heart: It strook; but bounded from his hardened breast, Like hail from tiles, which the safe house invest; Nor seemed the stroke with more effect to come, Than a small pebble falling on a drum. He next his faulchion tried, in closer fight; But the keen faulchion had no power to bite. He thrust; the blunted point returned again:-- Since downright blows, he cried, and thrusts are vain, I'll prove his side;--in strong embraces held, He proved his side; his side the sword repelled; His hollow belly echoed to the stroke: } Untouched his body, as a solid rock; } Aimed at his neck at last, the blade in shivers broke. } The impassive knight stood idle, to deride } His rage, and offered oft his naked side; } At length, Now, monster, in thy turn, he cried, } Try thou the strength of Cæneus:--at the word He thrust; and in his shoulder plunged the sword.