To fight uncalled, a voluntary name? Nor shunned the cause, but offered you my aid, While he, long lurking, was to war betrayed: Forced to the field he came, but in the rear, And feigned distraction, to conceal his fear; Till one more cunning caught him in the snare, Ill for himself, and dragged him into war. Now let a hero's arms a coward vest, And he, who shunned all honours, gain the best; And let me stand excluded from my right, Robbed of my kinsman's arms, who first appeared in fight. Better for us at home he had remained, Had it been true the madness which he feigned, Or so believed; the less had been our shame, The less his counselled crime, which brands the Grecian name; Nor Philoctetes had been left inclosed In a bare isle, to wants and pains exposed; Where to the rocks, with solitary groans, His sufferings and our baseness he bemoans, And wishes (so may heaven his wish fulfil!) The due reward to him who caused his ill. Now he, with us to Troy's destruction sworn, Our brother of the war, by whom are borne Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds, With cold and hunger pinched, and pained with wounds, To find him food and clothing, must employ Against the birds the shafts due to the fate of Troy. Yet still he lives, and lives from treason free, Because he left Ulysses' company; Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid, Rather to have been left, than so to death betrayed. The coward bore the man immortal spite, Who shamed him out of madness into fight; Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate, Accused him first of treason to the state; And then, for proof, produced the golden store Himself had hidden in his tent before. Thus of two champions he deprived our host, By exile one, and one by treason lost. Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends, A formidable man, but to his friends; Great, for what greatness is in words and sound; Even faithful Nestor less in both is found; But, that he might without a rival reign, He left his faithful Nestor on the plain; Forsook his friend even at his utmost need, Who, tired, and tardy with his wounded steed, Cried out for aid, and called him by his name; But cowardice has neither ears nor shame. Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid, And, for as much as lay in him, betrayed. That this is not a fable forged by me, Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie, I vouch even Diomede, who, though his friend, Cannot that act excuse, much less defend: He called him back aloud, and taxed his fear; And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear. The gods with equal eyes on mortals look; He justly was forsaken, who forsook; Wanted that succour he refused to lend, Found every fellow such another friend. No wonder if he roared, that all might hear