And better manages his blood than I. But this avails me not; our boaster strove Not with our foes alone, but partial Jove, To save the fleet. This I confess is true, } Nor will I take from any man his due; } But, thus assuming all, he robs from you. } Some part of honour to your share will fall; He did the best indeed, but did not all. Patroclus in Achilles' arms, and thought The chief he seemed, with equal ardour fought; Preserved the fleet, repelled the raging fire, And forced the fearful Trojans to retire. But Ajax boasts, that he was only thought A match for Hector, who the combat sought: Sure he forgets the king, the chiefs, and me, All were as eager for the fight as he; He but the ninth, and, not by public voice, Or ours preferred, was only fortune's choice: They fought; nor can our hero boast the event, For Hector from the field unwounded went. Why am I forced to name that fatal day, That snatched the prop and pride of Greece away? I saw Pelides sink, with pious grief, And ran in vain, alas! to his relief, For the brave soul was fled; full of my friend, I rushed amid the war, his relics to defend; Nor ceased my toil till I redeemed the prey, And, loaded with Achilles, marched away. Those arms, which on these shoulders then I bore, 'Tis just you to these shoulders should restore. You see I want not nerves, who could sustain The ponderous ruins of so great a man; Or if in others equal force you find, None is endued with a more grateful mind. Did Thetis then, ambitious in her care, } These arms, thus laboured, for her son prepare, } That Ajax after him the heavenly gift should wear? } For that dull soul to stare, with stupid eyes, On the learned unintelligible prize? What are to him the sculptures of the shield, Heaven's planets, earth, and ocean's watery field? The Pleiads, Hyads; Less, and Greater Bear, Undipped in seas; Orion's angry star; Two differing cities, graved on either hand? Would he wear arms he cannot understand? Beside, what wise objections he prepares Against my late accession to the wars! Does not the fool perceive his argument Is with more force against Achilles bent? For, if dissembling be so great a crime, The fault is common, and the same in him; And if he taxes both of long delay, My guilt is less, who sooner came away. His pious mother, anxious for his life, Detained her son; and me, my pious wife. To them the blossoms of our youth were due; Our riper manhood we reserved for you. But grant me guilty, 'tis not much my care, When with so great a man my guilt I share; My wit to war the matchless hero brought, But by this fool he never had been caught. Nor need I wonder, that on me he threw