Where now your baffled honour? where the spoil That filled your house, and fame that filled our isle?" Entellus, thus:--"My soul is still the same, Unmoved with fear, and moved with martial fame; But my chill blood is curdled in my veins, And scarce the shadow of a man remains. Oh! could I turn to that fair prime again, That prime, of which this boaster is so vain, The brave, who this decrepit age defies, Should feel my force, without the promised prize." He said; and, rising at the word, he threw Two ponderous gauntlets down in open view-- Gauntlets, which Eryx wont in fight to wield, And sheath his hands with, in the listed field. With fear and wonder seized, the crowd beholds The gloves of death, with seven distinguished folds Of tough bull-hides; the space within is spread With iron, or with loads of heavy lead: Dares himself was daunted at the sight, Renounced his challenge, and refused to fight. Astonished at their weight, the hero stands, And poised the ponderous engines in his hands. "What had your wonder (said Entellus) been, } Had you the gauntlets of Alcides seen, } Or viewed the stern debate on this unhappy green! } These, which I bear, your brother Eryx bore, Still marked with battered brains and mingled gore. With these he long sustained the Herculean arm; And these I wielded while my blood was warm, This languished frame while better spirits fed, Ere age unstrung my nerves, or time o'ersnowed my head. But, if the challenger these arms refuse, And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; If great Æneas and Acestes join In his request, these gauntlets I resign; Let us with equal arms perform the fight, And let him leave to fear, since I resign my right." This said, Entellus for the strife prepares; Stripped of his quilted coat, his body bares; Composed of mighty bones and brawn, he stands, A goodly towering object on the sands. Then just Æneas equal arms supplied, Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar; With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. One on his youth and pliant limbs relies; One on his sinews, and his giant size. The last is stiff with age, his motion slow; } He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, } And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow. } Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike; Their ways are different, but their art alike. Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound. A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes-- Nor always errs; for oft the gauntlet draws A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. Heavy with age, Entellus stands his ground,