The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Of th’ augur Calchas. By his pace, in leaving us, I knew,

  Without all question, ’twas a God; the Gods are eas’ly known;

  And in my tender breast I feel a greater spirit blown,

  To execute affairs of fight; I find my hands so free

  To all high motion, and my feet seem feather’d under me,”

  This Telamonius thus receiv’d: “So, to my thoughts, my hands

  Burn with desire to toss my lance; each foot beneath me stands

  Bare on bright fire, to use his speed; my heart is rais’d so high

  That to encounter Hector’s self, I long insatiately.”

  While these thus talk’d, as overjoy’d with study for the fight,

  (Which God had stirr’d up in their spirits) the same God did excite

  The Greeks that were behind at fleet, refreshing their free hearts

  And joints, being ev’n dissolv’d with toil; and (seeing the desp’rate parts

  Play’d by the Trojans past their wall) grief strook them, and their eyes

  Sweat tears from under their sad lids, their instant destinies

  Never supposing they could ‘scape. But Neptune, stepping in,

  With ease stirr’d up the able troops, and did at first begin

  With Teucer, and Peneleüs, th’ heroe Leitus,

  Deipyrus, Meriones, and young Antilochus,

  All éxpert in the deeds of arms: “O youths of Greece,” said he,

  “What change is this? In your brave fight, I only look’d to see

  Our fleet’s whole safety; and, if you neglect the harmful field,

  Now shines the day when Greece to Troy must all her honours yield.

  O grief! So great a miracle, and horrible to sight,

  As now I see, I never thought could have profan’d the light!

  The Trojans brave us at our ships, that have been heretofore

  Like faint and fearful deer in woods, distracted evermore

  With ev’ry sound, and yet ‘scape not, but prove the torn up fare

  Of lynces, wolves, and lëopards, as never born to war.

  Nor durst these Trojans at first siege, in any least degree,

  Expect your strength, or stand one shock of Grecian chivalry;

  Yet now, far from their walls, they dare fight at our fleet maintain,

  All by our Gen’ral’s cowardice, that doth infect his men

  Who, still at odds with him, for that will needs themselves neglect,

  And suffer slaughter in their ships. Suppose there was defect

  (Beyond all question) in our king, to wrong Æacides,

  And he, for his particular wreak, from all assistance cease;

  We must not cease t’ assist ourselves. Forgive our Gen’ral then,

  And quickly too. Apt to forgive are all good-minded men.

  Yet you, quite void of their good minds, give good, in you quite lost,

  For ill in others, though ye be the worthiest of your host.

  As old as I am, I would scorn, to fight with one that flies,

  Or leaves the fight as you do now. The Gen’ral slothful lies,

  And you, though slothful too, maintain with him a fight of spleen.

  Out, out, I hate ye from my heart. Ye rotten-minded men,

  In this ye add an ill that’s worse than all your sloth’s dislikes.

  But as I know to all your hearts my reprehension strikes,

  So thither let just shame strike too; for while you stand still here

  A mighty fight swarms at your fleet, great Hector rageth there,

  Hath burst the long bar and the gates.” Thus Neptune rous’d these men,

  And round about th’ Ajaces did their phalanxes maintain

  Their station firm; whom Mars himself, had he amongst them gone,

  Could not disparage, nor Jove’s Maid that sets men fiercer on;

  For now the best were chosen out, and they receiv’d th’ advance

  Of Hector and his men so full, that lance was lin’d with lance,

  Shields thicken’d with opposéd shields, targets to targets nail’d,

  Helms stuck to helms, and man to man grew, they so close assail’d,

  Plum’d casques were hang’d in either’s plumes, all join’d so close their stands,

  Their lances stood, thrust out so thick by such all-daring hands,

  All bent their firm breasts to the point, and made sad fight their joy

  Of both. Troy all in heaps strook first, and Hector first of Troy.

  And as a round piece of a rock, which with a winter’s flood

  Is from his top torn, when a show’r, pour’d from a bursten cloud,

  Hath broke the natural bond it held within the rough steep rock,

  And, jumping, it flies down the woods, resounding ev’ry shock,

  And on, uncheck’d, it headlong leaps, till in a plain it stay,

  And then, though never so impell’d, it stirs not any way;

  So Hector hereto throated threats, to go to sea in blood,

  And reach the Grecian ships and tents, without being once withstood.

  But when he fell into the strengths the Grecians did maintain,

  And that they fought upon the square, he stood as fetter’d then;

  And so the adverse sons of Greece laid on with swords and darts,

  Whose both ends hurt, that they repell’d his worst; and he converts

  His threats, by all means, to retreats; yet made as he retir’d,

  Only t’ encourage those behind; and thus those men inspir’d:

  “Trojans! Dardanians! Lycians! All warlike friends, stand close;

  The Greeks can never bear me long, though tow’r-like they oppose.

  This lance, be sure, will be their spoil; if ev’n the best of Gods,

  High thund’ring Juno’s husband, stirs my spirit with true abodes,”

  With this all strengths and minds he mov’d; but young Deiphobus,

  Old Priam’s son, amongst them all was chiefly virtuous,

  He bore before him his round shield, tripp’d lightly through the prease,

  At all parts cover’d with his shield; and him Meriones

  Charg’d with a glitt’ring dart, that took his bull-hide orby shield,

  Yet pierc’d it not, but in the top itself did piecemeal yield,

  Deiphobus thrust forth his targe, and fear’d the broken ends

  Of strong Meriones’s lance, who now turn’d to his friends;

  The great heroë scorning much by such a chance to part

  With lance and conquest, forth he went to fetch another dart,

  Left at his tent. The rest fought on, the clamour heighten’d there

  Was most unmeasur’d. Teucer first did flesh the massacre,

  And slew a goodly man at arms, the soldier Imbrius,

  The son of Mentor, rich in horse; he dwelt at Pedasus

  Before the sons of Greece sieg’d Troy; from whence he married

  Medesicaste, one that sprung of Priam’s bastard-bed;

  But when the Greek ships, double-oar’d, arriv’d at Ilion,

  To Ilion he return’d, and prov’d beyond comparison

  Amongst the Trojans; he was lodg’d with Priam, who held dear

  His natural sons no more than him; yet him, beneath the ear,

  The son of Telamon attain’d, and drew his lance. He fell,

  As when an ash on some hill’s top (itself topp’d wondrous well)

  The steel hews down, and he presents his young leaves to the soil;

  So fell he, and his fair arms groan’d, which Teucer long’d to spoil,

  And in he ran; and Hector in, who sent a shining lance

  At Teucer, who, beholding it, slipp’d by, and gave it chance

  On Actor’s son, Amphimachus, whose breast it strook; and in

  Flew Hector, at his sounding fall, with full intent to win

  The tempting helmet from his head; but Ajax with a dart

  Reach’d Hector at his
rushing in, yet touch’d not any part

  About his body; it was hid quite through with horrid brass;

  The boss yet of his targe it took, whose firm stuff stay’d the pass,

  And he turn’d safe from both the trunks; both which the Grecians bore

  From off the field. Amphimachus Menestheus did restore,

  And Stichius, to th’ Achaian strength. Th’ Ajaces (that were pleas’d

  Still most with most hot services) on Trojan Imbrius seiz’d.

  And as from sharply-bitten hounds, a brace of lions force

  A new-slain goat, and through the woods bear in their jaws the corse

  Aloft, lift up into the air; so, up into the skies,

  Bore both th’ Ajaces Imbrius, and made his arms their prise.

  Yet, not content, Oïliades, enrag’d to see there dead

  His much-belov’d Amphimachus, he hew’d off Imbrius’ head;

  Which, swinging round, bowl-like he toss’d amongst the Trojan prease,

  And full at Hector’s feet it fell. Amphimachus’ decease,

  Being nephew to the God of waves, much vex’d the Deity’s mind,

  And to the ships and tents he march’d, yet more to make inclin’d

  The Grecians to the Trojan bane. In hasting to which end,

  Idomenëus met with him, returning from a friend,

  Whose ham late hurt, his men brought off; and having giv’n command

  To his physicians for his cure, much fir’d to put his hand

  To Troy’s repulse, he left his tent. Him (like Andremon’s son,

  Prince Thoas, that in Pleuron rul’d, and lofty Calydon,

  Th’ Ætolian pow’rs, and like a God was of his subjects lov’d)

  Neptune encounter’d, and but thus his forward spirit mov’d:

  “Idomenëus, prince of Crete! O whither now are fled

  Those threats in thee, with which the rest the Trojans menacéd?”

  “O Thoas,” he replied, “no one of all our host stands now

  In any question of reproof, as I am let to know,

  And why is my intelligence false? We all know how to fight,

  And, (fear disanimating none) all do our knowledge right.

  Nor can our harms accuse our sloth, not one from work we miss.

  The great God only works our ill, whose pleasure now it is

  That, far from home, in hostile fields, and with inglorious fate,

  Some Greeks should perish. But do thou, O Thoas, that of late

  Hast prov’d a soldier, and was wont, where thou hast sloth beheld,

  To chide it, and exhort to pains, now hate to be repell’d,

  And set on all men.” He replied, “I would to heav’n, that he,

  Whoever this day doth abstain from battle willingly,

  May never turn his face from Troy, but here become the prey

  And scorn of dogs! Come then, take arms, and let our kind assay

  Join both our forces. Though but two, yet, being both combin’d,

  The work of many single hands we may perform. We find,

  That virtue co-augmented thrives in men of little mind,

  But we have singly match’d the great.” Thus said, the God again,

  With all his conflicts, visited the vent’rous flight of men.

  The king turn’d to his tent; rich arms put on his breast, and took

  Two darts in hand, and forth he flew. His haste on made him look

  Much like a fi’ry meteor, with which Jove’s sulph’ry hand

  Opes heav’n, and hurls about the air bright flashes, showing aland

  Abodes that ever run before tempest and plagues to men:

  So, in his swift pace, show’d his arms. He was encounter’d then

  By his good friend Meriones yet near his tent; to whom

  Thus spake the pow’r of Idomen: “What reason makes thee come,

  Thou son of Molus, my most lov’d, thus leaving fight alone?

  Is’t for some wound? The jav’lin’s head, still sticking in the bone,

  Desir’st thou ease of? Bring’st thou news? Or what is it that brings

  Thy presence hither? Be assur’d, my spirit needs no stings

  To this hot conflict. Of myself thou seest I come, and loth,

  For any tent’s love, to deserve the hateful taint of sloth.”

  He answer’d: Only for a dart, he that retreat did make,

  (Were any left him at his tent) for, that he had, he brake

  On proud Deiphobus’s shield. “Is one dart all?” said he,

  “Take one and twenty, if thou like, for in my tent they be;

  They stand there shining by the walls. I took them as my prise

  From those false Trojans I have slain. And this is not the guise

  Of one that loves his tent, or fights afar off with his foe,

  But since I love fight, therefore doth my martial star bestow,

  Besides those darts, helms, targets boss’d, and corslets bright as day.”

  “So I,” said Merion, “at my tent, and sable bark, may say,

  I many Trojan spoils retain, but now not near they be,

  To serve me for my present use; and therefore ask I thee.

  Not that I lack a fortitude to store me with my own,

  For ever in the foremost fights, that render men renown,

  I fight, when any fight doth stir. And this perhaps may well

  Be hid to others, but thou know’st, and I to thee appeal.”

  “I know,” replied the king, “how much thou weigh’st in ev’ry worth,

  What need’st thou therefore utter this? If we should now choose forth

  The worthiest men for ambushes, in all our fleet and host,

  (For ambushes are services that try men’s virtues most,

  Since there the fearful and the firm will, as they are, appear,

  The fearful alt’ring still his hue, and rests not anywhere,

  Nor is his spirit capable of th’ ambush constancy,

  But riseth, changeth still his place, and croucheth curiously

  On his bent haunches; half his height scarce seen above the ground,

  For fear to be seen, yet must see; his heart, with many a bound,

  Off’ring to leap out of his breast, and, ever fearing death,

  The coldness of it makes him gnash, and half shakes out his teeth;

  Where men of valour neither fear, nor ever change their looks,

  From lodging th’ ambush till it rise, but, since there must be strokes,

  Wish to be quickly in their midst) thy strength and hand in these

  Who should reprove? For if, far off, or fighting in the prease,

  Thou shouldst be wounded, I am sure the dart that gave the wound

  Should not be drawn out of thy back, or make thy neck the ground,

  But meet thy belly, or thy breast, in thrusting further yet

  When thou art furthest, till the first, and before him, thou get.

  But on; like children let not us stand bragging thus, but do;

  Lest some hear, and past measure chide, that we stand still and woo.

  Go, choose a better dart, and make Mars yield a better chance.”

  This said, Mars-swift Meriones, with haste, a brazen lance

  Took from his tent, and overtook, most careful of the wars,

  Idomenëus, And such two, in field, as harmful Mars,

  And Terror, his belovéd son, that without terror fights,

  And is of such strength that in war the frighter he affrights,

  When, out of Thrace, they both take arms against th’ Ephyran bands,

  Or ‘gainst the great-soul’d Phlegians, nor favour their own hands,

  But give the grace to others still; in such sort to the fight,

  March’d these two managers of men, in armours full of light.

  And first spake Merion: “On which part, son of Deucalion,

  Serves thy mind to invade the fight? Is’t best to set upon


  The Trojans, in our battle’s aid, the right or left-hand wing,

  For all parts I suppose employ’d?” To this the Cretan king

  Thus answer’d: “In our navy’s midst are others that assist;

  The two Ajaces; Teucer too, with shafts the expertest

  Of all the Grecians, and, though small, is great in fights of stand;

  And these (though huge he be of strength) will serve to fill the hand

  Of Hector’s self, that Priamist, that studier for blows.

  It shall be call’d a deed of height for him (even suff’ring throes

  For knocks still) to outlabour them, and, bett’ring their tough hands,

  Enflame our fleet. If Jove himself cast not his fire-brands

  Amongst our navy, that affair no man can bring to field.

  Great Ajax Telamonius to none alive will yield

  That yields to death, and whose life takes Ceres’ nutritions,

  That can be cut with any iron, or pash’d with mighty stones;

  Not to Æacides himself he yields for combats set,

  Though clear he must give place for pace and free swing of his feet.

  Since then, the battle (being our place of most care) is made good

  By his high valour, let our aid see all pow’rs be withstood

  That charge the left wing, and to that let us direct our course,

  Where quickly feel we this hot foe, or make him feel our force.”

  This order’d, swift Meriones went, and forewent his king,

  Till both arriv’d where one enjoin’d. When, in the Greeks’ left wing,

  The Trojans saw the Cretan king, like fire in fortitude,

  And his attendant, in bright arms so gloriously indu’d,

  Both cheering the sinister troops, all at the king address’d,

  And so the skirmish at their sterns on both parts were increas’d,

  That, as from hollow bustling winds engender’d storms arise,

  When dust doth chiefly clog the ways which up into the skies

  The wanton tempest ravisheth, begetting night of day;

  So came together both the foes, both lusted to assay,

  And work with quick steel either’s death. Man’s fierce corruptress,

  Fight,

  Set up her bristles in the field with lances long and light,

  Which thick fell foul on either’s face. The splendour of the steel,

  In new-scour’d curets, radiant casques, and burnish’d shields, did seel

  Th’ assailer’s eyes up. He sustain’d a huge spirit, that was glad

  To see that labour, or in soul that stood not stricken sad.