by John Dryden
Unpity’d, drag’d around his Native Troy?
And yet the Murd’rer lives: Himself by far 780
A greater Plague, than all the wastful War:
He lives; the proud Pelides lives to boast
Out Town destroy’d, our common Labour lost!
O, cou’d I meet him! But I wish too late
To prove my Trident is not in his Fate! 785
But let him try (for that’s allow’d) thy Dart,
And pierce his only penetrable Part.
Apollo bows to the superiour Throne
And to his Uncle’s Anger, adds his own.
Then in a Cloud involv’d, he takes his Flight, 790
Where Greeks and Trojans mix’d in mortal Fight;
And found out Paris, lurking where he stood,
And stain’d his Arrows with Plebeyan Blood:
Phœbus to him alone the God confess’d,
Then to the recreant Knight he thus address’d. 795
Dost thou not blush, to spend thy Shafts in vain
On a degenerate, and ignoble Train?
If Fame, or better Vengeance be thy Care,
There aim: And with one Arrow, end the war.
He said; and shew’d from far the blazing Shield 800
And Sword, which but Achilles none cou’d weild;
And how he mov’d a God, and mow’d the standing Field.
The Deity himself directs aright
Th’ invenom’d Shaft; and wings the fatal Flight.
Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian Name; 805
And He, the base Adult’rer, boasts the Fame.
A Spectacle to glad the Trojan Train;
And please old Priam, after Hector slain.
If by a Female Hand he had foreseen
He was to die, his Wish had rather been 810
The Lance and double Axe of the fair Warriour Queen.
And now, the Terror of the Trojan Field,
The Grecian Honour, Ornament, and Shield,
High on a Pile th’ Unconquer’d Chief is plac’d:
The God that arm’d him first, consum’d at last. 815
Of all the Mighty Man, the small Remains
A little Urn, and scarcely fill’d, contains.
Yet great in Homer, still Achilles lives;
And equal to himself, himself survives.
His Buckler owns its former Lord; and brings 820
New cause of Strife betwixt contending Kings;
Who Worthiest after him, his Sword to wield,
Or wear his Armour, or sustain his Shield.
Ev’n Diomede sat mute, with down-cast Eyes;
Conscious of wanted Worth to win the Prize: 825
Nor Menelas presum’d these Arms to claim,
Nor He the King of Men, a greater Name.
Two Rivals only rose: Laertes Son,
And the vast Bulk of Ajax Telamon:
The King, who cherish’d each, with equal Love, 830
And from himself all Envy wou’d remove,
Left both to be determin’d by the Laws;
And to the Grecian Chiefs transferr’d the Cause.
The Speeches of Ajax and Ulysses; From Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Book XIII
THE CHIEFS were set; the Soldiers crown’d the Field:
To these the Master of the sevenfold Shield
Upstarted fierce: And kindled with Disdain
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling Rage, he rowl’d his Eyes around 5
The Shore, and Grecian Gallies hall’d a-ground.
Then stretching out his Hands, O Jove, he cry’d,
Must then our Cause before the Fleet be try’d?
And dares Ulysses for the Prize contend,
In sight of what he durst not once defend? 10
But basely fled that memorable Day,
When I from Hector’s Hands redeem’d the flaming Prey.
So much ’tis safer at the noisy Bar
With Words to flourish than ingage in War.
By different Methods we maintain our Right, 15
Nor am I made to Talk, nor he to Fight.
In bloody Fields I labour to be great;
His Arms are a smooth Tongue, and soft deceit:
Nor need I speak my Deeds, for those you see;
The Sun and Day are Witnesses for me, 20
Let him who fights unseen relate his own,
And vouch the silent Stars, and conscious Moon;
Great is the Prize demanded, I confess,
But such an abject Rival makes it less;
That Gift, those Honours, he but hop’d to gain 25
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain:
Losing he wins, because his Name will be
Enobled by Defeat, who durst contend with me.
Were my known Valour question’d, yet my Blood
Without that Plea wou’d make my Title good: 30
My Sire was Telamon whose Arms, employ’d
With Hercules, these Trojan Walls destroy’d;
And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece,
In the first Ship brought home the Golden Fleece;
Great Telamon from Æacus derives 35
His birth (th’ Inquisitor of guilty Lives
In Shades below where Sysiphus whose Son
This Thief is thought rouls up the restless heavy Stone,)
Just Æacus the King of Gods above
Begot: Thus Ajax is the third from Jove. 40
Nor shou’d I seek advantage from my Line,
Unless (Achilles) it were mix’d with thine:
As next of Kin Achilles Arms I claim;
This Fellow wou’d ingraft a Foreign Name
Upon our Stock, and the Sysiphian Seed 45
By Fraud and Theft asserts his Father’s Breed:
Then must I lose these Arms, because I came
To fight uncall’d, a voluntary Name,
Nor shun’d the Cause, but offer’d you my Aid,
While he long lurking was to War betray’d? 50
Forc’d to the Field he came, but in the Reer;
And feign’d Distraction to conceal his Fear:
Till one more cunning caught him in the Snare;
(Ill for himself) and drag’d him into War.
Now let a Hero’s Arms a Coward vest, 55
And he who shun’d all Honours, gain the best:
And let me stand excluded from my Right
Rob’d of my Kinsman’s Arms, who first appear’d in Fight.
Better for us at home had he remain’d
Had it been true, the Madness which he feign’d, 60
Or so believ’d; the less had been our Shame,
The less his counsell’d Crime which brands the Grecian Name;
Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos’d
In a bare Isle to Wants and Pains expos’d,
Where to the Rocks, with solitary Groans 65
His Suff’rings and our Baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (so may Heav’n his Wish fulfill)
The due Reward to him who caus’d his Ill.
Now he, with us to Troy’s Destruction sworn
Our Brother of the War, by whom are borne 70
Alcides Arrows, pent in narrow Bounds
With Cold and Hunger pinch’d, and pain’d with Wounds,
To find him Food and Cloathing must employ
Against the Birds the Shafts due to the Fate of Troy.
Yet still he lives, and lives from Treason free, 75
Because he left Ulysses Company:
Poor Palamede might wish, so void of Aid,
Rather to have been left, than so to Death betray’d.
The Coward bore the Man immortal Spight,
Who sham’d him out of Madness into Fight: 80
Nor daring otherwise to vent his Hate
Accus’d him first of Treason to the State,
And then for Proof produc’d the golden Store,
Himself had hidden in his Tent before:
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br /> Thus of two Champions he depriv’d our Hoast, 85
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:
Ev’n faithful Nestor less in both is found: 90
But that he might without a Rival reign,
He left this faithful Nestor on the Plain;
Forsook his Friend ev’n at his utmost Need,
Who tir’d, and tardy with his wounded Steed
Cry’d out for Aid, and call’d him by his Name; 95
But Cowardice has neither Ears nor Shame:
Thus fled the good old Man, bereft of Aid,
And for as much as lay in him, betray’d:
That this is not a Fable forg’d by me,
Like one of his, an Ulyssean Lie, 100
I vouch ev’n Diomede, who tho’ his Friend
Cannot that Act excuse, much less defend:
He call’d him back aloud, and tax’d his Fear;
And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear.
The Gods with equal Eyes on Mortals look, 105
He justly was forsaken, who forsook:
Wanted that Succour he refus’d to lend,
Found ev’ry Fellow such another Friend:
No wonder, if he roar’d that all might hear;
His Elocution was increas’d by Fear: 110
I heard, I ran, I found him out of Breath,
Pale, trembling, and half dead, with Fear of Death.
Though he had judg’d himself by his own Laws,
And stood condemn’d, I help’d the common Cause:
With my broad Buckler hid him from the Foe; 115
(Ev’n the Shield trembled as he lay below;)
And from impending Fate the Coward freed:
Good Heav’n forgive me for so bad a Deed!
If still he will persist, and urge the Strife,
First let him give me back his forfeit Life: 120
Let him return to that opprobrious Field:
Again creep under my protecting Shield:
Let him lie wounded, let the Foe be near,
And let his quiv’ring Heart confess his Fear;
There put him in the very Jaws of Fate; 125
And let him plead his Cause in that Estate:
And yet, when snatch’d from Death, when from below
My lifted Shield I loos’d, and let him go:
Good Heav’ns, how light he rose, with what a bound
He sprung from Earth, forgetful of his Wound; 130
How fresh, how eager then his Feet to ply;
Who had not Strength to stand, had Speed to fly!
Hector came on, and brought the Gods along;
Fear seiz’d alike the Feeble and the Strong:
Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a Dread 135
Th’ approach, and e’en the sound of Hector bred:
Him, flesh’d with Slaughter, and with Conquest crown’d,
I met, and over-turn’d him to the Ground.
When after, matchless as he deem’d, in Might,
He challeng’d all our Hoast to single Fight; 140
All Eyes were fix’d on me: The Lots were thrown;
But for your Champion I was wish’d alone:
Your Vows were heard, we Fought and neither yield;
Yet I return’d unvanquish’d from the Field.
With Jove to friend th’ insulting Trojan came, 145
And menac’d us with Force, our Fleet with Flame:
Was it the Strength of this Tongue-valiant Lord,
In that black Hour, that sav’d you from the Sword?
Or was my Breast expos’d alone, to brave
A thousand Swords, a thousand Ships to save? 150
The hopes of your return! And can you yield,
For a sav’d Fleet, less than a single Shield?
Think it no Boast, O Grecians, if I deem
These Arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them;
Or, I with them an equal Honour share; 155
They honour’d to be worn, and I to wear.
Will he compare my Courage with his Slight?
As well he may compare the Day with Night.
Night is indeed the Province of his Reign:
Yet all his dark Exploits no more contain 160
Than a Spy taken, and a Sleeper slain;
A Priest made Pris’ner, Pallas made a Prey
But none of all these Actions done by Day:
Nor ought of these was done, and Diomed away.
If on such petty Merits you confer 165
So vast a Prize, let each his Portion share;
Make a just Dividend: and if not all,
The greater part to Diomed will fall.
But why for Ithacus such Arms as those,
Who naked and by Night invades his Foes? 170
The glitt’ring Helm by Moonlight will proclaim
The latent Robber, and prevent his Game:
Nor could he hold his tott’ring Head upright
Beneath that Motion, or sustain the Weight;
Nor that right Arm cou’d toss the beamy Lance; 175
Much less the left that ampler Shield advance;
Pond’rous with precious Weight, and rough with Cost
Of the round World in rising Gold emboss’d.
That Orb would ill become his Hand to wield,
And look as for the Gold he stole the Shield; 180
Which shou’d your Error on the Wretch bestow,
It would not frighten, but allure the Foe:
Why asks he, what avails him not in Fight,
And wou’d but cumber and retard his Flight,
In which his only Excellence is plac’d? 185
You give him Death, that intercept his hast.
Add, that his own is yet a Maiden-Shield,
Nor the least Dint has suffer’d in the Field,
Guiltless of Fight: Mine batter’d, hew’d, and bor’d,
Worn out of Service, must forsake his Lord. 190
What farther need of Words our Right to scan?
My Arguments are Deeds, let Action speak the Man.
Since from a Champion’s Arms the Strife arose,
So cast the glorious Prize amid the Foes;
Then send us to redeem both Arms and Shield, 195
And let him wear who wins ‘em in the Field.
He said: A Murmur from the Multitude,
Or somewhat like a stiffled Shout, ensu’d:
Till from his Seat arose Laertes Son,
Look’d down awhile, and paus’d e’er he begun; 200
Then to th’ expecting Audience rais’d his Look,
And not without prepar’d Attention spoke:
Soft was his Tone, and sober was his Face;
Action his Words, and Words his Action grace.
If Heav’n, my Lords, had heard our common Pray’r, 205
These Arms had caus’d no Quarrel for an Heir;
Still great Achilles had his own possess’d,
And we with great Achilles had been bless’d.
But since hard Fate, and Heav’ns severe Decree,
Have ravish’d him away from you and me, 210
(At this he sigh’d, and wip’d his Eyes, and drew,
Or seem’d to draw some Drops of kindly Dew)
Who better can succeed Achilles lost,
Than he who gave Achilles to your Hoast?
This only I request, that neither He 215
May gain, by being what he seems to be,
A stupid Thing, nor I may lose the Prize,
By having Sense, which Heav’n to him denies:
Since, great or small, the Talent I enjoy’d
Was ever in the common Cause employ’d: 220
Nor let my Wit, and wonted Eloquence
Which often has been us’d in your Defence
And in my own, this only time be brought
> To bear against my self, and deem’d a Fault.
Make not a Crime, where Nature made it none; 225
For ev’ry Man may freely use his own.
The Deeds of long descended Ancestors
Are but by grace of Imputation ours,
Theirs in effect: but since he draws his Line
From Jove, and seems to plead a Right Divine, 230
From Jove, like him, I claim my Pedigree,
And am descended in the same degree:
My sire Laertes was Arcesius Heir,
Arcesius was the Son of Jupiter:
No Paricide, no banish’d Man, is known 235
In all my Line: Let him excuse his own.
Hermes ennobles too my Mother’s Side,
By both my Parents to the Gods ally’d;
But not because that on the Female Part
My Blood is better, dare I claim Desert, 240
Or that my Sire from Paricide is free,
But judge by Merit betwixt Him and Me:
The Prize be to the best; provided yet,
That Ajax for awhile his Kin forget,
And his great Sire, and greater Uncles Name, 245
To fortify by them his feeble Claim:
Be Kindred and Relation laid aside,
And Honours Cause by Laws of Honour try’d:
For if he plead Proximity of Blood;
That empty Title is with Ease withstood. 250
Peleus, the Hero’s Sire, more nigh than he,
And Pyrrhus, his undoubted Progeny,
Inherit first these Trophies of the Field;
To Scyros, or to Phthya, send the Shield:
And Teucer has an Uncle’s Right; yet he 255
Waves his Pretensions, nor contends with me.
Then since the Cause on pure Desert is plac’d,
Whence shall I take my Rise, what reckon last?
I not presume on ev’ry Act to dwell,
But take these few, in order as they fell. 260
Thetis, who knew the Fates, apply’d her Care,
To keep Achilles in Disguise from War;
And till the threat’ning Influence were past,
A Woman’s Habit on the Hero cast:
All Eyes were couzen’d by the borrow’d Vest, 265
And Ajax (never wiser than the rest)
Found no Pelides there: At length I came
With proffer’d Wares to this pretended Dame;
She not discover’d by her Mien or Voice,
Betray’d her Manhood by her manly Choice; 270
And while on Female Toys her Fellows look,
Grasp’d in her Warlike Hand, a Javelin shook;
Whom, by this Act reveal’d, I thus bespoke:
O Goddess-born! resist not Heav’ns Decree,
The Fall of Ilium is reserv’d for thee; 275
Then seiz’d him, and, produc’d in open Light,
Sent blushing to the Field the fatal Knight.