In bloody fields I labour to be great ;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and foft deceit.
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you
fee;
The fun and day are witnesses for me.
Let him who fights unseen relate his own,
And vouch the filent ftars, and conscious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess,
But fuch an abject rival makes it lefs.
That gift, thofe honours, he but hop'd to gain,
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain :
Lofing he wins, because his name will be
Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me.
Were mine own valour question'd, yet my blood
Without that plea would make my title good:
My fire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd
With Hercules, thefe Trojan walls destroy'd ;
And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece,
In the first ship brought home the golden fleece :
Great Telamon from Eacus derives
His birth (th' inquifitor of guilty lives
In fhades below; where Sifyphus, whose son
This thief is thought, rolls up the restlefs heavy ftone).
Juft Æacus the king of Gods above
Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove.
Nor should I seek advantage from my line,
Unless, Achilles, it were mix'd with thine
As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim;
This fellow would ingraft a foreign name
Upon our stock, and the Sifyphian seed
By fraud and theft afferts his father's breed.
Then muft I lose these arms, becaufe I came
To fight uncall'd, a voluntary name?
Nor fhunn'd the caufe, but offer'd you my aid,
While he long lurking was to war betray'd:
Forc'd to the field he came, but in the rear;
And feign'd distraction to conceal his fear :
Till one more cunning caught him in the snare,
(Ill for himself) and dragg'd him into war.
Now let a hero's arms a coward veft,
And he, who fhunn'd all honours, gain the beft;
And let me stand excluded from my right,
Robb'd of my kinsman's arms, who first appear'd in fight.
Better for us, at home he had remain'd,
Had it been true the madness which he feign'd,
Or fo believ'd; the lefs had been our fhame,
The lefs his counfel'd crime, which brands the Gre
Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd
In a bare ifle, to wants and pains expos'd,
Where to the rocks, with folitary groans,
His fufferings and our baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (fo may heaven his wish fulfil)
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
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 fhafts due to the fate of Troy.
Yet ftill he lives, and lives from treafon free,
Because he left Ulyffes' company :
Poor Palamede might wish, fo void of aid
Rather to have been left, than so to death betray'd.
The coward bore the man immortal spite,
Who fham'd him out of madness into fight:
Nor, daring otherwife to vent his hate,
Accus'd him firft of treafon to the state;
And then for proof produc'd the golden ftore
Himself had hidden in his tent before:
Thus of two champions he depriv'd our hoft,
By exile one, and one by treafon loft.
Thus fights Ulyffes, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends :
Great, for what greatnefs is in words and found:
Ev'n faithful Neftor lefs in both is found:
But that he might without a rival reign,
He left his faithful Neftor on the plain;
Forfook his friend ev'n at his utmost need,
Who tir'd and tardy, with his wounded feed,
Cry'd out for aid, and call'd him by his name;
But cowardice has neither ears nor fhame :
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 Ulyffean lye,
I vouch ev'n Diomede, who, though his friend,
Cannot that act excufe, much lefs defend :
He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear ;
And fure enough he heard, but durst not hear.
The Gods with equal eyes on mortals look ;
He juftly was forfaken, who forfook :
Wanted that fuccour he refus'd to lend,
Found every fellow fuch another friend :
No wonder, if he roar'd that all might hear,
His elocution was increas'd by fear :
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;
(Ev'n the shield trembling as he lay below);
And from impending fate the coward freed 8
Good heaven forgive me for so bad a deed!
If ftill he will perfift, and urge the strife,
First let him give me back his forfeit life :
Let him return to that opprobrious field;
Again creep under my protecting fhield:
Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near,
And let his quivering heart confess his fear;
There put him in the very jaws of fate;
And let him plead his cause in that estate :
And yet, when snatch'd from death, when from below
My lifted fhield I loos'd and let him go,
Good heavens, how light he rose, with what a bound
He sprung from earth, forgetful of his wound :
How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply;
Who had not ftrength to ftand, had speed to fly!
Hector came on, and brought the Gods along;
Fear feiz'd alike the feeble and the strong;
Each Greek was an Ulysses; such a dread
Th' approach, and ev'n the sound, of Hector bred :
Him, flesh'd with flaughter, and with conquest crown'd,
I met, and over-turn'd him to the ground.
When after, matchlefs as he deem'd in might,
He challeng'd all our hoft to fingle fight,
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' infulting Trojan came,
And menac'd us with force, our fleet with flame:
Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,
In that black hour, that fav'd you from the sword?
Or was my breast expos'd alone, to brave
A thoufand fwords, a thousand ships to fave?
The hopes of your return! and can you yield,
For a fav'd fleet, less than a fingle fhield?
Think it no boaft, Grecians, if I deem
These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them;
Or, I with them an equal honour share;
They honour'd to be worn, and I to wear.
Will he compare my courage with his flight?
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
Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain ;
A priest made prisoner, Pallas made a prey:
But none of all thefe actions done by day :
Nor aught of these was done, and Diomede away.
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