The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Untouch’d; our fathers perishing here by follies of their own;

  And therefore never more compare our fathers’ worth with ours.”

  Tydides frown’d at this, and said: “Suppress thine anger’s pow’rs,

  Good friend, and hear why I refrain’d. Thou seest I am not mov’d

  Against our gen’ral, since he did but what his place behov’d,

  Admonishing all Greeks to fight; for, if Troy prove our prise,

  The honour and the joy is his; if here our ruin lies,

  The shame and grief for that as much is his in greatest kinds.

  As he then his charge, weigh we ours; which is our dauntless minds.”

  Thus, from his chariot, amply arm’d, he jump’d down to the ground;

  The armour of the angry king so horribly did sound,

  It might have made his bravest foe let fear take down his braves.

  And as when with the west-wind flaws, the sea thrusts up her waves,

  One after other, thick and high, upon the groaning shores,

  First in herself loud, but oppos’d with banks and rocks she roars,

  And, all her back in bristles set, spits ev’ry way her foam;

  So, after Diomed, instantly the field was overcome

  With thick impressions of the Greeks; and all the noise that grew

  (Ord’ring and cheering up their men) from only leaders flew.

  The rest went silently away, you could not hear a voice,

  Nor would have thought, in all their breasts, they had one in their choice,

  Their silence uttering their awe of them that them controll’d,

  Which made each man keep right his arms, march, fight still where he should

  The Trojans (like a sort of ewes, penn’d in a rich man’s fold,

  Close at his door, till all be milk’d, and never baaing hold

  Hearing the bleating of their lambs) did all their wide host fill

  With shouts and clamours, nor observ’d one voice, one baaing still,

  But show’d mix’d tongues from many a land of men call’d to their aid.

  Rude Mars had th’ ordering of their spirits; of Greeks, the learned

  Maid

  But Terror follow’d both the hosts, and Flight, and furious Strife

  The sister, and the mate, of Mars, that spoil of human life;

  And never is her rage at rest, at first she is but small,

  Yet after, but a little fed, she grows so vast and tall

  That, while her feet move here in earth, her forehead is in heav’n;

  And this was she that made ev’n then both hosts so deadly giv’n.

  Through ev’ry troop she stalk’d, and stirr’d rough sighs up as she went;

  But when in one field both the foes her fury did content,

  And both came under reach of darts, then darts and shields oppos’d

  To darts and shields; strength answer’d strength; then swords and targets clos’d

  With swords and targets; both with pikes; and then did tumult rise

  Up to her height; then conqu’rors’ boasts mix’d with the conquer’d’s cries;

  Earth flow’d with blood. And as from hills rainwaters headlong fall,

  That all ways eat huge ruts, which, met in one bed, fill a vall

  With such a confluence of streams, that on the mountain grounds

  Far off, in frighted shepherds’ ears, the bustling noise rebounds:

  So grew their conflicts, and so show’d their scuffling to the ear,

  With flight and clamour still commix’d, and all effects of fear.

  And first renown’d Antilochus slew (fighting, in the face

  Of all Achaia’s foremost bands, with an undaunted grace)

  Echepolus Thalysiades; he was an arméd man;

  Whom on his hair-plum’d helmet’s crest the dart first smote, then ran

  Into his forehead, and there stuck; the steel pile making way

  Quite through his skull; a hasty night shut up his latest day.

  His fall was like a fight-rac’d tow’r; like which lying there dispread,

  King Elephenor (who was son to Chalcodon, and led

  The valiant Abants) covetous that he might first possess

  His arms, laid hands upon his feet, and hal’d him from the press

  Of darts and jav’lins hurl’d at him. The action of the king

  When great-in-heart Agenor saw, he made his jav’lin sing

  To th’ others’ labour; and along as he the trunk did wrest,

  His side (at which he bore his shield) in bowing of his breast

  Lay naked, and receiv’d the lance, that made him lose his hold

  And life together; which, in hope of that he lost, he sold,

  But for his sake the fight grew fierce, the Trojans and their foes

  Like wolves on one another rush’d, and man for man it goes.

  The next of name, that serv’d his fate, great Ajax Telamon

  Preferr’d so sadly. He was heir to old Anthemion,

  And deck’d with all the flow’r of youth; the fruit of which yet fled,

  Before the honour’d nuptial torch could light him to his bed.

  His name was Simoisius; for, some few years before,

  His mother walking down the hill of Ida, by the shore

  Of silver Simois, to see her parents’ flocks, with them

  She, feeling suddenly the pains of child-birth, by the stream

  Of that bright river brought him forth; and so (of Simois)

  They call’d him Simoisius. Sweet was that birth of his

  To his kind parents, and his growth did all their care employ;

  And yet those rites of piety, that should have been his joy

  To pay their honour’d years again in as affectionate sort,

  He could not graciously perform, his sweet life was so short,

  Cut off with mighty Ajax’ lance; for, as his spirit put on,

  He strook him at his breast’s right pap, quite through his shoulder-bone,

  And in the dust of earth he fell, that was the fruitful soil

  Of his friends’ hopes; but where he sow’d he buried all his toil.

  And as a poplar shot aloft, set by a river side,

  In moist edge of a mighty fen, his head in curls implied,

  But all his body plain and smooth, to which a wheel-wright puts

  The sharp edge of his shining axe, and his soft timber cuts

  From his in native root, in hope to hew out of his bole

  The fell’ffs, or out-parts of a wheel, that compass in the whole,

  To serve some goodly chariot; but, being big and sad,

  And to be hal’d home through the bogs, the useful hope he had

  Sticks there, and there the goodly plant lies with’ring out his grace:

  So lay, by Jove-bred Ajax’ hand, Anthemion’s forward race,

  Nor could through that vast fen of toils be drawn to serve the ends

  Intended by his body’s pow’rs, nor cheer his aged friends.

  But now the gay-arm’d Antiphus, a son of Priam, threw

  His lance at Ajax through the prease; which went by him, and flew

  On Leucus, wise Ulysses’ friend; his groin it smote, as fain

  He would have drawn into his spoil the carcass of the slain,

  By which he fell, and that by him; it vex’d Ulysses’ heart,

  Who thrust into the face of fight, well-arm’d at ev’ry part,

  Came close, and look’d about to find an object worth his lance;

  Which when the Trojans saw him shake, and he so near advance,

  All shrunk; he threw, and forth it shin’d, nor fell but where it fell’d;

  His friend’s grief gave it angry pow’r, and deadly way it held

  Upon Democoon, who was sprung of Priam’s wanton force,

  Came from Abydus, and was made the master of his horse.

  Through both his temples strook the dart, the wood of one s
ide shew’d,

  The pile out of the other look’d, and so the earth he strew’d

  With much sound of his weighty arms. Then back the foremost went;

  Ev’n Hector yielded; then the Greeks gave worthy clamours vent,

  Effecting then their first-dumb pow’rs; some drew the dead, and spoil’d,

  Some follow’d, that, in open flight, Troy might confess it foil’d.

  Apollo, angry at the sight, from top of Ilion cried:

  “Turn head, ye well-rode peers of Troy, feed not the Grecians’ pride,

  They are not charm’d against your points, of steel, nor iron, fram’d;

  Nor fights the fair-hair’d Thetis’ son, but sits at fleet inflam’d.”

  So spake the dreadful God from Troy. The Greeks, Jove’s noblest

  Seed

  Encourag’d to keep on the chace; and, where fit spirit did need,

  She gave it, marching in the midst. Then flew the fatal hour

  Back on Diores, in return of Ilion’s sun-burn’d pow’r;

  Diores Amaryncides, whose right leg’s ankle-bone,

  And both the sinews, with a sharp and handful-charging stone

  Pirus Imbrasides did break, that led the Thracian bands

  And came from Ænos; down he fell, and up he held his hands

  To his lov’d friends; his spirit wing’d to fly out of his breast

  With which not satisfied, again Imbrasides address’d

  His jav’lin at him, and so ripp’d his navel, that the wound,

  As endlessly it shut his eyes, so, open’d, on the ground

  It pour’d his entrails. As his foe went then suffic’d away,

  Thoas Ætolius threw a dart, that did his pile convey,

  Above his nipple, through his lungs; when, quitting his stern part,

  He clos’d with him, and, from his breast first drawing out his dart,

  His sword flew in, and by the midst it wip’d his belly out;

  So took his life, but left his arms; his friends so flock’d about,

  And thrust forth lances of such length before their slaughter’d king,

  Which, though their foe were big and strong, and often brake the ring

  Forg’d of their lances, yet (enforc’d) he left th’ affected prise.

  The Thracian and Epeian dukes, laid close with closéd eyes

  By either other, drown’d in dust; and round about the plain,

  All hid with slaughter’d carcasses, yet still did hotly reign

  The martial planet; whose effects had any eye beheld,

  Free and unwounded (and were led by Pallas through the field,

  To keep off jav’lins, and suggest the least fault could be found)

  He could not reprehend the fight, so many strew’d the ground.

  THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

  ENDNOTES.

  1 Virgil useth these verses.

  THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS

  THE ARGUMENT

  King Diomed (by Pallas’ spirit inspir’d

  With will and pow’r) is for his acts admir’d,

  Mere men, and men deriv’d from Deities,

  And Deities themselves, he terrifies.

  Adds wounds to terrors. His inflamed lance

  Draws blood from Mars, and Venus. In a trance

  He casts Æneas, with a weighty stone;

  Apollo quickens him, and gets him gone.

  Mars is recur’d by Pæon, but by Jove

  Rebuk’d for authoring breach of human love.

  ANOTHER ARGUMENT

  In Epsilon, Heav’n’s blood is shed

  By sacred rage of Diomed.

  Then Pallas breath’d in Tydeus’ son; to render whom supreme

  To all the Greeks, at all his parts, she cast a hotter beam

  On his high mind, his body fill’d with much superior might,

  And made his cómplete armour cast a far more cómplete light.

  From his bright helm and shield did burn a most unwearied fire, 1

  Like rich Autumnus’ golden lamp, whose brightness men admire

  Past all the other host of stars, when, with his cheerful face

  Fresh wash’d in lofty Ocean waves, he doth the skies enchase.

  To let whose glory, lose no sight, still Pallas made him turn

  Where tumult most express’d his pow’r, and where the fight did burn.

  An honest and a wealthy man inhabited in Troy,

  Dares, the priest of Mulciber, who two sons did enjoy,

  Idæus, and bold Phegeüs, well-seen in ev’ry fight.

  These (singled from their troops, and hors’d) assail’d Minerva’s knight,

  Who rang’d from fight to fight on foot. All hasting mutual charge,

  And now drawn near, first Phegeus threw a jav’lin swift and large,

  Whose head the king’s left shoulder took, but did no harm at all;

  Then rush’d he out a lance at him, that had no idle fall,

  But in his breast stuck ‘twixt the paps, and strook him from his horse.

  Which stern sight when Idæus saw, distrustful of his force

  To save his slaughter’d brother’s spoil, it made him headlong leap

  From his fair chariot, and leave all; yet had not ‘scap’d the heap

  Of heavy fun’ral, if the God, great President of fire,

  Had not in sudden clouds of smoke and pity of his sire

  To leave him utterly unheir’d, giv’n safe pass to his feet.

  He gone, Tydides sent the horse and chariot to the fleet.

  The Trojans seeing Dares’ sons one slain, the other fled,

  Were strook amaz’d. The blue-ey’d Maid (to grace her Diomed

  In giving free way to his pow’r) made this so ruthful fact

  A fit advantage to remove the War-god out of act,

  Who rag’d so on the Ilion side. She grip’d his hand, and said:

  “Mars, Mars, thou ruiner of men, that in the dust hast laid

  So many cities, and with blood thy godhead dost distain,

  Now shall we cease to show our breasts as passionate as men,

  And leave the mixture of our hands, resigning Jove his right,

  As Rector of the Gods, to give the glory of the fight

  Where he affecteth, lest he force what he should freely yield?”

  He held it fit, and went with her from the tumultuous field,

  Who set him in an herby seat on broad Scamander’s shore.

  He gone, all Troy was gone with him, the Greeks drave all before.

  And ev’ry leader slew a man; but first the king of men

  Deserv’d the honour of his name, and led the slaughter then,

  And slew a leader, one more huge than any man he led,

  Great Odius, duke of Halizons; quite from his chariot’s head

  He strook him with a lance to earth, as first he flight address’d;

  It took his forward-turnéd back, and look’d out of his breast;

  His huge trunk sounded, and his arms did echo the resound.

  Idomenæus to the death did noble Phæstus wound,

  The son of Meon-Borus, that from cloddy Terna came;

  Who, taking chariot, took his wound, and tumbled with the same

  From his attempted seat: the lance through his right shoulder strook,

  And horrid darkness strook through him; the spoil his soldiers took.

  Atrides-Menelaus slew, as he before him fled,

  Scamandrius, son of Strophius, that was a huntsman bred;

  A skilful huntsman, for his skill Diana’s self did teach,

  And made him able with his dart infallibly to reach

  All sorts of subtlest savages, which many a woody hill

  Bred for him, and he much preserv’d, and all to show his skill.

  Yet not the dart-delighting Queen taught him to shun this dart,

  Nor all his hitting so far off, the mast’ry of his art;

  His back receiv’d it, and he fell upon hi
s breast withal;

  His body’s ruin, and his arms, so sounded in his fall,

  That his affrighted horse flew off, and left him, like his life.

  Meriones slew Phereclus, whom she that ne’er was wife,

  Yet Goddess of good housewives, held in excellent respect

  For knowing all the witty things that grace an architect,

  And having pow’r to give it all the cunning use of hand.

  Harmonides, his sire, built ships, and made him understand,

  With all the practice it requir’d, the frame of all that skill.

  He built all Alexander’s ships, that author’d all the ill

  Of all the Trojans and his own, because he did not know

  The oracles advising Troy (for fear of overthrow)

  To meddle with no sea affair, but live by tilling land.

  This man Meriones surpris’d, and drave his deadly hand

  Through his right hip; the lance’s head ran through the región

  About the bladder, underneath th’ in-muscles and the bone;

  He, sighing, bow’d his knees to death, and sacrific’d to earth.

  Phylides stay’d Pedæus’ flight, Antenor’s bastard birth,

  Whom virtuous Theano his wife, to please her husband, kept

  As tenderly as those she lov’d. Phylides near him stept,

  And in the fountain of the nerves did drench his fervent lance,

  At his head’s back-part; and so far the sharp head did advance,

  It cleft the organ of his speech, and th’ iron, cold as death,

  He took betwixt his grinning teeth, and gave the air his breath.

  Eurypylus, the much renown’d, and great Evemon’s son,

  Divine Hypsenor slew, begot by stout Dolopion,

  And consecrate Scamander’s priest; he had a God’s regard

  Amongst the people; his hard flight the Grecian follow’d hard,

  Rush’d in so close, that with his sword he on his shoulder laid

  A blow that his arm’s brawn cut off; nor there his vigour stay’d,

  But drave down, and from off his wrist it hew’d his holy hand

  That gush’d out blood, and down it dropp’d upon the blushing sand;

  Death, with his purple finger, shut, and violent fate, his eyes.

  Thus fought these, but distinguish’d well. Tydides so implies

  His fury that you could not know whose side had interest

  In his free labours, Greece or Troy; but as a flood, increas’d

  By violent and sudden show’rs, let down from hills, like hills