The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Who lighten’d out a lance that smote Amphius Selages,

  That dwelt in Pæsos, rich in lands, and did huge goods possess,

  But Fate, to Priam and his sons, conducted his supply.

  The jav’lin on his girdle strook, and piercéd mortally

  His belly’s lower part; he fell: his arms had looks so trim,

  That Ajax needs would prove their spoil; the Trojans pour’d on him

  Whole storms of lances, large, and sharp, of which a number stuck

  In his rough shield; yet from the slain he did his jav’lin pluck,

  But could not from his shoulders force the arms he did affect,

  The Trojans with such drifts of darts the body did protect;

  And wisely Telamonius fear’d their valorous defence,

  So many, and so strong of hand, stood in with such expense

  Of deadly prowess; who repell’d, though big, strong, bold, he were,

  The famous Ajax, and their friend did from his rapture bear.

  Thus this place fill’d with strength of fight; in th’ army’s other prease,

  Tlepolemus, a tall big man, the son of Hercules,

  A cruel destiny inspir’d, with strong desire to prove

  Encounter with Sarpedon’s strength, the son of cloudy Jove;

  Who, coming on to that stern end, had chosen him his foe.

  Thus Jove’s great nephew, and his son, ‘gainst one another go.

  Tlepolemus, to make his end more worth the will of fate,

  Began as if he had her pow’r, and show’d the mortal state

  Of too much confidence in man, with this superfluous brave:

  “Sarpedon, what necessity or needless humour drave

  Thy form to these wars, which in heart I know thou dost abhor,

  A man not seen in deeds of arms, a Lycian counsellor?

  They lie that call thee son to Jove, since Jove bred none so late;

  The men of elder times were they, that his high pow’r begat,

  Such men as had Herculean force. My father Hercules

  Was Jove’s true issue; he was bold; his deeds did well express

  They sprung out of a lion’s heart. He whilome came to Troy,

  (For horse that Jupiter gave Tros, for Ganymed, his boy)

  With six ships only, and few men, and tore the city down,

  Left all her broad ways desolate, and made the horse his own.

  For thee, thy mind is ill dispos’d, thy body’s pow’rs are poor,

  And therefore are thy troops so weak; the soldier evermore

  Follows the temper of his chief; and thou pull’st down a side.

  But say thou art the son of Jove, and hast thy means supplied

  With forces fitting his descent, the pow’rs that I compel

  Shall throw thee hence, and make thy head run ope the gates of hell.”

  Jove’s Lycian issue answer’d him: “Tlepolemus, ’tis true

  Thy father holy Ilion in that sort overthrew;

  Th’ injustice of the king was cause, that, where thy father had

  Us’d good deservings to his state, he quitted him with bad.

  Hesione, the joy and grace of king Laomedon,

  Thy father rescu’d from a whale, and gave to Telamon

  In honour’d nuptials (Telamon, from whom your strongest Greek

  Boasts to have issu’d) and this grace might well expect the like;

  Yet he gave taunts for thanks, and kept, against his oath, his horse,

  And therefore both thy father’s strength, and justice, might enforce

  The wreak he took on Troy; but this and thy cause differ far.

  Sons seldom heir their fathers’ worths. Thou canst not make his war.

  What thou assum’st for him, is mine, to be on thee impos’d.”

  With this, he threw an ashen dart; and then Tlepolemus los’d

  Another from his glorious hand. Both at one instant flew,

  Both strook, both wounded. From his neck Sarpedon’s jav’lin drew

  The life blood of Tlepolemus; full in the midst it fell;

  And what he threaten’d, th’ other gave, that darkness, and that hell.

  Sarpedon’s left thigh took the lance; it pierc’d the solid bone,

  And with his raging head ran through; but Jove preserv’d his son.

  The dart yet vex’d him bitterly, which should have been pull’d out,

  But none consider’d then so much, so thick came on the rout,

  And fill’d each hand so full of cause to ply his own defence;

  ’Twas held enough, both fall’n that both were nobly carried thence

  Ulysses knew th’ events of both, and took it much to heart

  That his friend’s enemy should ‘scape; and in a twofold part

  His thoughts contended, if he should pursue Sarpedon’s life,

  Or take his friend’s wreak on his men. Fate did conclude this strife,

  By whom ’twas otherwise decreed than that Ulysses’ steel

  Should end Sarpedon. In this doubt Minerva took the wheel

  From fickle Chance, and made his mind resolve to right his friend

  With that blood he could surest draw. Then did Revenge extend

  Her full pow’r on the multitude; then did he never miss;

  Alastor, Halius, Chromius, Noemon, Prytanis,

  Alcander, and a number more, he slew, and more had slain,

  If Hector had not understood; whose pow’r made in amain,

  And strook fear through the Grecian troops, but to Sarpedon gave

  Hope of full rescue, who thus cried: “O Hector! Help and save

  My body from the spoil of Greece, that to your lovéd town

  My friends may see me borne, and then let earth possess her own

  In this soil, for whose sake I left my country’s; for no day

  Shall ever show me that again, nor to my wife display,

  And young hope of my name, the joy of my much thirsted sight;

  All which I left for Troy, for them let Troy then do this right.”

  To all this Hector gives no word, but greedily he strives

  With all speed to repel the Greeks, and shed in floods their lives,

  And left Sarpedon; but what face soever he put on

  Of following the common cause, he left this prince alone

  For his particular grudge, because, so late, he was so plain

  In his reproof before the host, and that did he retain;

  However, for example sake, he would not show it then,

  And for his shame too, since ’twas just. But good Sarpedon’s men

  Ventur’d themselves, and forc’d him off, and set him underneath

  The goodly beech of Jupiter, where now they did unsheath

  The ashen lance; strong Pelagon, his friend, most lov’d, most true,

  Enforc’d it from his maiméd thigh; with which his spirit flew,

  And darkness over-flew his eyes; yet with a gentle gale,

  That round about the dying prince cool Boreas did exhale,

  He was reviv’d, recomforted, that else had griev’d and died.

  All this time flight drave to the fleet the Argives, who applied

  No weapon ‘gainst the proud pursuit, nor ever turn’d a head,

  They knew so well that Mars pursu’d, and dreadful Hector led.

  Then who was first, who last, whose lives the iron Mars did seize,

  And Priam’s Hector? Helenus, surnam’d Œnopides;

  Good Teuthras; and Orestes, skill’d in managing of horse;

  Bold Œnomaus; and a man renown’d for martial force,

  Trechus, the great Ætolian chief; Oresbius, that did wear

  The gaudy mitre, studied wealth extremely, and dwelt near

  Th’ Atlantic lake Cephisides, in Hyla, by whose seat

  The good men of Bœotia dwelt. This slaughter grew so great,

  It flew to heav’n; Saturnia discern’d it, and cried out

  To
Pallas: “O unworthy sight! To see a field so fought,

  And break our words to Sparta’s king, that Ilion should be rac’d,

  And he return reveng’d; when thus we see his Greeks disgrac’d,

  And bear the harmful rage of Mars! Come, let us use our care,

  That we dishonour not our pow’rs.” Minerva was as yare

  As she at the despite of Troy. Her golden-bridled steeds

  Then Saturn’s daughter brought abroad; and Hebe, she proceeds

  T’ address her chariot; instantly she gives it either wheel,

  Beam’d with eight spokes of sounding brass; the axle-tree was steel;

  The fell’ffs incorruptible gold, their upper bands of brass,

  Their matter most unvalued, their work of wondrous grace;

  The naves, in which the spokes were driv’n, were all with silver bound;

  The chariot’s seat two hoops of gold and silver strengthen’d round,

  Edg’d with a gold and silver fringe; the beam, that look’d before,

  Was massy silver; on whose top, gears all of gold it wore,

  And golden poitrils. Juno mounts, and her hot horses rein’d,

  That thirsted for contentión, and still of peace complain’d.

  Minerva wrapt her in the robe, that curiously she wove,

  With glorious colours, as she sate on th’ azure floor of Jove,

  And wore the arms that he puts on, bent to the tearful field.

  About her broad-spread shoulders hung his huge and horrid shield,

  Fring’d round with ever-fighting snakes; through it was drawn to life

  The miseries and deaths of fight; in it frown’d bloody Strife,

  In it shin’d sacred Fortitude, in it fell Púrsuit flew,

  In it the monster Gorgon’s head, in which held out to view

  Were all the dire ostents of Jove; on her big head she plac’d

  His four-plum’d glitt’ring casque of gold, so admirably vast

  It would an hundred garrisons of soldiers comprehend.

  Then to her shining chariot her vig’rous feet ascend;

  And in her violent hand she takes his grave, huge, solid lance,

  With which the conquests of her wrath she useth to advance,

  And overturn whole fields of men, to show she was the Seed

  Of him that thunders. Then heav’n’s Queen, to urge her horses’ speed,

  Takes up the scourge, and forth they fly. The ample gates of heav’n

  Rung, and flew open of themselves; the charge whereof is giv’n,

  With all Olympus, and the sky, to the distinguish’d Hours,

  That clear, or hide it all in clouds, or pour it down in show’rs.

  This way their scourge-obeying horse made haste, and soon they won

  The top of all the topful heav’ns, where aged Saturn’s son

  Sat sever’d from the other Gods; then stay’d the white-arm’d Queen

  Her steeds, and ask’d of Jove, if Mars did not incense his spleen

  With his foul deeds, in ruining so many and so great

  In the command and grace of Greece, and in so rude a heat?

  At which, she said, Apollo laugh’d, and Venus, who still sue

  To that mad God, for violence that never justice knew;

  For whose impiety, she ask’d, if, with his wishéd love,

  Herself might free the field of him? He bade her rather move

  Athenia to the charge she sought, who us’d of old to be

  The bane of Mars, and had as well the gift of spoil as he.

  This grace she slack’d not, but her horse scourg’d, that in nature flew

  Betwixt the cope of stars and earth; and how far at a view

  A man into the purple sea may from a hill descry,

  So far a high-neighing horse of heav’n at ev’ry jump would fly. 2

  Arriv’d at Troy, where, broke in curls, the two floods mix their force,

  Scamander and bright Simois, Saturnia stay’d her horse,

  Took them from chariot, and a cloud of mighty depth diffus’d

  About them; and the verdant banks of Simois produc’d

  In nature what they eat in heav’n. Then both the Goddesses 3

  March’d, like a pair of tim’rous doves, in hasting their access

  To th’ Argive succour. Being arriv’d, where both the most and best

  Were heap’d together (showing all, like lions at a feast

  Of new-slain carcasses, or boars, beyond encounter strong)

  There found they Diomed; and there, ‘midst all th’ admiring throng,

  Saturnia put on Stentor’s shape, that had a brazen voice,

  And spake as loud as fifty men; like whom she made a noise,

  And chid the Argives: “O ye Greeks, in name and outward rite

  But princes only, not in act, what scandal, what despite,

  Use ye to honour! All the time the great Æacides

  Was conversant in arms, your foes durst not a foot address

  Without their ports, so much they fear’d his lance that all controll’d,

  And now they outray to your fleet.” This did with shame make bold

  The gen’ral spirit and pow’r of Greece: when, with particular note

  Of their disgrace, Athenia made Tydeus’ issue hot.

  She found him at his chariot, refreshing of his wound

  Inflicted by slain Pandarus; his sweat did so abound,

  It much annoy’d him, underneath the broad belt of his shield;

  With which, and tiréd with his toil, his soul could hardly yield

  His body motion. With his hand he lifted up the belt,

  And wip’d away that clotter’d blood the fervent wound did melt.

  Minerva lean’d against his horse, and near their withers laid

  Her sacred hand, then spake to him: “Believe me, Diomed,

  Tydeus exampled not himself in thee his son; not great,

  But yet he was a soldier; a man of so much heat,

  That in his ambassy for Thebes, when I forbad his mind

  To be too vent’rous, and when feasts his heart might have declin’d,

  With which they welcom’d him, he made a challenge to the best,

  And foil’d the best; I gave him aid, because the rust of rest,

  That would have seiz’d another mind, he suffer’d not, but us’d

  The trial I made like a man, and their soft feasts refus’d.

  Yet, when I set thee on, thou faint’st; I guard thee, charge, exhort

  That, I abetting thee, thou shouldst be to the Greeks a fort,

  And a dismay to Ilion, yet thou obey’st in nought,

  Afraid, or slothful, or else both; henceforth renounce all thought

  That ever thou wert Tydeus’ son.” He answer’d her: “I know

  Thou art Jove’s daughter, and, for that, in all just duty owe

  Thy speeches rev’rence, yet affirm ingeniously that fear

  Doth neither hold me spiritless, nor sloth. I only bear

  Thy charge in zealous memory, that I should never war

  With any blesséd Deity, unless (exceeding far

  The limits of her rule) the Queen, that governs chamber sport,

  Should press to field; and her thy will enjoin’d my lance to hurt.

  But, He whose pow’r hath right in arms, I knew in person here,

  Besides the Cyprian Deity; and therefore did forbear,

  And here have gather’d in retreat these other Greeks you see,

  With note and rev’rence of your charge.” “My dearest mind,” said she,

  “What then was fit is chang’d. ’Tis true, Mars hath just rule in war,

  But just war; otherwise he raves, not fights. He’s alter’d far.

  He vow’d to Juno, and myself, that his aid should be us’d

  Against the Trojans, whom it guards; and therein he abus’d

  His rule in arms, infring’d his word, and made his war unjust.

&
nbsp; He is inconstant, impious, mad. Resolve then; firmly trust

  My aid of thee against his worst, or any Deity;

  Add scourge to thy free horse, charge home; he fights perfidiously.”

  This said; as that brave king, her knight, with his horse-guiding friend,

  Were set before the chariot, for sign he should descend,

  That she might serve for waggoness, she pluck’d the wagg’ner back,

  And up into his seat she mounts; the beechen tree did crack

  Beneath the burthen; and good cause, it bore so huge a thing,

  A Goddess so replete with pow’r, and such a puissant king.

  She snatch’d the scourge up and the reins, and shut her heaven’ly look

  In Hell’s vast helm from Mars’s eyes; and full career she took

  At him, who then had newly slain the mighty Periphas,

  Renown’d son to Ochesius, and far the strongest was

  Of all th’ Ætolians; to whose spoil the bloody God was run.

  But when this man-plague saw the approach of god-like Tydeus’ son,

  He let his mighty Periphas lie, and in full charge he ran

  At Diomed; and he at him. Both near; the God began,

  And, thirsty of his blood, he throws a brazen lance that bears

  Full on the breast of Diomed, above the reins and gears;

  But Pallas took it on her hand, and strook the eager lance

  Beneath the chariot. Then the knight of Pallas doth advance,

  And cast a jav’lin off at Mars, Minerva sent it on,

  That, where his arming girdle gilt, his belly graz’d upon,

  Just at the rim, and ranch’d the flesh; the lance again he got,

  But left the wound, that stung him so, he laid out such a throat

  As if nine or ten thousand men had bray’d out all their breaths

  In one confusion, having felt as many sudden deaths.

  The roar made both the hosts amaz’d. Up flew the God to heav’n;

  And with him was through all the air as black a tincture driv’n

  To Diomed’s eyes, as when the earth half-choked with smoking heat

  Of gloomy clouds, that stifle men, and pitchy tempests threat,

  Usher’d with horrid gusts of wind; with such black vapours plum’d,

  Mars flew t’ Olympus, and broad heav’n, and there his place resum’d.

  Sadly he went and sat by Jove, show’d his immortal blood,

  That from a mortal-man-made wound pour’d such an impious flood,

  And weeping pour’d out these complaints: “O Father, storms’t thou not

  To see us take these wrongs from men? Extreme griefs we have got