The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  Now towards Priam, when he saw in great Æacides,

  Out flew his tender voice in shrieks, and with rais’d hands he smit

  His rev’rend head, then up to heav’n he cast them, showing it

  What plagues it sent him, down again then threw them to his son,

  To make him shun them. He now stood without steep Ilion,

  Thirsting the combat; and to him thus miserably cried

  The kind old king: “O Hector, fly this man, this homicide,

  That straight will stroy thee. He’s too strong, and would to heav’n he were

  As strong in heav’n’s love as in mine! Vultures and dogs should tear

  His prostrate carcass, all my woes quench’d with his bloody spirits.

  He has robb’d me of many sons and worthy, and their merits

  Sold to far islands. Two of them, ah me! I miss but now,

  They are not enter’d, nor stay here. Laothoe, O ’twas thou,

  O queen of women, from whose womb they breath’d. O did the tents

  Detain them only, brass and gold would purchase safe events

  To their sad durance; ’tis within; old Altes, young in fame,

  Gave plenty for his daughter’s dow’r; but if they fed the flame

  Of this man’s fury, woe is me, woe to my wretched queen!

  But in our state’s woe their two deaths will nought at all be seen,

  So thy life quit them. Take the town, retire, dear son, and save

  Troy’s husbands and her wives, nor give thine own life to the grave

  For this man’s glory. Pity me, me, wretch, so long alive,

  Whom in the door of age Jove keeps: that so he may deprive

  My being, in fortune’s utmost curse, to see the blackest thread

  Of this life’s mis’ries, my sons slain, my daughters ravishéd,

  Their resting chambers sack’d, their babes, torn from them, on their knees

  Pleading for mercy, themselves dragg’d to Grecian slaveries,

  And all this drawn through my red eyes. Then last of all kneel I,

  Alone, all helpless at my gates, before my enemy,

  That ruthless gives me to my dogs, all the deformity

  Of age discover’d; and all this thy death, sought wilfully,

  Will pour on me. A fair young man at all parts it beseems,

  Being bravely slain, to lie all gash’d, and wear the worst extremes

  Of war’s most cruelty; no wound, of whatsoever ruth,

  But is his ornament; but I, a man so far from youth,

  White head, white-bearded, wrinkled, pin’d, all shames must show the eye.

  Live, prevent this then, this most shame of all man’s misery.”

  Thus wept the old king, and tore off his white hair; yet all these

  Retir’d not Hector. Hecuba then fell upon her knees,

  Stripp’d nak’d her bosom, show’d her breasts, and bad him rev’rence them,

  And pity her. If ever she had quieted his exclaim,

  He would cease hers, and take the town, not tempting the rude field

  When all had left it: “Think,” said she, ‘I gave thee life to yield

  My life recomfort; thy rich wife shall have no rites of thee,

  Nor do thee rites; our tears shall pay thy corse no obsequy,

  Being ravish’d from us, Grecian dogs nourish’d with what I nurs’d.”

  Thus wept both these, and to his ruth propos’d the utmost worst

  Of what could chance them; yet he stay’d. And now drew deadly near

  Mighty Achilles; yet he still kept deadly station there.

  Look how a dragon, when she sees a traveller bent upon

  Her breeding den, her bosom fed with full contagión,

  Gathers her forces, sits him firm, and at his nearest pace

  Wraps all her cavern in her folds, and thrusts a horrid face

  Out at his entry; Hector so, with unextinguish’d spirit,

  Stood great Achilles, stirr’d no foot, but at the prominent turret

  Bent to his bright shield, and resolv’d to bear fall’n heav’n on it.

  Yet all this resolute abode did not so truly fit

  His free election; but he felt a much more galling spur

  To the performance, with conceit of what he should incur

  Ent’ring, like others, for this cause; to which he thus gave way:

  “O me, if I shall take the town, Polydamas will lay

  This flight and all this death on me; who counsell’d me to lead

  My pow’rs to Troy this last black night, when so I saw make head

  Incens’d Achilles. I yet stay’d, though, past all doubt, that course

  Had much more profited than mine; which; being by so much worse

  As comes to all our flight and death, my folly now I fear

  Hath bred this scandal, all our town now burns my ominous ear

  With whisp’ring: ‘Hector’s self-conceit hath cast away his host.’

  And, this true, this extremity that I rely on most

  Is best for me: stay, and retire with this man’s life; or die

  Here for our city with renown, since all else fled but I.

  And yet one way cuts both these ways: What if I hang my shield

  My helm and lance here on these walls, and meet in humble field

  Renown’d Achilles, off’ring him Helen and all the wealth,

  Whatever in his hollow keels bore Alexander’s stealth

  For both th’ Atrides? For the rest, whatever is possess’d

  In all this city, known or hid, by oath shall be confess’d

  Of all our citizens; of which one half the Greeks shall have,

  One half themselves. But why, lov’d soul, would these suggestions save

  Thy state still in me? I’ll not sue; nor would he grant, but I,

  Mine arms cast off, should be assur’d a woman’s death to die.

  To men of oak and rock, no words; virgins and youths talk thus,

  Virgins and youths that love and woo; there’s other war with us;

  What blows and conflicts urge, we cry, hates and defiances,

  And, with the garlands these trees bear, try which hand Jove will bless.”

  These thoughts employ’d his stay; and now Achilles comes, now near

  His Mars-like presence terribly came brandishing his spear,

  His right arm shook it, his bright arms like day came glitt’ring on,

  Like fire-light, or the light of heav’n shot from the rising sun,

  This sight outwrought discourse, cold fear shook Hector from his stand;

  No more stay now; all ports were left; he fled in fear the hand

  Of that Fear-Master; who, hawk-like, air’s swiftest passenger,

  That holds a tim’rous dove in chase, and with command doth bear

  His fi’ry onset, the dove hastes, the hawk comes whizzing on,

  This way and that he turns and winds, and cuffs the pigeón,

  And, till he truss it, his great spirit lays hot charge on his wing;

  So urg’d Achilles Hector’s flight; so still fear’s point did sting

  His troubled spirit, his knees wrought hard, along the wall he flew,

  In that fair chariot-way that runs, beneath the tow’r of view,

  And Troy’s wild fig-tree, till they reach’d where those two mother-springs

  Of deep Scamander pour’d abroad their silver murmurings;

  One warm and casts out fumes as fire; the other cold as snow,

  Or hail dissolv’d. And when the sun made ardent summer glow,

  There water’s concrete crystal shin’d; near which were cisterns made,

  All pav’d and clear, where Trojan wives and their fair daughters had

  Laundry for their fine linen weeds, in times of cleanly peace,

  Before the Grecians brought their siege. These captains noted these,

  One flying, th’ other in pursuit; a strong man flew before,


  A stronger follow’d him by far, and close up to him bore;

  Both did their best, for neither now ran for a sacrifice,

  Or for the sacrificer’s hide, our runners’ usual prize;

  These ran for tame-horse Hector’s soul. And as two running steeds,

  Back’d in some set race for a game, that tries their swiftest speeds,

  (A tripod, or a woman, giv’n for some man’s funerals)

  Such speed made these men, and on foot ran thrice about the walls. 1

  The Gods beheld them, all much mov’d; and Jove said: “O ill sight!

  A man I love much, I see forc’d in most unworthy flight

  About great Ilion. My heart grieves; he paid so many vows,

  With thighs of sacrificéd beeves, both on the lofty brows

  Of Ida, and in Ilion’s height. Consult we, shall we free

  His life from death, or give it now t’ Achilles’ victory?”

  Minerva answer’d: “Alter Fate? One long since mark’d for death?

  Now take from death? Do thou; but know, he still shall run beneath

  Our other censures.” “Be it then,” replied the Thunderer,

  “My lov’d Tritonia, at thy will; in this I will prefer

  Thy free intention, work it all.” Then stoop’d She from the sky

  To this great combat. Peleus’ son pursu’d incessantly

  Still-flying Hector. As a hound that having rous’d a hart,

  Although he tappish ne’er so oft, and ev’ry shrubby part

  Attempts for strength, and trembles in, the hound doth still pursue

  So close that not a foot he fails, but hunts it still at view;

  So plied Achilles Hector’s steps; as oft as he assay’d

  The Dardan ports and tow’rs for strength (to fetch from thence some aid

  With wingéd shafts) so oft forc’d he amends of pace, and stept

  ‘Twixt him and all his hopes, and still upon the field he kept

  His utmost turnings to the town. And yet, as in a dream,

  One thinks he gives another chase, when such a fain’d extreme

  Possesseth both, that he in chase the chaser cannot fly,

  Nor can the chaser get to hand his flying enemy; 2

  So nor Achilles’ chase could reach the flight of Hector’s pace,

  Nor Hector’s flight enlarge itself of swift Achilles’ chace.

  But how chanc’d this? How, all this time, could Hector bear the knees

  Of fierce Achilles with his own, and keep off destinies,

  If Phœbus, for his last and best, through all that course had fail’d

  To add his succours to his nerves, and, as his foe assail’d

  Near and within him, fed his ‘scape? Achilles yet well knew

  His knees would fetch him, and gave signs to some friends (making shew

  Of shooting at him) to forbear, lest they detracted so

  From his full glory in first wounds, and in the overthrow

  Make his hand last. But when they reach’d the fourth time the two founts,

  Then Jove his golden scales weigh’d up, and took the last accounts

  Of fate for Hector, putting in for him and Peleus’ son

  Two fates of bitter death; of which high heav’n receiv’d the one,

  The other hell; so low declin’d the light of Hector’s life.

  Then Phœbus left him, when war’s Queen came to resolve the strife

  In th’ other’s knowledge: “Now,” said she, “Jove-lov’d Æacides,

  I hope at last to make renown perform a brave access

  To all the Grecians; we shall now lay low this champion’s height,

  Though never so insatiate was his great heart of fight.

  Nor must he ‘scape our púrsuit still, though at the feet of Jove

  Apollo bows into a sphere, soliciting more love

  To his most favour’d. Breathe thee then, stand firm, myself will haste

  And hearten Hector to change blows.” She went, and he stood fast,

  Lean’d on his lance, and much was joy’d that single strokes should try

  This fadging conflict. Then came close the changéd Deity

  To Hector, like Deiphobus in shape and voice, and said:

  “O brother, thou art too much urg’d to be thus combated

  About our own walls; let us stand, and force to a retreat

  Th’ insulting chaser.” Hector joy’d at this so kind deceit,

  And said: “O good Deiphobus, thy love was most before

  (Of all my brothers) dear to me, but now exceeding more

  It costs me honour, that, thus urg’d, thou com’st to part the charge

  Of my last fortunes; other friends keep town, and leave at large

  My rack’d endeavours.” She replied: “Good brother, ’tis most true,

  One after other, king and queen, and all our friends, did sue,

  Ev’n on their knees, to stay me there, such tremblings shake them all

  With this man’s terror; but my mind so griev’d to see our wall

  Girt with thy chases, that to death I long’d to urge thy stay.

  Come, fight we, thirsty of his blood; no more let’s fear to lay

  Cost on our lances, but approve, if, bloodied with our spoils,

  He can bear glory to their fleet, or shut up all their toils

  In his one suff’rance on thy lance.” With this deceit she led,

  And, both come near, thus Hector spake: “Thrice have I compasséd

  This great town, Peleus’ son, in flight, with aversation

  That out of fate put off my steps; but now all flight is flown,

  The short course set up, death or life. Our resolutions yet

  Must shun all rudeness, and the Gods before our valour set

  For use of victory; and they being worthiest witnesses

  Of all vows, since they keep vows best, before their Deities

  Let vows of fit respect pass both, when conquest hath bestow’d

  Her wreath on either. Here I vow no fury shall be show’d,

  That is not manly, on thy corse, but, having spoil’d thy arms,

  Resign thy person; which swear thou.” These fair and temp’rate terms

  Far fled Achilles; his brows bent, and out flew this reply:

  “Hector, thou only pestilence in all mortality

  To my sere spirits, never set the point ‘twixt thee and me

  Any conditions; but as far as men and lions fly

  All terms of cov’nant, lambs and wolves; in so far opposite state,

  Impossible for love t’ atone, stand we, till our souls satiate

  The God of soldiers. Do not dream that our disjunction can

  Endure condition. Therefore now, all worth that fits a man

  Call to thee, all particular parts that fit a soldier,

  And they all this include (besides the skill and spirit of war)

  Hunger for slaughter, and a hate that eats thy heart to eat

  Thy foe’s heart. This stirs, this supplies in death the killing heat;

  And all this need’st thou. No more flight. Pallas Athenia

  Will quickly cast thee to my lance. Now, now together draw

  All griefs for vengeance, both in me, and all my friends late dead

  That bled thee, raging with thy lance.” This said, he brandishéd

  His long lance, and away it sung; which Hector giving view,

  Stoop’d low, stood firm, foreseeing it best, and quite it overflew,

  Fast’ning on earth. Athenia drew it, and gave her friend,

  Unseen of Hector. Hector then thus spake: “Thou want’st thy end,

  God-like Achilles. Now I see, thou hast not learn’d my fate

  Of Jove at all, as thy high words would bravely intimate.

  Much tongue affects thee. Cunning words well serve thee to prepare

  Thy blows with threats, that mine might faint with want of spirit to dare.

  But my
back never turns with breath; it was not born to bear

  Burthens of wounds; strike home before; drive at my breast thy spear,

  As mine at thine shall, and try then if heav’n’s will favour thee

  With scape of my lance. O would Jove would take it after me,

  And make thy bosom take it all! An easy end would crown

  Our difficult wars, were thy soul fled, thou most bane of our town.”

  Thus flew his dart, touch’d at the midst of his black shield, and flew

  A huge way from it; but his heart wrath enter’d with the view

  Of that hard scape, and heavy thoughts strook through him, when he spied

  His brother vanish’d, and no lance beside left; out he cried:

  “Deiphobus, another lance.” Lance nor Deiphobus

  Stood near his call. And then his mind saw all things ominous,

  And thus suggested: “Woe is me, the Gods have call’d, and I

  Must meet death here! Deiphobus I well hop’d had been by

  With his white shield; but our strong walls shield him, and this deceit

  Flows from Minerva. Now, O now, ill death comes, no more flight,

  No more recovery. O Jove, this hath been otherwise;

  Thy bright son and thyself have set the Greeks a greater prize

  Of Hector’s blood than now; of which, ev’n jealous, you had care,

  But Fate now conquers; I am hers; and yet not she shall share

  In my renown; that life is left to every noble spirit,

  And that some great deed shall beget that all lives shall inherit.”

  Thus, forth his sword flew, sharp and broad, and bore a deadly weight,

  With which he rush’d in. And look how an eagle from her height

  Stoops to the rapture of a lamb, or cuffs a tim’rous hare;

  So fell in Hector; and at him Achilles; his mind’s fare

  Was fierce and mighty, his shield cast a sun-like radiance,

  Helm nodded, and his four plumes shook, and, when he rais’d his lance,

  Up Hesp’rus rose ‘mongst th’ evening stars. His bright and sparkling eyes

  Look’d through the body of his foe, and sought through all that prise

  The next way to his thirsted life. Of all ways, only one

  Appear’d to him, and that was where th’ unequal winding bone,

  That joins the shoulders and the neck, had place, and where there lay

  The speeding way to death; and there his quick eye could display

  The place it sought, e’en through those arms his friend Patroclus wore

  When Hector slew him. There he aim’d, and there his jav’lin tore