by John Dryden
When he his dire Affront shall dearly pay:
When the proud King shall sue, with trebble Gain, 320
To quit thy Loss, and conquer thy Disdain.
But thou, secure of my unfailing Word,
Compose thy swelling Soul; and sheath the Sword.
The Youth thus answer’d mild; Auspicious Maid,
Heaven’s will be mine, and your Commands obey’d. 325
The Gods are just, and when subduing Sense,
We serve their Pow’rs, provide the Recompence.
He said; with surly Faith believ’d her Word,
And, in the Sheath, reluctant, plung’d the Sword.
Her Message done, she mounts the bless’d Abodes, 330
And mix’d among the Senate of the Gods.
At her Departure his Disdain return’d:
The Fire she fan’d, with greater Fury burn’d;
Rumbling within till thus it found a Vent:
Dastard, and Drunkard, Mean and Insolent: 335
Tongue-valiant Hero, Vaunter of thy Might,
In Threats the foremost, but the lag in Fight;
When did’st thou thrust amid the mingled Preace,
Content to bid the War aloof in Peace?
Arms are the Trade of each Plebeyan soul; 340
’Tis Death to fight; but Kingly to controul.
Lord-like at ease, with arbitrary Pow’r,
To peel the Chiefs, the People to devour.
These, Traitor, are thy Tallents; safer far
Than to contend in Fields, and Toils of War. 345
Nor coud’st thou thus have dar’d the common Hate,
Were not their Souls as abject as their State.
But, by this Scepter, solemnly I swear,
(Which never more green Leaf or growing Branch shall bear:
Torn from the Tree, and giv’n by Jove to those 350
Who Laws dispence and mighty Wrongs oppose)
That when the Grecians want my wonted Aid,
No Gift shall bribe it, and no Pray’r persuade.
When Hector comes, the Homicide, to wield
His conquering Arms, with Corps to strow the Field, 355
Then shalt thou mourn thy Pride; and late confess
My Wrong repented, when ’tis past Redress.
He said: And with Disdain, in open view,
Against the Ground his golden Scepter threw;
Then sate: with boiling Rage Atrides burn’d: 360
And Foam betwixt his gnashing Grinders churn’d.
But from his Seat the Pylian Prince arose,
With Reas’ning mild, their Madness to compose:
Words, sweet as Hony, from his Mouth distill’d;
Two Centuries already he fulfill’d; 365
And now began the third; unbroken yet:
Once fam’d for Courage; still in Council great.
What worse, he said, can Argos undergo,
What can more gratify the Phrygian Foe,
Than these distemper’d Heats? If both the Lights 370
Of Greece their private Int’rest disunites!
Believe a Friend, with thrice your Years increas’d,
And let these youthful Passions be repress’d:
I flourish’d long before your Birth; and then
Liv’d equal with a Race of braver Men, 375
Than these dim Eyes shall e’er behold agen.
Ceneus and Dryas, and, excelling them,
Great Theseus, and the Force of greater Polypheme.
With these I went, a Brother of the War,
Their Dangers to divide; their Fame to share. 380
Nor idle stood with unassisting Hands,
When salvage Beasts, and Men’s more salvage Bands,
Their virtuous Toil subdued: yet those I sway’d,
With pow’rful Speech: I spoke, and they obey’d.
If such as those, my Councils cou’d reclaim, 385
Think not, young Warriors, your diminish’d Name
Shall lose of Lustre, by subjecting Rage
To the cool Dictates of experienc’d Age.
Thou, King of Men, stretch not thy sovereign Sway
Beyond the Bounds free Subjects can obey: 390
But let Pelides in his Prize rejoice,
Atchiev’d in arms, allow’d by publick Voice.
Nor Thou, brave Champion, with his Pow’r contend,
Before whose Throne ev’n Kings their lower’d Scepters bend.
The Head of Action He, and Thou the Hand, 395
Matchless thy Force; but mightier his Command:
Thou first, O king, release the rights of Sway;
Pow’r, self-restrain’d, the People best obey.
Sanctions of Law from Thee derive their Source;
Command thy Self, whom no Commands can force. 400
The Son of Thetis Rampire of our Host,
Is worth our Care to keep; nor shall my Pray’rs be lost.
Thus Nestor said, and ceas’d: Atrides broke
His Silence next; but ponder’d e’er he spoke.
Wise are thy Words, and glad I would obey, 405
But this proud Man affects Imperial Sway.
Controlling Kings, and trampling on our State
His Will is Law; and what he wills is Fate.
The Gods have giv’n him Strength: But whence the Style,
Of lawless Pow’r assum’d, or Licence to revile? 410
Achilles cut him short; and thus reply’d:
My Worth allow’d in Words, is in effect deny’d.
For who but a Poltron, possess’d with Fear,
Such haughty Insolence can tamely bear?
Command thy Slaves: My freeborn Soul disdains 415
A Tyrant’s Curb; and restiff breaks the Reins.
Take this along; that no Dispute shall rise
(Though mine the Woman) for my ravish’d Prize:
But, she excepted, as unworthy Strife,
Dare not, I charge thee dare not, on thy Life, 420
Touch ought of mine beside, by Lot my due,
But stand aloof, and think profane to view:
This Fauchion, else, not hitherto withstood,
These hostile Fields shall fatten with thy Blood.
He said; and rose the first: the Council broke; 425
And all their grave Consults dissolv’d in Smoke.
The Royal Youth retir’d, on Vengeance bent,
Patroclus follow’d silent to his Tent.
Mean time, the King with Gifts a Vessel stores;
Supplies the Banks with twenty chosen Oars: 430
And next, to reconcile the shooter God,
Within her hollow Sides the Sacrifice he stow’d:
Chryseis last was set on board; whose Hand
Ulysses took, intrusted with Command;
They plow the liquid Seas; and leave the less’ning Land. 435
Atrides then his outward Zeal to boast,
Bade purify the Sin-polluted Host.
With perfect Hecatombs the God they grac’d;
Whose offer’d Entrails in the Main were cast.
Black Bulls, and bearded Goats on Altars lie; 440
And clouds of sav’ry stench involve the Sky.
These Pomps the Royal Hypocrite design’d
For Shew: But harbour’d Vengeance in his Mind:
Till holy Malice, longing for a Vent,
At length, discover’d his conceal’d Intent. 445
Talthybius, and Eurybates the just,
Heralds of Arms, and Ministers of Trust,
He call’d; and thus bespoke: Haste hence your way;
And from the Goddess-born demand his Prey.
If yielded, bring the Captive: If deny’d, 450
The King (so tell him) shall chastise his Pride:
And with arm’d Multitudes in Person come
To vindicate his Pow’r, and justify his Doom.
This hard Command unwilling they obey,
And o’er the barren Shor
e pursue their way, 455
Where quarter’d in their Camp, the fierce Thessalians lay.
Their Sov’reign seated on his Chair, they find;
His pensive Cheek upon his Hand reclin’d,
And anxious Thoughts revolving in his Mind.
With gloomy Looks he saw them entring in 460
Without Salute: Nor durst they first begin,
Fearful of rash Offence and Death foreseen.
He soon the Cause divining, clear’d his Brow;
And thus did liberty of Speech allow.
Interpreters of Gods and Men, be bold 465
Awful your Character, and uncontroll’d:
Howe’er unpleasing be the News you bring,
I blame not you, but your Imperious King.
You come, I know, my Captive to demand;
Patroclus, give her to the Herald’s Hand. 470
But you, authentick Witnesses I bring,
Before the Gods, and your ungrateful King,
Of this my Manifest: That never more
This Hand shall combate on the crooked Shore:
No, let the Grecian Pow’rs oppress’d in Fight, 475
Unpity’d perish in their Tyrants Sight.
Blind of the future, and by Rage misled,
He pulls his Crimes upon his People’s Head
Forc’d from the Field in Trenches to contend,
And his Insulted Camp from foes defend. 480
He said, and soon, obeying his Intent,
Patroclus brought Briseis from her Tent;
Then to th’ intrusted Messengers resign’d:
She wept, and often cast her Eyes behind;
Forc’d from the Man she lov’d: They led her thence, 485
Along the Shore a Pris’ner to their Prince.
Sole on the barren Sands the suff’ring Chief
Roar’d out for Anguish, and indulg’d his Grief;
Cast on his Kindred Seas a stormy Look,
And his upbraided Mother thus bespoke. 490
Unhappy Parent of a short-liv’d Son,
Since Jove in Pity by thy Pray’rs was won
To grace my small Remains of Breath with Fame,
Why loads he this imbitter’d Life with Shame?
Suff’ring his King of Men to force my Slave, 495
Whom well deserv’d in War, the Grecians gave.
Set by old Ocean’s side the Goddess heard;
Then from the sacred Deep her Head she rear’d:
Rose like a Morning-mist; and thus begun
To soothe the Sorrows of her plaintive Son. 500
Why cry’s my Care, and why conceals his Smart?
Let thy afflicted Parent share her part.
Then sighing from the bottom of his Breast,
To the Sea-Goddess thus the Goddess-born address’d.
Thou know’st my Pain, which telling but recals: 505
By Force of Arms we raz’d the Theban Walls;
The ransack’d City, taken by our Toils,
We left, and hither brought the golden Spoils;
Equal we shar’d them; but before the rest,
The proud Prerogative had seiz’d the best. 510
Chryseis was the greedy Tyrant’s Prize,
Chryseis, rosy-cheek’d, with charming Eyes.
Her Syre, Apollo’s Priest, arriv’d to buy
With proffer’d Gifts of Price, his Daughter’s Liberty.
Suppliant before the Grecians Chiefs he stood, 515
Awful, and arm’d with Ensigns of his God:
Bare was his hoary Head, one holy Hand
Held forth his Lawrel-Crown, and one, his Scepter of Command.
His suit was common, but above the rest
To both the Brother-Princes was address’d. 520
With Shouts of loud Acclaim the Greeks agree
To take the Gifts, to set the Pris’ner free.
Not so the Tyrant, who with scorn the Priest
Receiv’d, and with opprobrious Words dismiss’d.
The good old Man, forlorn of human Aid, 525
For Vengeance to his heav’nly Patron pray’d:
The Godhead gave a favourable Ear,
And granted all to him he held so dear;
In an ill Hour his piercing Shafts he sped;
And Heaps on Heaps of slaughter’d Greeks lay dead, 530
While round the Camp he rang’d: At length arose
A Seer who well divin’d; and durst disclose
The Source of all our Ills: I took the Word;
And urg’d the sacred Slave to be restor’d,
The God appeas’d: The swelling Monarch storm’d: 535
And then the Vengeance vow’d, he since perform’d:
The Greeks’ ’tis true, their Ruin to prevent,
Have to the Royal Priest his Daughter sent;
But from their haughty King his Heralds came,
And seiz’d by his command, my Captive Dame, 540
By common Suffrage given; but, thou, be won,
If in thy Pow’r, t’ avenge thy injur’d Son:
Ascend the Skies; and supplicating move
Thy just Complaint to Cloud-compelling Jove.
If thou by either Word or Deed hast wrought 545
A kind remembrance in his grateful Thought,
Urge him by that: For often hast thou said
Thy Pow’r was once not useless in his Aid,
When He who high above the Highest reigns,
Surpriz’d by Traytor-Gods, was bound in Chains. 550
When Juno, Pallas, with Ambition fir’d,
And his blue Brother of the Seas conspir’d,
Thou freed’st the Soveraign from unworthy Bands,
Thou brought’st Briareus with his hundred Hands,
(So call’d in Heav’n, but mortal Men below 555
By his terrestrial Name, Ægeon know:
Twice stronger than his Syre, who sate above
Assessor to the Throne of thundring Jove.)
The Gods, dismay’d at his approach, withdrew,
Nor durst their unaccomplish’d Crime pursue. 560
That Action to his grateful Mind recal:
Embrace his Knees, and at his Footstool fall:
That now if ever, he will aid our Foes;
Let Troy’s triumphant Troops the Camp inclose:
Ours beaten to the Shore, the Siege forsake; 565
And what their King deserves with him partake;
That the proud Tyrant at his proper Cost,
May learn the Value of the Man he lost.
To whom the Mother-Goddess thus reply’d,
Sigh’d ere she spoke, and while she spoke she cry’d, 570
Ah wretched me! by Fates averse decreed
To bring thee forth with Pain, with care to breed!
Did envious Heav’n not otherwise ordain,
Safe in thy hollow Ships thou shou’d’st remain;
Nor ever tempt the fatal Field again. 575
But now thy Planet sheds his pois’nous Rays:
And short, and full of Sorrow are thy Days.
For what remains, to Heav’n I will ascend,
And at the Thund’rer’s Throne thy Suit commend.
Till then, secure in Ships, abstain from Fight; 580
Indulge thy Grief in Tears, and vent thy Spight.
For yesterday the Court of Heav’n with Jove
Remov’d: ’Tis dead Vacation now above.
Twelve Days the Gods their solemn Revels keep,
And quaff with blameless Ethiops in the Deep. 585
Return’d from thence, to Heav’n my Flight I take,
Knock at the brazen Gates, and Providence awake,
Embrace his Knees, and suppliant to the Sire,
Doubt not I will obtain the grant of thy desire.
She said: And parting left him on the place, 590
Swoln with Disdain, resenting his Disgrace:
Revengeful Thoughts revolving in his Mind,
He wept f
or Anger and for Love he pin’d.
Mean time with prosperous Gales, Ulysses brought
The Slave, and Ship with Sacrifices fraught, 595
To Chrysa’s Port: Where entring with the Tide,
He drop’d his Anchors, and his Oars he ply’d.
Furl’d every Sail, and drawing down the Mast,
His Vessel moor’d; and made with Haulsers fast.
Descending on the Plain, ashore they bring 600
The Hecatomb to please the shooter King.
The Dame before an Altars holy Fire
Ulysses led; and thus bespoke her Sire.
Reverenc’d be thou, and be thy God ador’d:
The King of Men thy Daughter has restor’d; 605
And sent by me with Presents and with Pray’r;
He recommends him to thy pious Care;
That Phœbus at thy Sute his Wrath may cease,
And give the penitent Offenders Peace.
He said, and gave her to her Father’s Hands, 610
Who glad receiv’d her, free from servile Bands.
This done, in Order they with sober Grace,
Their gifts around the well-built Altar place.
Then wash’d, and took the Cakes; while Chryses stood
With Hands upheld, and thus invok’d his God. 615
God of the Silver Bow, whose Eyes survey
The sacred Cilla, thou whose awful Sway,
Chrysa the bless’d, and Tenedos obey:
Now hear, as thou before my Pray’r hast heard,
Against the Grecians, and their Prince, preferr’d: 620
Once thou hast honour’d, honour once again
Thy Priest; nor let his second Vows be vain;
But from th’ afflicted Host and humbled Prince
Avert thy Wrath, and cease thy Pestilence.
Apollo heard, and, conquering his Disdain, 625
Unbent his Bow and Greece respir’d again.
Now when the solemn Rites of Pray’r were past,
Their salted Cakes on crackling Flames they cast.
Then, turning back, the Sacrifice they sped:
The fatted Oxen slew, and flea’d the Dead, 630
Chopp’d off their nervous Thighs, and next prepar’d
T’ involve the lean in Cauls, and mend with Lard.
Sweet-breads and Collops were with Skewers prick’d
About the Sides; inbibing what they deck’d.
The Priest with holy Hands was seen to tine 635
The cloven Wood, and pour the ruddy Wine,
The Youth approach’d the Fire, and as it burn’d
On five sharp Broachers rank’d, the Roast they turn’d;
These Morsels stay’d their stomachs; then the rest
They cut in Legs and Fillets for the Feast; 640
Which drawn and serv’d, their Hunger they appease
With sav’ry Meat, and set their Minds at ease.
