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Alham'd to see a single Man, purfu'd
With odds, to sink beneath a Multitude:
We push'd the Foe; and forc'd to shameful Flight;
Part fell; and part escap'd by favour of the Night.

This Tale by Neftor told, did much displease
Tlepolemus, the Seed of Hercules:
For, often he had heard his Father say,
That he himself was present at the Fray;
And more than shar'd the Glories of the Day.

Old Chronicle, he said, among the rest, You might have nam'd Alcides at the least: Is he not worth your Praise? The Pylian Prince Sigh’dere he spoke; then made this proud Defence My former Woes in long Oblivion drown'd, I wou'd have loft; but you renew the Wound: Better to pass him o'er, than to relate The Cause I have your mighty Sire to hate. His Fame has fill'd the World, and reach'd the Sky; (Which, Oh, I wish, with Truth, I cou'd deny!) We praise not Hektor; though his Name, we know, Is great in Arms; 'tis hard to praise a Foe.

He, your Great Father, levell’d to the Ground Mesenia's Tow'rs: Nor better Fortune found

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Elis, and Pylos; that a neighb'ring State,
And this my own: Both guiltless of their Fate.

To pass the rest, twelve, wanting one, he flew;
My Brethren, who their Birth from Neleas drew.
All Youths of early Promise, had they liv'd;
By him they perish’d: I alone surviv'd.
The rest were easie Conqueft: But the Fate
Of Periclymenos, is wondrous to relate.
To bim, our common Grand fire of the Main,
Had giv'n to change his Form, and chang’d, re-

fume again.
Vary'd at Pleasure, every Shape he try'd;
And in all Beafts Alcides still defy'd :*
Vanquish'd on Earth, at length he foar'd above;
Chang'd to the Bird, that bears the Bolt of Jove.

The new-dissembled Eagle, now endu'd
With Beak and Pounces, Hercules pursu'd,
And cuff'd his manly Cheeks, and tore his Face;
Then, safe retir'd, and tour'd in empiy space.
Alcides bore not long his flying Foe;
But bending his inevitable Bow,
Reach'd him in Air, suspended as he stood;
And in his Pinion fix'd the featherd Wood.

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Light was the Wound; but in the Sinew hung
The Point; and his disabled Wing unstrung.
He wheeld in Air, and stretch'd his Vans in vain;
His Vans no longer cou'd his Flighe faftain:
For while one gather'd Wind, one anfupply'd
Hung drooping down; nor pois'd his other Side.
He fell: The Shaft that flightly was impress’d,
Now from his heavy Fall with weight increas'd,
Drove through his Neck, aflant; be fporns the

And the Soul issues through the Weazon's Wound.

Now, brave Commander of the Rbodian Seas, What Praise is due from me, to Hercules? Silence is all the Vengeance I decree For my slain Brothers; but 'tis Peace with thee.

Thus with a flowing Tongue old Neftor fpoke: Then, to full Bowls each other they provoke:. At length, with Wearinefs and Wine opprefs’d, They rise from Table; and withdraw to Reft.

The Sire of Cygnus, Monarch of the Main, Mean time, laments his Son, in Battel flain : And vows the Vi&tor's Death; nor vows in vain.


For nine long Years the smother'd Pain he bore;
(Achilles was not ripe for Fate, before:)
Then when he saw the promis'd Hour was near,
He thus bespoke the God, that guides the Year.
Immortal Offspring of my Brother jove;
My brightest Nephew, and whom best I love,
Whose Hands were join'd with mine, to raise the

Of tottring Troy, now nodding to her Fall,
Dost thou not mourn our Pow'remploy'd in vain;
And the Defenders of our City Nain?
To pass the rest, cou'd noble He&tor lie
Unpity'd, drag'd around his Native Troy?
And yet the Murd'rer lives: Himself by far
A greater Plague, than all the wasteful War:
He lives; the proud Pelides lives, to boast
Our Town destroy'd, our common Labour loft!
O, cou'd I meet him! But I wish too late:
To prove my Trident is not in his Fate!
But let him try (for that's allow'd) thy Dart,
And pierce his only penetrable Part.

Apollo bows to the superior Throne;
And to his Uncle's Anger, adds his own.



Then in a Cloud involv'd, he takes his Flight,
Where Greeks and Trojans mix'din mortal Fight;
And found out Paris, lurking where he stood,
And stain'd his Arrows with Plebeian Blood:
Phæbus to him alone the God confefs'd,
Then to the recreant Knight, he thus address’d.
Dost thou not blush, to spend thy Shafts in vain
On a degenerate and ignoble Train?
If Fame, or better Vengeance, be thy Care,
There aim: And, with one Arrow, end the War.

He said ; and thew'd from far the blazing Shield. AndSword, which but Achilles none cou'd wield; And how he mov'd a God, and mow'd the standThe Deity himself directs aright

[ing Field. Th’invenom'd Shaft; and wings the fatal Flight.

Thus fell the foremost of the Grecian Name; And He, the base Adult'rer, boasts the Fame. A Spectacle to glad the Trojan Train ; And please old Priam, after Hector flain. If by a Female Hand he had foreseen He was to die, his Wish had rather been

(Queen. The Lance and double Ax of the fair Warrious

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