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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

Ground,
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

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

Wall
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.

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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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