Poor Palamede might wish, fo void of aid
Rather to have been left, than so to death betray'd.
The coward bore the man immortal spite,
Who fham'd him out of madness into fight:
Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate,
Accus'd him firft of treason to the state;
And then for proof produc'd the golden ftore
Himself had hidden in his tent before:
Thus of two champions he depriv'd our hoft,
By exile one, and one by treason lost.
Thus fights Ulyffes, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends:
Great, for what greatnefs is in words and found:
Ev'n faithful Neftor less in both is found:
But that he might without a rival reign,
He left his faithful Neftor on the plain;
Forfook his friend ev'n at his utmoft need,
Who tir'd and tardy, with his wounded steed,
Cry'd out for aid, and call'd him by his name;
But cowardife has neither ears nor fhame:
Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,
And, for as much as lay in him, betray'd.
That this is not a fable forg'd by me,
Like one of his, an Ulyffean lye,
I vouch ev'n Diomede, who, tho' his friend,
Cannot that act excufe, much lefs defend:
He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear;
And fure enough he heard, but durft not hear.
The Gods with equal eyes on mortals look;
He justly was forfaken, who forfook :
Wanted that fuccour he refus'd to lend,
Found every fellow fuch another friend:
No wonder, if he roar'd that all might hear,
His elocution was increas'd by fear:
I heard, I ran, I found him out of breath,
Pale, trembling, and half dead with fear of death.
Though he had judg'd himself by his own laws,
And stood condemn'd, I help'd the common
caufe:
With my broad buckler hid him from the foe;
(Ev'n the shield trembled as he lay below ;)
And from impending fate the coward freed:
Good heav'n forgive me for fo bad a deed!
If still he will perfift, and urge the strife,
First let him give me back his forfeit life :
Let him return to that opprobrious field;
Again creep
under my protecting fhield:
Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near,
And let his quiv'ring heart confess his fear;
him in the very jaws of fate;
And let him plead his caufe in that eftate:
And yet when fnatch'd from death, when from below
My lifted shield I loos'd and let him
Good heav'ns, how light he rose, with what a
He sprung from earth, forgetful of his wound:
How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply;
Who had not strength to stand, had speed to fly!
Hector came on, and brought the Gods along;
Fear feiz'd alike the feeble and the strong:
Each Greek was an Ulyffes; fuch a dread
Th' approach, and ev'n the found of Hector bred:
Him, flesh'd with laughter, and with conqueft
crown'd,
I met, and over-turn'd him to the ground.
When after, matchlefs as he deem'd in might,
He challeng'd all our hoft to fingle fight,
All eyes were fix'd on me: the lots were thrown;
But for your champion I was with'd alone:
Your vows were heard, we fought and neither yield;
Yet I return'd unvanquish'd from the field.
With Jove to friend th' infulting Trojan came,
And menac'd us with force, our fleet with flame:
Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,
In that black hour, that fav'd you from the fword;
Or was my breaft expos'd alone, to brave
A thousand swords, a thousand fhips to fave?
The hopes of your return! and can you yield,
For a fav'd fleet, lefs than a fingle shield?
Think it no boast, O Grecians, if I deem
These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them;
Or, I with them an equal honor share;
They honor'd to be worn, and I to wear.
Will he compare my courage with his flight?
As well he may compare the day with night.
Night is indeed the province of his reign:
Yet all his dark exploits no more contain
Than a spy taken, and a fleeper flain;
A prieft made pris'ner, Pallas made a prey:
But none of all these actions done by day :
Nor ought of thefe was done, and Diomede away.
If on fuch petty merits you confer
So vaft a prize, let each his portion share;
Make a just dividend; and if not all,
The greater part to Diomede will fall.
But why for Ithacus fuch arms as thofe,
Who naked and by night invades his foes?
The glitt'ring helm by moonlight will proclaim
The latent robber, and prevent his game:
Nor could he hold his tott'ring head upright
Beneath that motion, or fuftain the weight;
Nor that right arm could tofs the beamy lance;
Much lefs the left that ampler fhield advance;
Pond'rous with precious weight, and rough with
Of the round world in rifing gold emboss'd.
That orb would ill become his hand to wield,
And look as for the gold he ftole the shield;
Which fhould your error on the wretch bestow,
It would not frighten, but allure the foe:
Why afks he, what avails him not in fight,
And would but cumber and retard his flight,
In which his only excellence is plac'd?
You give him death, that intercept his hafte.
Add, that his own is yet a maiden-fhield,
Nor the leaft dint has fuffer'd in the field,
Guiltless of fight: mine batter'd, hew'd, and bor'd,
Worn out of fervice, muft forfake his lord.
What farther need of words our right to scan?
My arguments are deeds, let action speak the man.
Since from a champion's arms the ftrife arose,
So caft the glorious prize amid the foes;
Then fend us to redeem both arms and fhield,
And let him wear who wins 'em in the field,
|