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That work was mine; for Pallas, tho our friend,
Yet while she was in Troy, did Troy defend.
Now what has Ajax done, or what design'd?
A noisy nothing, and an empty wind.
If he be what he promises in show,
Why was I sent, and why fear'd he to go?
Our boasting champion thought the task not light
To pass the guards, commit himself to night;
Not only through a hostile town to pass,
But scale, with steep ascent, the sacred place;
With wand'ring steps to search the citadel,
And from the priests their patroness to steal :
Then through surrounding foes to force my way,
And bear in triumph home the heav'nly prey ;
Which had I not, Ajax in vain had held,
Before that monstrous bulk, his fev’nfold shield.
That night to conquer Troy I might be said,
When Troy was liable to conquest made.

Why point'st thou to my partner of the war?
Tydides had indeed a worthy share
In all my toil, and praise; but when thy might
Our ships protected, didst thou singly fight?
All join'd, and thou of many wert but one;
I ask'd no friend, nor had, but him alone:

Who, had he not been well assur'd, that art
And conduct were of war the better

part, And more avail'd than strength, my valiant

friend Had urg'd a better right, than Ajax can pretend; As good at least Eurypylus may claim, And the more moderate Ajax of the name: The Cretan king, and his brave charioteer, And Menelaus bold with sword and spear: All these had been my rivals in the shield, And

yet all these to my pretensions yield. Thy boist'rous hands are then of use, when I With this directing head those hands apply. Brawn without brain is thine : my prudent care Foresees, provides, administers the war : Thy province is to fight; but when shall be The time to fight, the king consults with me: No dram of judgment with thy force is join'd; Thy body is of profit, and By how much more the ship her safety owes To him who steers, than him that only rows, By how much more the captain merits praise Than he who fights, and fighting but obeys ; By so much

my

worth than thine, Who canst but execute what I design.

my mind.

greater is

But you,

What gain'st thou, brutal man, if I confess
Thy strength superior, when thy wit is less?
Mind is the man: I claim

my

whole desert
From the mind's vigor, and th' immortal part.

O Grecian chiefs, reward my care,
Be grateful to your watchman of the war:
For all my labours in so long a space,
Sure I may plead a title to your grace:
Enter the town; I then unbarr’d the gates,
When I remov'd their tutelary fates.
By all our common hopes, if hopes they be
Which I have now reduc'd to certainty;
By falling Troy, by yonder tott'ring tow'rs,
And by their taken Gods, which now are ours;
Or if there yet a farther task remains,
To be perform'd by prudence or by pains;
If

yet some desp’rate action rests behind,
That asks high conduct, and a dauntless mind;
If ought be wanting to the Trojan doom,
Which none but I can manage and o'ercome;
Award those arms I ask, by your decree:
Or give to this what

you

refuse to me. He ceas'd: and ceasing with respect he bow'd, And with his hand at once the fatal statue

Thew'd.

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Heav'n, air, and ocean rung, with loud applause,
And by the gen’ral vote he gain'd his cause.
Thus conduct won the prize, when courage fail'd,
And eloquence o'er brutal force prevail d.

The Death of A J A X.

He who could often, and alone, withstand The foe, the fire, and Jove's own partial hand, Now cannot his unmaster'd grief sustain, But yields to rage, to madness, and disdain; Then snatching out his fauchion, Thou, said

he, Art mine; Ulyffes lays no claim to thee. O often try'd, and ever trusty sword, Now do thy last kind office to thy lord: 'Tis Ajax who requests thy aid, to show None but himself, himself could overthrow. He said, and with so good a will to die Did to his breast the fatal point apply, It found his heart, a way till then unknown, Where never weapon enter'd but his own: No hands could force it thence, fo fixt it stood, 'Till out it rush'd, expell’d by streams of spouting The fruitful blood produc'd a flow's, which

blood.

grew On a green stem; and of a purple hue: Like his, whom unaware Apollo New: Inscrib'd in both, the letters are the same, But those express the grief, and these the name.

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