Poor Palamede might wish, fo void of aid
Rather to have been left, than fo to death betray'd.
The coward bore the man immortal spite,
Who fham'd him out of madness into fight:
Nor daring otherwife 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 treafon loft.
Thus fights Ulyffes, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends:
Great, for what greatness is in words and found:
Ev'n faithful Neftor lefs 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 utmost 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 less 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 juftly 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 ftill he will perfift, and urge the ftrife,
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;
There put him in the very jaws of fate;
And let him plead his caufe in that estate: And yet when snatch'd from death, when from below
My lifted shield I loos'd and let him
Good heav'ns, how light he rofe, with what a
He fprung 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 flaughter, 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 single 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 fwords, a thousand ships to fave?
The hopes of your return! and can you yield,
For a fav'd fleet, less than a single shield?
Think it no boast, O Grecians, if I deem
These arms want Ajax, more than Ajax thêm;
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 priest 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 juft dividend; and if not all,
The greater part to Diomede will fall.
But why for Ithacus fuch arms as those,
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 less 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 fhield;
Which fhould your error on the wretch bestow,
It would not frighten, but allure the foe:
Why asks 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 baste.
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 fcan?
My arguments are deeds, let action speak the man.
Since from a champion's arms the strife arose,
So caft the glorious prize amid the foes;
Then send us to redeem both arms and fhield,
And let him wear who wins 'em in the field.
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