Sidor som bilder
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HE chiefs were fet, the soldiers crown'd

the field:
To these the master of the sevenfold

Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain,
Eager to speak, unable to contain
His boiling rage, he roll’d his eyes around
The shore, and Grecian gallies halld a-ground.
Then stretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Must then our cause before the fleet be try'd ?
And dares Ulysses for the prize contend,
In light of what he durst not once defend ?


But basely fled that memorable day,
When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming

So much 'tis safer at the noisy bar
With words to flourish, than engage in war.
By diff'rent methods we maintain'd our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.
In bloody fields I labour to be great ;
His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft decelt.
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those you see ;
The sun and day are witnesses for me.
Let him who fights unseen relate his own,
And, vouch the silent stars, and conscious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess,
But such an abject rival makes it less.
That gift, those honors, he but hop'd to gain,
Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain :
Losing he wins, because his name will be
Ennobled by defeat, who durst contend with me.
Were mine own valour question’d, yet my

blood Without that plea would make my title good : My fire was Telamon, whose arms, employ'd With Hercules, these Trojan walls destroy'd ; And who before, with Jason, sent from Greece, In the first ship brought home the golden fleece:

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