And now the Terror of the Trojan Field
The Grecian Honour, Ornament, and Shield,
High on a Pile, th' Unconquer'd Chief is plac'd,
The God that arm'd him first, confum'd at last,
Of all the Mighty Man, the fmall Remains

little Urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains. Yet great in Homer, ftill Achilles lives; And equal to himself, himself furvives.

His Buckler owns its former Lord; and brings New cause of Strife, betwixt contending Kings; Who Worthiest after him, his Sword to wield, ' Or wear his Armour, or fuftain his Shield. Ev'n Diomede fate Mute, with down-caft Eyes; Conscious of wanted Worth to win the Prize: Nor Menelaus presum'd these Arms to claim, Nor He the King of Men, a greater Name. Two Rivals only rofe: Laertes' Son,

And the vast Bulk of Ajax Telamon :

The King, who cherish'd each, with equal Love,
And from himself all Envy wou'd remove,

Left both to be determin'd by the Laws;
And to the Grecian Chiefs transferr'd the Cause.

THE

SPEECHES

O F

Ajax and Vlyffes:

From the Thirteenth Book of

OVID's Metamorphofes.

HE Chiefs were fet; the Soldiers

crown'd the Field:

To these the Mafter of the seven

fold Shield,

Upstarted fierce: And kindled with Difdain

Eager to speak, unable to contain

His boiling Rage, he rowl'd his Eyes around
The Shore, and Grecian Gallies hall'd a-ground.
Then stretching out his Hands, Ofove, he cry'd,
Must then our Cause before the Fleet be try'd?
And dares Vlyffes for the Prize contend,

In fight of what he durft not once defend?
But bafely fled that memorable Day,

[Prey.

When I from Hector's Hands redeem'd the flaming
So much 'tis fafer at the noifie Bar

With Words to flourifh, than ingage in War.
By diff'rent Methods we maintain our Right,
Nor am I made to Talk, nor he to Fight.
In bloody Fields I labour to be great;

His Arms are afmooth Tongue; and foft Deceit:
Nor need I speak my Deeds, for those you fee,
The Sun and Day are Witnesses for me.
Let him who fights unseen relate his own,

And vouch the filent Stars, and confcious Moon;
Great is the Prize demanded, I confefs,

But fuch an abject Rival makes it lefs;

That Gift, thofe Honours, he but hop'd to gain, Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain:

Lofing he wins, because his Name will be Enobled by Defeat, who durft contend with me. Were my known Valour question'd, yet my Blood Without that Plea wou'd make my Title good: My Sire was Telamon, whofe Arms, employ'd With Hercules, these Trojan Walls destroy'd; And who before with Jafon, fent from Greece, In the first Ship brought home the Golden Fleece : Great Telamon from Eacus derives

His Birth (th' Inquifitor of guilty Lives

In Shades below; where Syfiphus, whose Son
This Thief is thought, rouls up the restless heavy
[Stone,)
Just Eacus, the King of Gods above

Begot: Thus Ajax is the third from Jove.
Nor fhou'd I feek Advantage from my Line,
Unless (Achilles) it were mix'd with thine:
As next of Kin Achilles' Arms I claim;
This Fellow wou'd ingraft a Foreign Name
Upon our Stock, and the Sysiphian Seed
By Fraud and Theft afferts his Father's Breed:
Then must I lose these Arms, because I came
To fight uncall'd, a voluntary Name,

Nor fhunn'd the Cause, but offer'd

you my Aid, While he long lurking was to War betray'd: Forc'd to the Field he came, but in the Reer; And feign'd Distraction to conceal his Fear: Till one more cunning caught him in the Snare; (Ill for himself) and dragg'd him into War. Now let a Hero's Arms a Coward veft,

And he who shunn'd all Honours, gain the best: And let me ftand excluded from my Right, Robb'd of my Kinfman's Arms, who firft appear'd in Fight.

Better for us at home had he remain'd,

Had it been true the Madness which he feign'd,
Or fo believ'd; the lefs had been our Shame,
The lefs his counfell'd Crime, which brands the
Grecian Name;

Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd
In a bare Ifle, to Wants and Pains expos'd,
Where to the Rocks, with folitary Groans,
His Suff'rings and our Baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (fo may Heav'n his Wish fulfill)
The due Reward to him who caus'd his Ill.

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