Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/176

160 Thy Sire with grieving Eyes beheld his Fate; And cry'd, not long, lov'd Crantor, shalt thou wait Thy vow'd Revenge. At once he said, and threw His Ashen-Spear which quiver'd as it flew; With all his Force, and all his Soul apply'd; The sharp Point enter'd in the Centaur's Side: Both Hands to wrench it out the Monster join'd; And wrench'd it out but left the Steel behind. Stuck in his Lungs it stood: Inrag'd he rears His Hoofs, and down to Ground thy Father bears. Thus trampled under Foot, his Shield defends His Head; his other Hand the Lance protends. Ev'n while he lay extended on the Dust, He sped the Centaur, with one single Thrust. Two more, his Lance before transfix'd from far; And two, his Sword had slain, in closer War. To these was added Dorylas, who spread A Bull's two goring Horns around his Head. With these he push'd; in Blood already dy'd, Him, fearless, I approach'd; and thus defy'd: Now, Monster, now, by Proof it shall appear, Whether thy Horns are sharper, or my Spear. At this, I threw: For want of other Ward, He lifted up his Hand, his Front to guard. His Hand it pass'd; and fix'd it to his Brow: Loud Shouts of ours attend the lucky Blow. Him Peleus finish'd with a second Wound, Which thro' the Navel pierc'd: He reel'd around; And dragg'd his dangling Bowels on the Ground. Trod what he drag'd; and what he trod, he crush'd; And to his Mother-Earth, with empty Belly, rush'd.

Nor cou'd thy Form, O Cyllarus, foreshow Thy Fate; (if Form to Monsters Men allow:) Just