Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/201

Book 13. All these this Hand laid breathless on the Ground; Nor want I Proofs of many a manly Wound: All honest, all before: Believe not me; Words may deceive, but credit what you see. At this he bar'd his Breast, and show'd his Scars, As of a furrow'd Field, well plow'd with Wars; Nor is this Part unexercis'd, said he; That Gyant-bulk of his from wounds is free: Safe in his Shield he fears no Foe to try, And better manages his Blood, than I: But this avails me not; our Boaster strove Not with our Foes alone, but partial Jove, To save the Fleet: This I confess is true, (Nor will I take from any Man his due:) But thus assuming all, he robs from you. Some part of Honour to your share will fall, He did the best indeed, but did not all. Patroclus in Achilles' Arms, and thought The Chief he seem'd, with equal Ardour fought; Preserv'd the Fleet, repell'd the raging Fire, And forc'd the fearful Trojans to retire. But Ajax boasts that he was only thought A Match for Hector, who the Combat sought: Sure he forgets the King, the Chiefs, and Me; All were as eager for the Fight, as He: He but the ninth, and not by publick Voice, Or ours prefer'd, was only Fortune's Choice: They fought: nor can our Hero boast th' Event, For Hector from the Field unwounded went. Why am I forc'd to name that fatal Day, That snatch'd the Prop and Pride of Greece away? I saw Pelides sink with pious Grief, And ran in vain, alas! to his Relief; For the brave Soul was fled: Full of my Friend I rush'd amid the War, his Relicks to defend: Nor