Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/27

Book 8. The Wound's great Author close at Hand provokes His Rage, and plies him with redoubled Strokes; Wheels, as he wheels; and with his pointed Dart Explores the nearest Passage to his Heart. Quick, and more quick he spins in giddy Gires, Then falls, and in much Foam his Soul expires, This Act with Shouts Heav'n-high the friendly Band Applaud, and strain in theirs the Victor's Hand. Then all approach the Slain with vast Surprize, Admire on what a Breadth of Earth he lies, And scarce secure, reach out their Spears afar, And blood their Points, to prove their Partnership of War. But he, the conqu'ring Chief, his Foot impress'd On the strong Neck of that destructive Beast; And gazing on the Nymph with ardent Eyes, Accept, said he, fair Nonacrine, my Prize, And, though inferior, suffer me to join My Labours, and my part of Praise with thine: At this presents her with the Tusky Head And Chine, with rising Bristles roughly spread. Glad, she receiv'd the Gift; and seem'd to take With double Pleasure for the Giver's sake. The rest were seiz'd with sullen Discontent, And a deaf Murmur through the Squadron went: All envy'd; but the Thestyan Brethren show'd The least Respect, and thus they vent their Spleen aloud: Lay down those honour'd Spoils, nor think to share, Weak Woman as thou art, the Prize of War: Ours is the Title, thine a foreign Claim, Since Meleagrus from our Lineage came. Trust not thy Beauty; but restore the Prize, Which he, besotted on that Face, and Eyes, Would rend from us: At this, enflam'd with Spite, From her they snatch the Gift, from him the Giver's Right. But soon th' impatient Prince his Faulchion drew, And cry'd, Ye Robbers of another's Due, Rh