He answer'd: "Pray thee, woman, cease, to chide and grieve me thus.Disgraces will not ever last. Look on their end. On us
Will other Gods, at other times, let fall the victor's wreath,
As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath
The hate of fortune? In love's fire, let all hates vanish. Come,
Love never so inflam'd my heart; no, not when, bringing home
Thy beauty's so delicious prise, on Cranaë's blest shore
I long'd for, and enjoy'd thee first." With this he went before,
She after, to the odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield,
Perplex'd Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field,
And ev'ry thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call'd aid,
Search'd for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray'd;
Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight,
All hated him so like their deaths, and ow'd him such despite.
At last thus spake the king of men: "Hear me, ye men of Troy,
Ye Dardans, and the rest, whose pow'rs you in their aids employ.
The conquest on my brother's part, ye all discern is clear,
Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here,
Restore to us, and pay the mulct, that by your vows is due,
Yield us an honour'd recompense, and, all that should accrue
To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it,
Our acts may here be memoris'd." This all Greeks else thought fit.
THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.
[1] When the Queen, etc.-This place Virgil imitateth.
THE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS
THE ARGUMENT
The Gods in council, at the last, decree
That famous Ilion shall expugnéd be;
And that their own continu'd faults may prove
The reasons that have so incenséd Jove,
Minerva seeks, with more offences done
Against the lately injur'd Atreus' son,
(A ground that clearest would make seen their sin)
To have the Lycian Pandarus begin.
He ('gainst the truce with sacred cov'nants bound)
Gives Menelaus a dishonour'd wound,
Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then
To mortal war incenseth all his men.
The battles join; and, in the heat of fight,
Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night.
ANOTHER ARGUMENT
In Delta is the Gods' Assize;
The truce is broke; wars freshly rise.
Within the fair-pav'd court of Jove, he and the Gods conferr'd
About the sad events of Troy; amongst whom minister'd
Bless'd Hebe nectar. As they sat, and did Troy's tow'rs behold,
They drank, and pledg'd each other round in full-crown'd cups of
gold.
The mirth at whose feast was begun by great Saturnides
In urging a begun dislike amongst the Goddesses,
But chiefly in his solemn queen, whose spleen he was dispos'd
To tempt yet further, knowing well what anger it inclos'd,
And how wives' angers should be us'd. On which, thus pleas'd, he
play'd:
"Two Goddesses there are that still give Menelaus aid,
And one that Paris loves. The two that sit from us so far
(Which Argive Juno is, and She that rules in deeds of war,)
No doubt are pleas'd to see how well the late-seen fight did frame;
And yet, upon the adverse part, the laughter-loving Dame
Made her pow'r good too for her friend; for, though he were so near
The stroke of death in th' others' hopes, she took him from them
clear.
The conquest yet is questionless the martial Spartan king's.
We must consult then what events shall crown these future things,
If wars and combats we shall still with even successes strike,
Or as impartial friendship plant on both parts. If ye like
The last, and that it will as well delight as merely please
Your happy deities, still let stand old Priam's town in peace,
And let the Lacedæmon king again his queen enjoy."
As Pallas and Heav'n's Queen sat close, complotting ill to Troy,
With silent murmurs they receiv'd this ill-lik'd choice from Jove;
'Gainst whom was Pallas much incens'd, because the Queen of Love
Could not, without his leave, relieve in that late point of death
The son of Priam, whom she loath'd; her wrath yet fought beneath
Her supreme wisdom, and was curb'd; but Juno needs must ease
Her great heart with her ready tongue, and said; "What words are
these,
Austere, and too-much-Saturn's son? Why wouldst thou render still
My labours idle, and the sweat of my industrious will
Dishonour with so little pow'r? My chariot-horse are tir'd
With posting to and fro for Greece, and bringing banes desir'd
To people must'ring Priamus, and his
