SPEECHES

OF

AJAX and ULYSSES:

From the Thirteenth Book of

OVID'S METAMORPHOSES.

TH

HE chiefs were fet, the foldiers crown'd the field:
To these the mafter of the fevenfold fhield
Upstarted fierce: and kindled with disdain,
Eager to speak, unable to contain

His boiling rage, he roll'd his eyes around
The fhore, and Grecian gallies hall'd a-ground.
Then ftretching out his hands, O Jove, he cry'd,
Muft then our caufe before the fleet be try'd ?
And dares Ulyffes for the prize contend,

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

When I from Hector's hands redeem'd the flaming prey.
So much tis fafer at the noify bar

With words to flourish, than engage in war.
By diff'rent methods we maintain'd our right,
Nor am I made to talk, nor he to fight.
In bloody fields I labour to be great;

you

fee';

His arms are a smooth tongue, and soft deceit.
Nor need I speak my deeds, for those
The fun and day are witneffes for me.
VOL. IV.

F

Let

Let him who fights unfeen relate his own,
And vouch the filent ftars, and confcious moon.
Great is the prize demanded, I confess,

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
Ennobled by defeat, who durft contend with me.
Were mine own valour question'd, yet my blood
Without that plea would make my title good:
My fire was Telamon, whofe arms, employ'd
With Hercules, thefe 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 fhades below; where Sifyphus, whofe fon
This thief is thought, rolls up the restless heavy stone,)
Juft Eacus the king of Gods above.

Begot: thus Ajax is the third from Jove.
Nor fhould I feek advantage from my line,
Unless (Achilles) it were mix'd with thine:
As next of kin Achilles' arms I claim;
This fellow would ingraft a foreign name
Upon our ftock, and the Sifyphian feed
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 rear ;
And feign'd diftraction to conceal his fear:
Till one more cunning caught him in the fnare,
(Ill for himself) and drag'd him into war.
Now let a hero's arms a coward veft,

And he, who fhunn'd all honours, gain the beft;

And

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 he had remain'd,

Had it been true the madness which he feign'd,

Or fo believ'd; the lefs had been our fhame,

The lefs his counsell'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 fuff'rings and our baseness he bemoans;
And wishes (fo may heav'n his with fulfil)
The due reward to him who caus'd his ill.
Now he, with us to Troy's deftruction sworn,
Our brother of the war, by whom are borne
Alcides' arrows, pent in narrow bounds,

With cold and hunger pinch'd, and pain'd with wounds,
To find him food and cloathing, muft employ
Against the birds the fhafts due to the fate of Troy.
Yet ftill he lives, and lives from treafon free,
Because he left Ulyffes' company:

Poor Palamede might wish, fo void of aid
Rather to have been left, than fo to death betray'd.
The coward bore the man immortal spite,
Who fham'd him out of madness into fight:
Nor daring otherwife to vent his hate,
Accus'd him firft of treafon to the flate;
And then for proof produc'd the golden ftore
Himself had hidden in his tent before :
Thus of two champions he depriv'd our host,
By exile one, and one by treafon loft.
Thus fights Ulyffes, thus his fame extends,
A formidable man, but to his friends

Great, for what greatness is in words and found:
Ev'n faithful Neftor less in both is found :

But that he might without a rival reign,
He left his faithful Neftor on the plain;
Forfook his friend ev'n at his utmost need,
Who tir'd and tardy, with his wounded steed,
Cry'd out for aid, and call'd him by his name;
But cowardife has neither ears nor fhame:
Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid,
And, for as much as lay in him, betray'd.
That this is not a fable forg'd by me,
Like one of his, an Ulyffean lye,

I vouch ev'n Diomede, who, tho' his friend,
Cannot that act excufe, much lefs defend :
He call'd him back aloud, and tax'd his fear;
And fure enough he heard, but durft not hear.
The Gods with equal eyes on mortals look ;
He juftly was forfaken, who forfook:
Wanted that fuccour he refus'd to lend,
Found every fellow fuch another friend :
No wonder, if he roar'd that all might hear,
His elocution was increas'd by fear:

I heard, I ran, I found him out of breath,
Pale, trembling, and half dead with fear of death.
Though he had judg'd himfelf by his own laws,
And ftood condemn'd, I help'd the common caufe:
With my broad buckler hid him from the foe;
(Ev'n the shield trembled as he lay below;)
And from impending fate the coward freed:
Good heav'n forgive me for so bad a deed!
If still he will perfift, and urge the strife,
First let him give me back his forfeit life:
Let him return to that opprobrious field;
Again creep under my protecting fhield:
Let him lie wounded, let the foe be near,
And let his quiv'ring heart confefs his fear;
There put him in the very jaws of fate;
And let him plead his caufe in that estate :

And yet when snatch'd from death, when from below My lifted fhield I loos'd and let him go,

Good heav'ns, how light he rofe, with what a bound He fprung from earth, forgetful of his wound: How fresh, how eager then his feet to ply; Who had not strength to ftand, had fpeed to fly! Hector came on, and brought the Gods along; Fear feiz'd alike the feeble and the strong: Each Greek was an Ulyffes; fuch a dread Th' approach, and ev'n the found of Hector bred : Him, flesh'd with flaughter, and with conqueft crown'd, 1 met, and over-turn'd him to the ground. When after, matchlefs as he deem'd in might, He challeng'd all our hoft to fingle fight, All eyes were fix'd on me: the lots were thrown; But for your champion I was wish'd alone : Your vows were heard, we fought and neither yield; Yet I return'd unvanquish'd from the field. With Jove to friend th' infulting Trojan came, And menac'd us with force, our fleet with flame: Was it the strength of this tongue-valiant lord,

In that black hour, that fav'd you from the sword;

Or was my breaft expos'd alone, to brave

A thousand fwords, a thousand ships to fave?
The hopes of your return! and can you yield,
For a fav'd fleet, lefs than a single shield?
Think it no boaft, O Grecians, if I deem
Thefe arms want Ajax, more than Ajax them;
Or, I with them an equal honour share;
They honour'd to be worn, and I to wear.
Will he compare my courage with his flight?
As well he may compare the day with night.
Night is indeed the province of his reign :
Yet all his dark éxploits no more contain
Than a spy taken, and a fleeper flain;
F 3

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