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.
The Story of Cyllarus and Hylonome.
Nor cou'd thy Form, O Cyllarus, foreshow
Thy Fate; (if Form to Monsters Men allow:)
