Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/220

With him, the Father of the beauteous Bride,
The Mother, and the frighted Virgin side;
With Shrieks, and doleful Cries they rend the Air:
Their Shrieks confounded with the Din of War,
With clashing Arms, and Groanings of the Slain,
They grieve unpitied, and unheard complain.
The Floor with ruddy Streams Bellona stains,
And Phineus a new War with double Rage maintains.
⁠Perseus begirt, from all around they pour
Their Lances on him, a tempestuous Show'r,
Aim'd all at him; a Cloud of Darts, and Spears,
Or blind his Eyes, or whistle round his Ears.
Their Numbers to assist against the Wall
He guards his Back secure, and dares them all.
Here from the Left Molpeus renews the Fight,
And bold Ethemon presses on the Right:
As when a hungry Tiger near him hears
Two lowing Herds, awhile he both forbears;
Nor can his Hopes of This, or That renounce,
So strong he lusts to prey on both at once;
Thus Perseus now with That, or This is loath
To war distinct, but fain wou'd fall on Both.
And first Chaonian Molpeus felt his Blow,
And fled, and never after fac'd his Foe;
Then fierce Ethemon, as he turn'd his Back,
Hurried with Fury, aiming at his Neck,
His brandish'd Sword against the Marble struck,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
With all his Might; the brittle Weapon broke,
And in his Throat the Point rebounding stuck.
Too slight the Wound for Life to issue thence,
And yet too great for Battle, or Defence;
His Arms extended in this piteous State,
For Mercy he wou'd sue, but sues too late;
Perseus has in his Bosom plung'd the Sword,
And, e're he speaks, the Wound prevents the Word.

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