To the Honble Mrs Margt Pelham OVID's METAMORPHOSES. BOOK XIII. Translated by Mr. Dryden and Others. The Speeches of Ajax and Ulysses. By Mr. Dryden. HE Chiefs were set; the Soldier crown'd the Field: To these the Master of the Sevenfold Shield Upstarted fierce: And kindled with Disdain Eager to speak, unable to contain His boiling Rage, he rowl'd his Eyes around The Shore, and Grecian Gallies hall'd a-ground. Then stretching out his Hands, O Jove, he cry'd, Must then our Cause before the Fleet be try'd? And dares Ulysses for the Prize contend, in sight of what he durst not once defend? But basely fled that memorable Day, When I from Hector's Hands redeem'd the flaming Prey. So much 'tis safer at the noisie Bar With Words to flourish, than ingage in War. By diff'rent Methods we maintain our Right, Nor am I made to Talk, nor he to Fight. In bloody Fields I labour to be great; His Arms are a smooth Tongue, and soft Deceit: Nor need I speak my Deeds, for those you see, The Sun, and Day are Witnesses for me. Let him who fights unseen, relate his own, And vouch the silent Stars, and conscious Moon. Great is the Prize demanded, I confess, But such an abject Rival makes it less; That Gift, those Honours, he but hop'd to gain, Can leave no room for Ajax to be vain: Losing he wins, because his Name will be Ennobled by Defeat, who durst contend with me. Were my known Valour question'd, yet my Blood Without that Plea wou'd make my Title good: My Sire was Telamon, whose Arms, employ'd With Hercules, these Trojan Walls destroy'd; And who before with Jason, sent from Greece, In the first Ship brought home the Golden Fleece. Great Telamon from Æacus derives His Birth (th' Inquisitor of guilty Lives In Shades below; where Sisyphus, whose Son, This Thief is thought, rouls up the restless heavy Stone.) Just Æacus, the King of Gods above Begot: Thus Ajax is the third from Jove. Nor shou'd I seek Advantage from my Line, Unless (Achilles) it were mix'd with thine: As next of Kin Achilles' Arms I claim; This Fellow wou'd ingraft a Foreign Name Upon our Stock, and the Sisyphian Seed By Fraud, and Theft asserts his Father's Breed: Then must I lose these Arms, because I came To fight uncall'd, a voluntary Name, Nor shunn'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 Reer; And feign'd Distraction to conceal his Fear: Till one more cunning caught him in the Snare; (Ill for himself) and dragg'd him into War. Now let a Hero's Arms a Coward vest, And he who shunn'd all Honours, gain the best: And let me stand excluded from my Right, Robb'd of my Kinsman's Arms, who first appear'd in Fight. Better for us, at home had he remain'd, Had it been true the Madness which he feign'd, Or so believ'd; the less had been our Shame, The less his counsell'd Crime, which brands the Grecian Name; Nor Philoctetes had been left inclos'd In a bare Isle, to Wants and Pains expos'd, Where to the Rocks, with solitary Groans, His Suff'rings, and our Baseness he bemoans: And wishes (so may Heav'n his Wish fulfil) The due Reward to him who caus'd his Ill.