Ye, coveting (to your shame) your neighbour’s bed
    And kine and asses and whatever is his,
    Suborned the man and stole our wives by bribes. 
    How often spake I thus before your face,
    Yea I myself, though scant I am of phrase: 
    ’Not thus, fair sirs, do honourable men
    Seek to woo wives whose troth is given elsewhere. 
    Lo, broad is Sparta, broad the hunting-grounds
    Of Elis:  fleecy Arcady is broad,
    And Argos and Messene and the towns
    To westward, and the long Sisyphian reach. 
    There ‘neath her parents’ roof dwells many a maid
    Second to none in godliness or wit: 
    Wed of all these, and welcome, whom ye will,
    For all men court the kinship of the brave;
    And ye are as your sires, and they whose blood
    Runs in your mother’s veins, the flower of war. 
    Nay, sirs, but let us bring this thing to pass;
    Then, taking counsel, choose meet brides for you.’ 
    So I ran on; but o’er the shifting seas
    The wind’s breath blew my words, that found no grace
    With you, for ye defied the charmer’s voice. 
    Yet listen to me now if ne’er before: 
    Lo! we are kinsmen by the father’s side. 
    But if ye lust for war, if strife must break
    Forth among kin, and bloodshed quench our feud,
    Bold Polydeuces then shall hold his hands
    And his cousin Idas from the abhorred fray: 
    While I and Castor, the two younger-born,
    Try war’s arbitrament; so spare our sires
    Sorrow exceeding.  In one house one dead
    Sufficeth:  let the others glad their mates,
    To the bride-chamber passing, not the grave,
    And o’er yon maids sing jubilee.  Well it were
    At cost so small to lay so huge a strife.”

      He spoke—­his words heaven gave not to the winds. 
    They, the two first-born, disarrayed and piled
    Their arms, while Lynceus stept into the ring,
    And at his shield’s rim shook his stalwart spear. 
    And Castor likewise poised his quivering lance;
    High waved the plume on either warrior’s helm. 
    First each at other thrust with busy spear
    Where’er he spied an inch of flesh exposed: 
    But lo! both spearpoints in their wicker shields
    Lodged ere a blow was struck, and snapt in twain. 
    Then they unsheathed their swords, and framed new modes
    Of slaughter:  pause or respite there was none. 
    Oft Castor on broad shield and plumed helm
    Lit, and oft keen-eyed Lynceus pierced his shield,
    Or grazed his crest of crimson.  But anon,
    As Lynceus aimed his blade at Castor’s knee,
    Back with the left sprang Castor and struck off
    His fingers:  from the maimed limb dropped the sword. 
    And, flying straightway, for his father’s tomb
    He made, where gallant Idas sat and saw
    The battle of the brethren.  But the child