170
Her statue from the ground itself did rear;
Then, that we should our sacrilege restore,
And re-convey their gods from Argos’ shore,
Calchas persuades, till then we urge in vain
The fate of Troy.  To measure back the main
They all consent, but to return again,
When reinforced with aids of gods and men. 
Thus Calchas; then instead of that, this pile
To Pallas was design’d; to reconcile
Th’ offended power, and expiate our guilt; 180
To this vast height and monstrous stature built,
Lest through your gates received, it might renew
Your vows to her, and her defence to you. 
But if this sacred gift you disesteem,
Then cruel plagues (which Heaven divert on them!)
Shall fall on Priam’s state:  but if the horse
Your walls ascend, assisted by your force,
A league ’gainst Greece all Asia shall contract;
Our sons then suff’ring what their sires would act.’

Thus by his fraud and our own faith o’ercome, 190
A feigned tear destroys us, against whom
Tydides nor Achilles could prevail,
Nor ten years’ conflict, nor a thousand sail. 
This seconded by a most sad portent,
Which credit to the first imposture lent;
Laocoon, Neptune’s priest, upon the day
Devoted to that god, a bull did slay;
When two prodigious serpents were descried,
Whose circling strokes the sea’s smooth face divide;
Above the deep they raise their scaly crests, 200
And stem the flood with their erected breasts,
Their winding tails advance and steer their course,
And ’gainst the shore the breaking billows force. 
Now landing, from their brandish’d tongues there came
A dreadful hiss, and from their eyes a flame. 
Amazed we fly, directly in a line
Laocoon they pursue, and first entwine
(Each preying upon one) his tender sons;
Then him, who armed to their rescue runs,
They seized, and with entangling folds embraced, 210
His neck twice compassing, and twice his waist: 
Their pois’nous knots he strives to break and tear,
While slime and blood his sacred wreaths besmear;
Then loudly roars, as when th’enraged bull
From th’altar flies, and from his wounded skull
Shakes the huge axe; the conqu’ring serpents fly
To cruel Pallas’ altar, and there lie
Under her feet, within her shield’s extent. 218
We, in our fears, conclude this fate was sent
Justly on him, who struck the sacred oak
With his accursed lance.  Then to invoke
The goddess, and let in the fatal horse,
We all consent.