breast he pierced 485
  Of Pronoeus, undefended by his shield,
  And stretch’d him dead; loud rang his batter’d arms. 
  The son of Enops, Thestor next he smote. 
  He on his chariot-seat magnificent
  Low-cowering sat, a fear-distracted form, 490
  And from his palsied grasp the reins had fallen. 
  Then came Patroclus nigh, and through his cheek
  His teeth transpiercing, drew him by his lance
  Sheer o’er the chariot front.  As when a man
  On some projecting rock seated, with line 495
  And splendid hook draws forth a sea-fish huge,
  So him wide-gaping from his seat he drew
  At his spear-point, then shook him to the ground
  Prone on his face, where gasping he expired. 
  At Eryalus, next, advancing swift 500
  He hurl’d a rock; full on the middle front
  He smote him, and within the ponderous casque
  His whole head open’d into equal halves. 
  With deadliest night surrounded, prone he fell. 
  Epaltes, Erymas, Amphoterus, 505
  Echius, Tlepolemus Damastor’s son,
  Evippus, Ipheus, Pyres, Polymelus,
  All these he on the champain, corse on corse
  Promiscuous flung.  Sarpedon, when he saw
  Such havoc made of his uncinctured[13] friends 510
  By Menoetiades, with sharp rebuke
  His band of godlike Lycians loud address’d. 
    Shame on you, Lycians! whither would ye fly? 
  Now are ye swift indeed!  I will oppose
  Myself this conqueror, that I may learn 515
  Who thus afflicts the Trojan host, of life
  Bereaving numerous of their warriors bold. 
    He said, and with his arms leap’d to the ground. 
  On the other side, Patroclus at that sight
  Sprang from his chariot.  As two vultures clash 520
  Bow-beak’d, crook-talon’d, on some lofty rock
  Clamoring both, so they together rush’d
  With clamors loud; whom when the son observed
  Of wily Saturn, with compassion moved
  His sister and his spouse he thus bespake. 525
    Alas, he falls! my most beloved of men
  Sarpedon, vanquished by Patroclus, falls! 
  So will the Fates.  Yet, doubtful, much I muse
  Whether to place him, snatch’d from furious fight
  In Lycia’s wealthy realm, or to permit 530
  His death by valiant Menoetiades. 
    To whom his awful spouse, displeased, replied. 
  How speaks the terrible Saturnian Jove! 
  Wouldst thou again from pangs of death exempt
  A mortal man, destined long since to die? 535
  Do it.  But small thy praise shall be in heaven,
  Mark thou my words, and in thy inmost breast
  Treasure them.  If thou send Sarpedon safe
  To his own home, how many Gods their sons
  May also send from battle?  Weigh