Approved, thus proudly?  Nay, my gallant friend! 
  The Trojans will not for reproach of ours
  Renounce the body.  Blood must first be spilt. 765
  Tongues in debate, but hands in war decide;
  Deeds therefore now, not wordy vaunts, we need. 
    So saying he led the way, whom follow’d close
  Godlike Meriones.  As from the depth
  Of some lone wood that clothes the mountain’s side 770
  The fellers at their toil are heard remote,
  So, from the face of Ilium’s ample plain
  Reverberated, was the din of brass
  And of tough targets heard by falchions huge
  Hard-smitten, and by spears of double-edge. 775
  None then, no, not the quickest to discern,
  Had known divine Sarpedon, from his head
  To his foot-sole with mingled blood and dust
  Polluted, and o’erwhelm’d with weapons.  They
  Around the body swarm’d.  As hovel-flies 780
  In spring-time buzz around the brimming pails
  With milk bedew’d, so they around the dead. 
  Nor Jove averted once his glorious eyes
  From that dread contest, but with watchful note
  Marked all, the future death in battle deep 785
  Pondering of Patroclus, whether him
  Hector should even now slay on divine
  Sarpedon, and despoil him of his arms,
  Or he should still that arduous strife prolong. 
  This counsel gain’d as eligible most 790
  At length his preference:  that the valiant friend
  Of Peleus’ son should yet again compel
  The Trojan host with Hector brazen-mail’d
  To Ilium, slaughtering numerous by the way. 
  First then, with fears unmanly he possess’d 795
  The heart of Hector; mounting to his seat
  He turn’d to flight himself, and bade his host
  Fly also; for he knew Jove’s purpose[20] changed. 
  Thenceforth, no longer even Lycia’s host
  Endured, but all fled scatter’d, seeing pierced 800
  Their sovereign through his heart, and heap’d with dead;
  For numerous, while Saturnian Jove the fight
  Held in suspense, had on his body fallen. 
  At once the Grecians of his dazzling arms
  Despoil’d Sarpedon, which the Myrmidons 805
  By order of Menoetius’ valiant son
  Bore thence into the fleet.  Meantime his will
  The Thunderer to Apollo thus express’d. 
    Phoebus, my son, delay not; from beneath
  Yon hill of weapons drawn cleanse from his blood 810
  Sarpedon’s corse; then, bearing him remote,
  Lave him in waters of the running stream,
  With oils divine anoint, and in attire
  Immortal clothe him.  Last, to Death and Sleep,
  Swift bearers both, twin-born, deliver him; 815
  For hence to Lycia’s opulent abodes
  They shall transport him quickly, where, with rites
  Funereal, his next kindred and his friends