Summary

Portrait of Ovid Ovid Metamorphoses (tr. Garth, Dryden… (1727)

At length, now Monster, in thy turn, he cry'd,
Try thou the Strength of Cæneus: At the Word
He thrust; and in his Shoulder plung'd the Sword.
Then writh'd his Hand; and as he drove it down,
Deep in his Breast, made many Wounds in one.
⁠The Centaurs saw, inrag'd, th' unhop'd Success;
And rushing on, in Crowds, together press;
At him, and him alone, their Darts they threw:
Repuls'd they from his fated Body flew.
Amaz'd they stood; till Monichus began,
O Shame, a Nation conquer'd by a Man!
A Woman-Man! yet more a Man is he,
Than all our Race; and what he was, are we.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ovid Ovid Metamorphoses (tr. Garth, Dryden… (1727)

My former Woes in long Oblivion drown'd,
I wou'd have lost; but you renew the Wound:
Better to pass him o'er, than to relate
The Cause I have your mighty Sire to hate.
His Fame has fill'd the World, and reach'd the Sky;
(Which, Oh, I wish, with Truth, I cou'd deny!)
We praise not Hector; though his Name, we know,
Is great in Arms, 'tis hard to praise a Foe.
⁠He, your great Father, levell'd to the Ground
Messenia's Tow'rs: Nor better Fortune found
Elis, and Pylos; that a neighb'ring State,
And this my own: Both guiltless of their Fate.
Source: Wikisource

Portrait of Ovid Ovid Metamorphoses (tr. Garth, Dryden… (1727)

The Lance, and double Ax of the fair Warriour Queen
And now the Terror of the Trojan Field,
The Grecian Honour, Ornament, and Shield,
High on a Pile, th' Unconquer'd Chief is plac'd,
The God that arm'd him first, consum'd at last.
Of all the mighty Man, the small Remains
A little Urn, and scarcely fill'd, contains.
Yet great in Homer still Achilles lives;
And equal to himself, himself survives.
Source: Wikisource

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