Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/195

What farther need of Words our Right to scan?
My Arguments are Deeds, let Action speak the Man.
Since from a Champion's Arms the Strife arose,
So cast the glorious Prize amid the Foes;
Then send us to redeem both Arms, and Shield,
And let him wear, who wins 'em in the Field.
He said: A Murmur from a Multitude,
Or somewhat like a stifled Shout ensu'd:
Till from his Seat arose Lartes' Son,
Look'd down a while, and paus'd, e'er he begun;
Then, to th' expecting Audience, rais'd his Look,
And not without prepar'd Attention spoke;
Soft was his Tone, and sober was his Face;
Action his Words, and Words his Action grace.
If Heav'n, my Lords, had heard our common Pray'r,
These Arms had caus'd no Quarrel for an Heir;
Still great Achilles had his own possess'd,
And we with great Achilles had been bless'd;
But since hard Fate, and Heav'n's severe Decree,
Have ravish'd him away from you, and me,
(At this he sigh'd, and wip'd his Eyes, and drew,
Or seem'd to draw, some Drops of kindly Dew)
Who better can succeed Achilles lost,
Than He, who gave Achilles to your Hoast?
This only I request, that neither he
May gain, by being what he seems to be,
A stupid Thing; nor I may lose the Prize,
By having Sense, which Heav'n to him denies:
Since, great or small, the Talent I enjoy'd
Was ever in the common Cause employ'd:
Nor let my Wit, and wonted Eloquence,
Which often has been us'd in your Defence,
And in my own, this only time be brought
To bear against my self, and deem'd a Fault.
Make not a Crime, where Nature made it none;
For ev'ry Man may freely use his own.

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