Perseus begirt, from all around they pour Their lances on him, a tempestuous shower, Aim’d all at him; a cloud of darts and spears, Or blind his eyes, or whistle round his ears. Their numbers to resist, against the wall He guards his back secure, and dares them all. Here from the left Molpeus renews the fight, And bold Ethemon presses on the right: As when a hungry tiger near him hears Two lowing herds, a while he both forbears, Nor can his hopes of this or that renounce, So strong he lusts to prey on both at once: Thus Perseus now with that or this is loath To war distinct, but rain would fall on both: And first Chaonian Molpeus felt his blow, And fled, and never after faced his foe: Then fierce Ethemon, as he turn’d his back, Hurried with fury, aiming at his neck, His brandish’d sword against the marble struck With all his might; the brittle weapon broke, And in his throat the point rebounding stuck. Too slight the wound for life to issue thence, And yet too great for battle or defence: His arms extended, in this piteous state,