Secure, to make his promise good; But the more wary beast prevents the blow, And upward rips the groin of his audacious foe: Ancaeus falls; his bowels, from the wound, Rush out, and clotted blood distains the ground.

Pirithous, no small portion of the war, Press’d on, and shook his lance; to whom, from far, Thus Theseus cried: “O stay! my better part, My more than mistress, of my heart the heart: The strong may fight aloof: Ancaeus tried His force too near, and, by presuming, died.” He said, and, while he spake, his javelin threw; Hissing in air the unerring weapon flew; But on an arm of oak, that stood betwixt The marksman and the mark, his lance he fix’d.

Once more bold Jason threw, but fail’d to wound The boar, and slew an undeserving hound, And through the dog the dart was nail’d to ground.