But he, the conquering chief, his foot impress’d On the strong neck of that destructive beast, And gazing on the nymph with ardent eyes, “Accept,” said he, “fair Nonacrine, my prize, And, though inferior, suffer me to join My labours, and my part of praise, with thine:” At this, presents her with the tusky head And chine, with rising bristles roughly spread. Glad she received the gift, and seem’d to take With double pleasure, for the giver’s sake; The rest were seized with sullen discontent, And a deep murmur through the squadron went; All envied, but the Thestian brethren show’d The least respect, and thus they vent their spleen aloud: “Lay down those honour’d spoils, nor think to share, Weak woman as thou art, the prize of war; Ours is the title, thine a foreign claim, Since Meleagrus from our lineage came: Trust not thy beauty, but restore the prize Which he, besotted on that face and eyes, Would rend from us.” At this, inflamed with spite, From her they snatch the gift, from him the giver’s right.