Our brother of the war, by whom are borne Alcides’ arrows, pent in narrow bounds, With cold and hunger pinch’d, and pain’d with wounds, To find him food and clothing, must employ Against the birds the shafts due to the fate of Troy. Yet still he lives, and lives from treason free, Because he left Ulysses’ company: Poor Palamede might wish, so void of aid Rather to have been left, than so to death betray’d. The coward bore the man immortal spite, Who shamed him out of madness into fight; Nor daring otherwise to vent his hate, Accused him first of treason to the state, And then, for proof, produced the golden store Himself had hidden in his tent before: Thus of two champions he deprived our host, By exile one, and one by treason lost. Thus fights Ulysses, thus his fame extends, A formidable man but to his friends: Great, for what greatness is in words and sound; Ev’n faithful Nestor less in both is found. But that he might without a rival reign, He left his faithful Nestor on the plain: Forsook his friend ev’n at his utmost need,