Who tired, and tardy with his wounded steed, Cried out for aid, and call’d him by his name; But cowardice has neither ears nor shame. Thus fled the good old man, bereft of aid, And, for as much as lay in him, betray’d. That this is not a fable forged by me, Like one of his, an Ulyssean lie, I vouch ev’n Diomed, who, though his friend, Cannot that act excuse, much less defend: He call’d him back aloud, and tax’d his fear; And sure enough he heard, but durst not hear.