Will he compare my courage with his sleight? As well he may compare the day with night. Night is indeed the province of his reign: Yet all his dark exploits no more contain Than a spy taken, and a sleeper slain; A priest made prisoner; Pallas made a prey: But none of all these actions done by day; Nor aught of these was done, and Diomed away. If on such petty merits you confer So vast a prize, let each his portion share; Make a just dividend; and if not all, The greater part to Diomed will fall. But why for Ithacus such arms as those, Who naked, and by night, invades his foes? The glittering helm by moonlight will proclaim The latent robber, and prevent his game: Nor could he hold his tottering head upright Beneath that morion, or sustain the weight; Nor that right arm could toss the beamy lance; Much less the left that ampler shield advance, Ponderous with precious weight, and rough with cost, Of the round world in rising gold emboss’d. That orb would ill become his hand to wield, And look as for the gold he stole the shield;