The proffered medicine but provoked the pain.
The wrathful youth, disdaining the relief,
With intermitting sobs thus vents his grief:—
"The care, O best of fathers! which you take
For my concerns, at my desire forsake.
Permit me not to languish out my days,
But make the best exchange of life for praise.
This arm, this lance, can well dispute the prize;
And the blood follows, where the weapon flies.
His goddess mother is not near, to shrowd