With brutal mishandling:—yea, unto these thy laws will we bow.
Even I right willingly offer me—lo, I will meet thee now.’
Roundly he spake; and with rolling eyes glared on him the king
As a lion javelin-smitten, when out on the mountains the ring
Of the hunters hemmeth him round; but, albeit encompassed about
By the throng, he heedeth them not, but his glance ever searcheth him out,
Him only, which wounded him first, yet quelled him not with the stroke.
Then Tyndareus’ son laid by his goodly-woven cloak {30}
Of delicate threads, a gift of remembrance for sweet days past
Of a daughter of Lemnos. His mantle’s dark folds Amykus cast,