Entellus then throws down the gauntlets of Eryx (engraved under Cæstus, pp. xiii., xiv.), but Dares, declining the ponderous weapons, old Entellus offers to accommodate him, by permission of the umpires, with a round or two with a lighter pair.
“‘But if the challenger these arms refuse, And cannot wield their weight, or dare not use; If great Æneas and Acestes join In his request, these gauntlets I resign: Let us with equal arms perform the fight, And let him learn to fear since I forego my right. This said, Entellus for the fight prepares, Stripped of his quilted coat, his body bares: Composed of mighty bones and brawn he stands, A goodly towering object on the sands. Then just Æneas equal arms supplied, Which round their shoulders to their wrists they tied. Both on the tiptoe stand, at full extent, Their arms aloft, their bodies inly bent; Their heads from aiming blows they bear afar, With clashing gauntlets then provoke the war. One on his youth and pliant limbs relies, One on his sinews and his giant size. This last is stiff with age, his motion slow; He heaves for breath, he staggers to and fro, And clouds of issuing smoke his nostrils loudly blow Yet equal in success, they ward, they strike, Their ways are different, but their art alike. Before, behind, the blows are dealt; around Their hollow sides the rattling thumps resound; A storm of strokes, well meant, with fury flies, And errs about their temples, ears, and eyes— Nor always errs, for oft the gauntlet draws A sweeping stroke along the crackling jaws. Hoary with age Entellus stands his ground, But with his warping body wards the wound. His hand and watchful eye keep even pace, While Dares traverses and shifts his place, And, like a captain who beleaguers round Some strong-built castle on a rising ground, Views all the approaches with observing eyes; This and that other part in vain he tries, And more on industry than force relies. With hands on high Entellus threats the foe; But Dares watched the motion from below, And slipped a-side, and shunned the long-descending blow. Entellus wastes his forces on the wind, And, thus deluded of the stroke designed, Headlong and heavy fell, his ample breast And weighty limbs his ancient mother pressed. So falls a hollow pine that long had stood On Ida’s height or Erymanthus’ wood, Torn from the roots. The differing nations rise, And shouts, with mingled murmurs, rend the skies. Acestes runs with eager haste to raise The fallen companion of his youthful days. Dauntless he rose, and to the fight returned; With shame his glowing cheeks, his eyes with fury burned Disdain and conscious virtue filled his breast, And with redoubled force his foe he pressed. He lays on load with either hand amain And headlong drives the Trojan o’er the plain; Nor stops nor stays nor rests nor breath allows But storms of strokes descend about his brows, A rattling tempest and a hail of blows.”