Now great Sarpedon on the sandy shore, His heavenly form defaced with dust and gore, And stuck with darts by warring heroes shed, Lies undistinguish’d from the vulgar dead. His long-disputed corse the chiefs enclose, On every side the busy combat grows; Thick as beneath some shepherd’s thatch’d abode (The pails high foaming with a milky flood) The buzzing flies, a persevering train, Incessant swarm, and chased return again.