Practice Typing

Him, in his march, the wounded princes meet, By tardy steps ascending from the fleet. The king of men, Ulysses the divine, And who to Tydeus owes his noble line232 Their ships at distance from the battle stand, In lines advanced along the shelving strand. Whose bay, the fleet unable to contain At length; beside the margin of the main, Rank above rank, the crowded ships they moor. Who landed first, lay highest on the shore.