THE ILIADS OF HOMER THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE INCOMPARABLE HEROE, HENRY, PRINCE OF WALES.

Thy tomb, arms, statue, all things fit to fall At foot of Death, and worship funeral, Form hath bestow'd; for form is nought too dear. Thy solid virtues yet, eterniz'd here, My blood and wasted spirits have only found Commanded cost, and broke so rich a ground, Not to inter, but make thee ever spring, As arms, tombs, statues, ev'ry earthy thing, Shall fade aid vanish into fume before. What lasts thrives least; yet wealth of soul is poor, And so 'tis kept. Not thy thrice-sacred will, Sign'd with thy death, moves any to fulfil Thy just bequests to me. Thou dead, then I Live dead, for giving thee eternity.

Ad Famam

To all times future this time's mark extend, Homer no patron found, nor Chapman friend. Ignotus nimis omnibus, Sat notus moritur sibi. TO THE HIGH BORN PRINCE OF MEN, HENRY, THRICE ROYAL INHERITOR TO THE UNITED KINGDOMS OF GREAT BRITAIN, ETC.

Since perfect happiness, by Princes sought, Is not with birth born, nor exchequers bought, Nor follows in great trains, nor is possest With any outward state, but makes him blest That governs inward, and beholdeth there All his affections stand about him bare, That by his pow'r can send to Tower and death All traitorous passions, marshalling beneath His justice his mere will, and in his mind Holds such a sceptre as can keep confin'd His whole life's actions in the royal bounds Of virtue and religion, and their grounds Takes in to sow his honours, his delights, And cómplete empire; you should learn these rights, Great Prince of men, by princely precedents, Which here, in all kinds, my true zeal presents To furnish your youth's groundwork and first state, And let you see one godlike man create All sorts of worthiest men, to be contriv'd In your worth only, giving him reviv'd For whose life Alexander would have giv'n One of his kingdoms; who (as sent from heav'n, And thinking well that so divine a creature Would never more enrich the race of nature) Kept as his crown his works, and thought them still His angels, in all pow'r to rule his will; And would affirm that Homer's poesy Did more advance his Asian victory, Than all his armies. O! 'tis wond'rous much, Though nothing priz'd, that the right virtuous touch Of a well-written soul to virtue moves; Nor have we souls to purpose, if their loves Of fitting objects be not so inflam'd. How much then were this kingdom's main soul maim'd, To want this great inflamer of all pow'rs That move in human souls! All realms but yours Are honour'd with him, and hold blest that state That have his works to read and contemplate: In which humanity to her height is rais'd, Which all the world, yet none enough, hath prais'd; Seas, earth, and heav'n, he did in verse comprise, Out-sung the Muses, and did equalize Their king Apollo; being so far from cause Of Princes' light thoughts, that their gravest laws May find stuff to be fashion'd by his lines. Through all the pomp of kingdoms still he shines, And graceth all his gracers. Then let lie Your lutes and viols, and more loftily Make the heroics of your Homer sung, To drums and trumpets set his angel's tongue, And, with the princely sport of hawks you use, Behold the kingly flight of his high muse, And see how, like the phœnix, she renews Her age and starry feathers in your sun, Thousands of years attending ev'ry one Blowing the holy fire, and throwing in Their seasons, kingdoms, nations, that have been Subverted in them; laws, religions, all Offer'd to change and greedy funeral; Yet still your Homer, lasting, living, reigning, And proves how firm truth builds in poet's feigning.

A prince's statue, or in marble carv'd, Or steel, or gold, and shrin'd, to be preserv'd, Aloft on pillars or pyramides, Time into lowest ruins may depress; But drawn with all his virtues in learn'd verse, Fame shall resound them on oblivion's hearse, Till graves gasp with her blasts, and dead men rise. No gold can follow where true Poesy flies.

Then let not this divinity in earth, Dear Prince, be slighted as she were the birth Of idle fancy, since she works so high; Nor let her poor disposer, Learning, lie Still bed-rid. Both which being in men defac'd, In men with them is God's bright image ras'd; For as the Sun and Moon are figures giv'n Of his refulgent Deity in heav'n, So Learning, and, her light'ner, Poesy, In earth present His fiery Majesty. Nor are kings like Him, since their diadems Thunder and lighten and project brave beams, But since they His clear virtues emulate, In truth and justice imaging His state, In bounty and humanity since they shine, Than which is nothing like Him more divine; Not fire, not light, the sun's admiréd course, The rise nor set of stars, nor all their force In us and all this cope beneath the sky, Nor great existence, term'd His treasury; Since not for being greatest He is blest, But being just, and in all virtues best.

What sets His justice and His truth best forth, Best Prince, then use best, which is Poesy's worth; For, as great princes, well inform'd and deck'd With gracious virtue, give more sure effect To her persuasions, pleasures, real worth, Than all th' inferior subjects she sets forth; Since there she shines at full, hath birth, wealth, state, Pow'r, fortune, honour, fit to elevate Her heav'nly merits, and so fit they are, Since she was made for them, and they for her; So Truth, with Poesy grac'd, is fairer far, More proper, moving, chaste, and regular, Than when she runs away with untruss'd Prose; Proportion, that doth orderly dispose Her virtuous treasure, and is queen of graces; In Poesy decking her with choicest phrases, Figures and numbers; when loose Prose puts on Plain letter-habits makes her trot upon Dull earthly business, she being mere divine; Holds her to homely cates and harsh hedge-wine, That should drink Poesy's nectar; ev'ry way One made for other, as the sun and day, Princes and virtues. And, as in spring, The pliant water mov'd with anything Let fall into it, puts her motion out In perfect circles, that move round about The gentle fountain, one another raising; So Truth and Poesy work; so Poesy, blazing All subjects fall'n in her exhaustless fount, Works most exactly, makes a true account Of all things to her high discharges giv'n, Till all be circular and round as heav'n.

And lastly, great Prince, mark and pardon me:— As in a flourishing and ripe fruit-tree, Nature hath made the bark to save the bole, The bole the sap, the sap to deck the whole With leaves and branches, they to bear and shield The useful fruit, the fruit itself to yield Guard to the kernel, and for that all those, Since out of that again the whole tree grows; So in our tree of man, whose nervy root Springs in his top, from thence ev'n to his foot There runs a mutual aid through all his parts, All join'd in one to serve his queen of arts, [1] In which doth Poesy like the kernel lie Obscur'd, though her Promethean faculty Can create men and make ev'n death to live, For which she should live honour'd, kings should give Comfort and help to her that she might still Hold up their spirits in virtue, make the will That governs in them to the pow'r conform'd, The pow'r to justice, that the scandals, storm'd Against the poor dame, clear'd by your fair grace, Your grace may shine the clearer. Her low place, Not showing her, the highest leaves obscure. Who raise her raise themselves, and he sits sure Whom her wing'd hand advanceth, since on it Eternity doth, crowning virtue, sit. All whose poor seed, like violets in their beds, Now grow with bosom-hung and hidden heads; For whom I must speak, though their fate convinces Me worst of poets, to you best of princes. By the most humble and faithful implorer for all the graces to your highness eternized by your divine Homer. Geo. Chapman.

[1] Queen of arts—the soul. TO THE SACRED FOUNTAIN OF PRINCES, SOLE EMPRESS OF BEAUTY AND VIRTUE, ANNE, QUEEN OF ENGLAND, ETC.

With whatsoever honour we adorn Your royal issue, we must gratulate you, Imperial Sovereign; who of you is born Is you, one tree make both the bole and bow. If it be honour then to join you both To such a pow'rful work as shall defend Both from foul death and age's ugly moth, This is an honour that shall never end. They know not virtue then, that know not what The virtue of defending virtue is; It comprehends the guard of all your State, And joins your greatness to as great a bliss. Shield virtue and advance her then, great Queen, And make this book your glass to make it seen. Your Majesty's in all subjection most humbly consecrate, GEO. CHAPMAN. TO THE READER

Lest with foul hands you touch these holy rites, And with prejudicacies too profane, Pass Homer in your other poets' slights, Wash here. In this porch to his num'rous fane, Hear ancient oracles speak, and tell you whom You have to censure. First then Silius hear, Who thrice was consul in renowned Rome, Whose verse, saith Martial, nothing shall out-wear. SILIUS ITALICUS, LIB. XIII. 777

He, in Elysium having cast his eye Upon the figure of a youth, whose hair, With purple ribands braided curiously, Hung on his shoulders wond'rous bright and fair, Said: "Virgin, what is he whose heav'nly face Shines past all others, as the morn the night; Whom many marvelling souls, from place to place, Pursue and haunt with sounds of such delight; Whose count'nance (were't not in the Stygian shade) Would make me, questionless, believe he were A very God?" The learned virgin made This answer: "If thou shouldst believe it here, Thou shouldst not err. He well deserv'd to be Esteem'd a God; nor held his so-much breast A little presence of the Deity, His verse compris'd earth, seas, stars, souls at rest; In song the Muses he did equalize, In honour Phœbus. He was only soul, Saw all things spher'd in nature, without eyes, And rais'd your Troy up to the starry pole." Glad Scipio, viewing well this prince of ghosts, Said: "O if Fates would give this poet leave To sing the acts done by the Roman hosts, How much beyond would future times receive The same facts made by any other known! O blest Æacides, to have the grace That out of such a mouth thou shouldst be shown To wond'ring nations, as enrich'd the race Of all times future with what he did know! Thy virtue with his verse shall ever grow."

Now hear an Angel sing our poet's fame, Whom fate, for his divine song, gave that name. ANGELUS POLITIANUS, IN NUTRICIA

More living than in old Demodocus, Fame glories to wax young in Homer's verse. And as when bright Hyperion holds to us His golden torch, we see the stars disperse, And ev'ry way fly heav'n, the pallid moon Ev'n almost vanishing before his sight; So, with the dazzling beams of Homer's sun, All other ancient poets lose their light. Whom when Apollo heard, out of his star, Singing the godlike act of honour'd men, And equalling the actual rage of war, With only the divine strains of his pen, He stood amaz'd and freely did confess Himself was equall'd in Mæonides.

Next hear the grave and learned Pliny use His censure of our sacred poet's muse. Plin. Nat. Hist. lib. 7. cap. 29. Turned into verse, that no prose may come near Homer.

Whom shall we choose the glory of all wits, Held through so many sorts of discipline And such variety of works and spirits, But Grecian Homer, like whom none did shine For form of work and matter? And because Our proud doom of him may stand justified By noblest judgments, and receive applause In spite of envy and illiterate pride, Great Macedon, amongst his matchless spoils Took from rich Persia, on his fortunes cast, A casket finding, full of precious oils, Form'd all of gold, with wealthy stones enchas'd, He took the oils out, and his nearest friends Ask'd in what better guard it might be us'd? All giving their conceits to sev'ral ends, He answer'd: "His affections rather choos'd An use quite opposite to all their kinds, And Homer's books should with that guard be serv'd, That the most precious work of all men's minds In the most precious place might be preserv'd. The Fount of Wit was Homer, Learning's Sire, And gave antiquity her living fire."

Volumes of like praise I could heap on this, Of men more ancient and more learn'd than these, But since true virtue enough lovely is With her own beauties, all the suffrages Of others I omit, and would more fain That Homer for himself should be belov'd, Who ev'ry sort of love-worth did contain. Which how I have in my conversion prov'd I must confess I hardly dare refer To reading judgments, since, so gen'rally, Custom hath made ev'n th' ablest agents err [1] In these translations; all so much apply Their pains and cunnings word for word to render Their patient authors, when they may as well Make fish with fowl, camels with whales, engender, Or their tongues' speech in other mouths compell. For, ev'n as diff'rent a production Ask Greek and English, since as they in sounds And letters shun one form and unison; So have their sense and elegancy bounds In their distinguish'd natures, and require Only a judgment to make both consent In sense and elocution; and aspire, As well to reach the spirit that was spent In his example, as with art to pierce His grammar, and etymology of words. But as great clerks can write no English verse, [2] Because, alas, great clerks! English affords, Say they, no height nor copy; a rude tongue, Since 'tis their native; but in Greek or Latin Their writs are rare, for thence true Poesy sprung; Though them (truth knows) they have but skill to chat in, Compar'd with that they might say in their own; Since thither th' other's full soul cannot make The ample transmigration to be shown In nature-loving Poesy; so the brake That those translators stick in, that affect Their word-for-word traductions (where they lose The free grace of their natural dialect, And shame their authors with a forcéd gloss) I laugh to see; and yet as much abhor [3] More license from the words than may express Their full compression, and make clear the author; From whose truth, if you think my feet digress, Because I use needful periphrases, Read Valla, Hessus, that in Latin prose, And verse, convert him; read the Messines That into Tuscan turns him; and the gloss Grave Salel makes in French, as he translates; Which, for th' aforesaid reasons, all must do; And see that my conversion much abates The license they take, and more shows him too, Whose right not all those great learn'd men have done, In some main parts, that were his commentors. But, as the illustration of the sun Should be attempted by the erring stars, They fail'd to search his deep and treasurous heart; The cause was, since they wanted the fit key Of Nature, in their downright strength of Art. [4] With Poesy to open Poesy: Which, in my poem of the mysteries Reveal'd in Homer, I will clearly prove; Till whose near birth, suspend your calumnies, And far-wide imputations of self-love. 'Tis further from me than the worst that reads, Professing me the worst of all that write; Yet what, in following one that bravely leads, The worst may show, let this proof hold the light. But grant it clear; yet hath detraction got My blind side in the form my verse puts on; Much like a dung-hill mastiff, that dares not Assault the man he barks at, but the stone He throws at him takes in his eager jaws, And spoils his teeth because they cannot spoil. The long verse hath by proof receiv'd applause Beyond each other number; and the foil, That squint-ey'd Envy takes, is censur'd plain; For this long poem asks this length of verse, Which I myself ingenuously maintain Too long our shorter authors to rehearse. And, for our tongue that still is so impair'd [5] By travelling linguists, I can prove it clear, That no tongue hath the Muse's utt'rance heir'd For verse, and that sweet music to the ear Strook out of rhyme, so naturally as this; Our monosyllables so kindly fall, And meet oppos'd in rhyme as they did kiss; French and Italian most immetrical, Their many syllables in harsh collision Fall as they break their necks; their bastard rhymes Saluting as they justled in transition, And set our teeth on edge; nor tunes, nor times Kept in their falls; and, methinks, their long words Shew in short verse as in a narrow place Two opposites should meet with two-hand swords Unwieldily, without or use or grace. Thus having rid the rubs, and strow'd these flow'rs In our thrice-sacred Homer's English way, What rests to make him yet more worthy yours? To cite more praise of him were mere delay To your glad searches for what those men found That gave his praise, past all, so high a place; Whose virtues were so many, and so crown'd By all consents divine, that, not to grace Or add increase to them, the world doth need Another Homer, but ev'n to rehearse And number them, they did so much exceed. Men thought him not a man; but that his verse Some mere celestial nature did adorn; And all may well conclude it could not be, That for the place where any man was born, So long and mortally could disagree So many nations as for Homer striv'd, Unless his spur in them had been divine. Then end their strife and love him, thus receiv'd, As born in England; see him over-shine All other-country poets; and trust this, That whosesoever Muse dares use her wing When his Muse flies, she will be truss'd by his, And show as if a bernacle should spring Beneath an eagle. In none since was seen A soul so full of heav'n as earth's in him. O! if our modern Poesy had been As lovely as the lady he did limn, What barbarous worldling, grovelling after gain, Could use her lovely parts with such rude hate, As now she suffers under ev'ry swain? Since then 'tis nought but her abuse and Fate, That thus impairs her, what is this to her As she is real, or in natural right? But since in true Religion men should err As much as Poesy, should the abuse excite The like contempt of her divinity, And that her truth, and right saint-sacred merits, In most lives breed but rev'rence formally, What wonder is't if Poesy inherits Much less observance, being but agent for her, And singer of her laws, that others say? Forth then, ye moles, sons of the earth, abhor her, Keep still on in the dirty vulgar way, Till dirt receive your souls, to which ye vow, And with your poison'd spirits bewitch our thrifts. Ye cannot so despise us as we you; Not one of you above his mole-hill lifts His earthy mind, but, as a sort of beasts, Kept by their guardians, never care to hear Their manly voices, but when in their fists They breathe wild whistles, and the beasts' rude ear Hears their curs barking, then by heaps they fly Headlong together; so men, beastly giv'n, The manly soul's voice, sacred Poesy, Whose hymns the angels ever sing in heav'n, Contemn and hear not; but when brutish noises, For gain, lust, honour, in litigious prose Are bellow'd out, and crack the barbarous voices Of Turkish stentors, O, ye lean to those, Like itching horse to blocks or high may-poles; And break nought but the wind of wealth, wealth, all In all your documents; your asinine souls, Proud of their burthens, feel not how they gall. But as an ass, that in a field of weeds Affects a thistle, and falls fiercely to it, That pricks and galls him, yet he feeds, and bleeds, Forbears a while, and licks, but cannot woo it To leave the sharpness; when, to wreak his smart, He beats it with his foot, then backward kicks, Because the thistle gall'd his forward part; Nor leaves till all be eat, for all the pricks, Then falls to others with as hot a strife, And in that honourable war doth waste The tall heat of his stomach, and his life; So in this world of weeds you worldlings taste Your most-lov'd dainties, with such war buy peace, Hunger for torment, virtue kick for vice, Cares for your states do with your states increase, And though ye dream ye feast in Paradise, Yet reason's daylight shews ye at your meat Asses at thistles, bleeding as ye eat. THE PREFACE TO THE READER

Of all books extant in all kinds, Homer is the first and best. No one before his, Josephus affirms; nor before him, saith Velleius Paterculus, was there any whom he imitated, nor after him any that could imitate him. And that Poesy may be no cause of detraction from all the eminence we give him, Spondanus (preferring it to all arts and sciences) unanswerably argues and proves; for to the glory of God, and the singing of his glories, no man dares deny, man was chiefly made. And what art performs this chief end of man with so much excitation and expression as Poesy; Moses, David, Solomon, Job, Esay, Jeremy, etc. chiefly using that to the end abovesaid? And since the excellence of it cannot be obtained by the labour and art of man, as all easily confess it, it must needs be acknowledged a Divine infusion. To prove which in a word, this distich, in my estimation, serves something nearly:

Great Poesy, blind Homer, makes all see Thee capable of all arts, none of thee.

For out of him, according to our most grave and judicial Plutarch, are all Arts deduced, confirmed, or illustrated. It is not therefore the world's vilifying of it that can make it vile; for so we might argue, and blaspheme the most incomparably sacred. It is not of the world indeed, but, like truth, hides itself from it. Nor is there any such reality of wisdom's truth in all human excellence, as in Poets' fictions. That most vulgar and foolish receipt of poetical licence being of all knowing men to be exploded, accepting it, as if Poets had a tale-telling privilege above others, no Artist being so strictly and inextricably confined to all the laws of learning, wisdom, and truth, as a Poet. For were not his fictions composed of the sinews and souls of all those, how could they defy fire, iron, and be combined with eternity? To all sciences therefore, I must still, with our learned and ingenious Spondanus, refer it, as having a perpetual commerce with the Divine Majesty, embracing and illustrating all His most holy precepts, and enjoying continual discourse with His thrice perfect and most comfortable Spirit. And as the contemplative life is most worthily and divinely preferred by Plato to the active, as much as the head to the foot, the eye to the hand, reason to sense, the soul to the body, the end itself to all things directed to the end, quiet to motion, and eternity to time; so much prefer I divine Poesy to all worldly wisdom. To the only shadow of whose worth, yet, I entitle not the bold rhymes of every apish and impudent braggart, though he dares assume anything; such I turn over to the weaving of cobwebs, and shall but chatter on molehills (far under the hill of the Muses) when their fortunatest self-love and ambition hath advanced them highest. Poesy is the flower of the Sun, and disdains to open to the eye of a candle. So kings hide their treasures and counsels from the vulgar, ne evilescant (saith our Spond.). We have example sacred enough, that true Poesy's humility, poverty, and contempt, are badges of divinity, not vanity. Bray then, and bark against it, ye wolf-faced worldlings, that nothing but honours, riches, and magistracy, nescio quos turgidè spiratis (that I may use the words of our friend still) qui solas leges Justinianas crepatis; paragraphum unum aut alterum, pluris quàm vos ipsos facitis, etc. I (for my part) shall ever esteem it much more manly and sacred, in this harmless and pious study, to sit till I sink into my grave, than shine in your vainglorious bubbles and impieties; all your poor policies, wisdoms, and their trappings, at no more valuing than a musty nut. And much less I weigh the frontless detractions of some stupid ignorants, that, no more knowing me than their own beastly ends, and I ever (to my knowledge) blest from their sight, whisper behind me vilifyings of my translation, out of the French affirming them, when both in French, and all other languages but his own, our with-all-skill-enriched Poet is so poor and unpleasing that no man can discern from whence flowed his so generally given eminence and admiration. And therefore (by any reasonable creature's conference of my slight comment and conversion) it will easily appear how I shun them, and whether the original be my rule or not. In which he shall easily see, I understand the understandings of all other interpreters and commentors in places of his most depth, importance, and rapture. In whose exposition and illustration, if I abhor from the sense that others wrest and wrack out of him, let my best detractor examine how the Greek word warrants me. For my other fresh fry, let them fry in their foolish galls, nothing so much weighed as the barkings of the puppies, or foisting hounds, too vile to think of our sacred Homer, or set their profane feet within their lives' length of his thresholds. If I fail in something, let my full performance in other some restore me; haste spurring me on with other necessities. For as at my conclusion I protest, so here at my entrance, less than fifteen weeks was the time in which all the last twelve books were entirely new translated. No conference had with anyone living in all the novelties I presume I have found. Only some one or two places I have showed to my worthy and most learned friend, M. Harriots, for his censure how much mine own weighed; whose judgment and knowledge in all kinds, I know to be incomparable and bottomless, yea, to be admired as much, as his most blameless life, and the right sacred expense of his time, is to be honoured and reverenced. Which affirmation of his clear unmatchedness in all manner of learning I make in contempt of that nasty objection often thrust upon me,—that he that will judge must know more than he of whom he judgeth; for so a man should know neither God nor himself. Another right learned, honest, and entirely loved friend of mine, M. Robert Hews, I must needs put into my confess'd conference touching Homer, though very little more than that I had with M. Harriots. Which two, I protest, are all, and preferred to all. Nor charge I their authorities with, any allowance of my general labour, but only of those one or two places, which for instances of my innovation, and how it showed to them, I imparted. If any tax me for too much periphrasis or circumlocution in some places, let them read Laurentius Valla, and Eobanus Hessus, who either use such shortness as cometh nothing home to Homer, or, where they shun that fault, are ten parts more paraphrastical than I. As for example, one place I will trouble you (if you please) to confer with the original, and one interpreter for all. It is in the end of the third book, and is Helen's speech to Venus fetching her to Paris from seeing his cowardly combat with Menelaus; part of which speech I will here cite:

Οὕνεκα δὴ νυ̑ν δι̑ον‭ ᾽‬Αλέξανδρον Μενέλαος Νικήσας,‭ etc.

For avoiding the common reader's trouble here, I must refer the more Greekish to the rest of the speech in Homer, whose translation ad verbum by Spondanus I will here cite, and then pray you to confer it with that which followeth of Valla.

Quoniam verò nunc Alexandrum Menelaus Postquam vicit, vult odiosam me domum abducere, Propterea verò nunc dolum (seu dolos) cogitans advenisti? Sede apud ipsum vadens, deorum abnega vias, Neque unquam tuis pedibus revertaris in cœlum, Sed semper circa eum ærumnas perfer, et ipsum serva Donec te vel uxorem faciat, vel hic servam, etc.

Valla thus:

Quoniam victo Paride, Menelaus me miseram est reportaturus ad lares, ideo tu, ideo falsâ sub imagine venisti, ut me deciperes ob tuam nimiam in Paridem benevolentiam: eò dum illi ades, dum illi studes, dum pro illo satagis, dum illum observas atque custodis, deorum commercium reliquisti, nec ad eos reversura es ampliùs: adeò (quantum suspicor) aut uxor ejus efficieris, aut ancilla, etc.

Wherein note if there be any such thing as most of this in Homer; yet only to express, as he thinks, Homer's conceit, for the more pleasure of the reader, he useth this overplus, dum illi ades, dum illi studes, dum pro illo satagis, dum ilium observas, atque custodis, deorum commercium reliquisti. Which (besides his superfluity) is utterly false. For where he saith reliquisti deorum commercium, Helen saith, θεω̑ν δ᾽ἀπόειπε κελεύθους, deorum auten abnega or abnue, vias, ἀπείπειν (vel ἀποείπειν as it is used poetically) signifying denegare or aonuere; and Helen (in contempt of her too much observing men) bids her renounce heaven, and come live with Paris till he make her his wife or servant; scoptically or scornfully speaking it; which both Valla, Eobanus, and all other interpreters (but these ad verbum) have utterly missed. And this one example I thought necessary to insert here, to show my detractors that they have no reason to vilify my circumlocution sometimes, when their most approved Grecians, Homer's interpreters generally, hold him fit to be so converted. Yet how much I differ, and with what authority, let my impartial and judicial reader judge. Always conceiving how pedantical and absurd an affectation it is in the interpretation of any author (much more of Homer) to turn him word for word, when according to Horace and other best lawgivers to translators) it is the part of every knowing and judicial interpreter, not to follow the number and order of words, but the material things themselves, and sentences to weigh diligently, and to clothe and adorn them with words, and such a style and form of oration, as are most apt for the language in which they are converted. If I have not turned him ill any place falsely (as all other his interpreters have in many, and most of his chief places) if I have not left behind me any of his sentences, elegancy, height, intention, and invention, if in some few places (especially in my first edition, being done so long since, and following the common tract) I be something paraphrastical and faulty, is it justice in that poor fault (if they will needs have it so) to drown all the rest of my labour? But there is a certain envious windsucker, that hovers up and down, laboriously engrossing all the air with his luxurious ambition, and buzzing into every ear my detraction, affirming I turn Homer out of the Latin only, etc. that sets all his associates, and the whole rabble of my maligners on their wings with him, to bear about my impair, and poison my reputation. One that, as he thinks, whatsoever he gives to others, he takes from himself; so whatsoever he takes from others, he adds to himself. One that in this kind of robbery doth like Mercury, that stole good and supplied it with counterfeit bad still. One like the two gluttons, Philoxenus and Gnatho, that would still empty their noses in the dishes they loved, that no man might eat but themselves. For so this castrill, with too hot a liver, and lust after his own glory, and to devour all himself, discourageth all appetites to the fame of another. I have stricken, single him as you can. Nor note I this, to cast any rubs or plashes out of the particular way of mine own estimation with the world; for I resolve this with the wilfully obscure:

Sine honore vivam, nulloque numero ero.

Without men's honours I will live, and make No number in the manless course they take.

But, to discourage (if it might be) the general detraction of industrious and well-meaning virtue, I know I cannot too much diminish and deject myself; yet that passing little that I am, God only knows, to Whose ever-implored respect and comfort I only submit me. If any further edition of these my silly endeavours shall chance, I will mend what is amiss (God assisting me) and amplify my harsh Comment to Homer's far more right, and mine own earnest and ingenious love of him. Notwithstanding, I know, the curious and envious will never sit down satisfied. A man may go over and over, till he come over and over, and his pains be only his recompense, every man is so loaded with his particular head, and nothing in all respects perfect, but what is perceived by few. Homer himself hath met with my fortune, in many maligners; and therefore may my poor self put up without motion. And so little I will respect malignity, and so much encourage myself with mine own known strength, and what I find within me of comfort and confirmance (examining myself throughout with a far more jealous and severe eye than my greatest enemy, imitating this:

Judex ipse sui totum se explorat ad unguem, etc.)

that after these Iliads, I will (God lending me life and any meanest means) with more labour than I have lost here, and all unchecked alacrity, dive through his Odysseys. Nor can I forget here (but with all hearty gratitude remember) my most ancient, learned, and right noble friend, M. Richard Stapilton, first most desertful mover in the frame of our Homer. For which (and much other most ingenious and utterly undeserved desert) God make me amply his requiter; and be his honourable family's speedy and full restorer. In the mean space, I entreat my impartial and judicial Reader, that all things to the quick he will not pare, but humanely and nobly pardon defects, and, if he find anything perfect, receive it unenvied. OF HOMER

Of his country and time, the difference is so infinite amongst all writers, that there is no question, in my conjecture, of his antiquity beyond all. To which opinion, the nearest I will cite, Adam Cedrenus placeth him under David's and Solomon's rule; and the Destruction of Troy under Saul's. And of one age with Solomon, Michael Glycas Siculus affirmeth him. Aristotle (in tertio de Poeticâ) affirms he was born in the isle of Io, begot of a Genius, one of them that used to dance with the Muses, and a virgin of that isle compressed by that Genius, who being quick with child (for shame of the deed) came into a place called Ægina, and there was taken of thieves, and brought to Smyrna, to Mæon king of the Lydians, who for her beauty married her. After which, she walking near the flood Meletes, on that shore being overtaken with the throes of her delivery, she brought forth Homer, and instantly died. The infant was received by Mæon, and brought up as his own till his death, which was not long after. And, according to this, when the Lydians in Smyrna were afflicted by the Æolians, and thought fit to leave the city, the captains by a herald willing all to go out that would, and follow them, Homer, being a little child, said he would also ὁμηρει̑ν (that is, sequi); and of that, for Melesigenes, which was his first name, he was called Homer. These Plutarch.

The varieties of other reports touching this I omit for length; and in place thereof think it not unfit to insert something of his praise and honour amongst the greatest of all ages; not that our most absolute of himself needs it, but that such authentical testimonies of his splendour and excellence may the better convince the malice of his maligners.

First, what kind of person Homer was, saith Spondanus, his statue teacheth, which Cedrenus describeth. The whole place we will describe that our relation may hold the better coherence, as Xylander converts it. “Then was the Octagonon at Constantinople consumed with fire; and the bath of Severus, that bore the name of Zeuxippus, in which there was much variety of spectacle, and splendour of arts; the works of all ages being conferred and preserved there, of marble, rocks, stones, and images of brass; to which this only wanted, that the souls of the persons they presented were not in them. Amongst these master-pieces and all-wit-exceeding workmanships stood Homer, as he was in his age, thoughtful and musing, his hands folded beneath his bosom, his beard untrimm'd and hanging down, the hair of his head in like sort thin on both sides before, his face with age and cares of the world, as these imagine, wrinkled and austere, his nose proportioned to his other parts, his eyes fixed or turned up to his eyebrows, like one blind, as it is reported he was." (Not born blind, saith Vell. Paterculus, which he that imagines, saith he, is blind of all senses.) "Upon his under-coat he was attired with a loose robe, and at the base beneath his feet a brazen chain hung." This was the statue of Homer, which in that conflagration perished. Another renowned statue of his, saith Lucian in his Encomion of Demosthenes, stood in the temple of Ptolemy, on the upper hand of his own statue. Cedrenus likewise remembereth a library in the palace of the king, at Constantinople, that contained a thousand a hundred and twenty books, amongst which there was the gut of a dragon of an hundred and twenty foot long, in which, in letters of gold, the Iliads and Odysseys of Homer were inscribed; which miracle, in Basiliscus the Emperor's time, was consumed with fire.

For his respect amongst the most learned, Plato in Ione calleth him ἄριστον καὶ θειότατον τω̑ν ποιητω̑ν, Poeta rum omnium et præstantissimum et divinissimum; in Phædone, θει̑ον ποιητὴν, divinum Poetam; and in Theætetus, Socrates citing divers of the most wise and learned for confirmation of his there held opinion, as Protagoras, Heraclitus, Empedocles, Epicharmus, and Homer, who, saith Socrates, against such an army, being all led by such a captain as Homer, dares fight or resist, but he will be held ridiculous? This for Scaliger and all Homer's envious and ignorant detractors. Why therefore Plato in another place banisheth him with all other poets out of his Commonwealth, dealing with them like a Politician indeed, use men, and then cast them off, though Homer he thinks fit to send out crowned and anointed, I see not, since he maketh still such honourable mention of him, and with his verses, as with precious gems, everywhere enchaceth his writings. So Aristotle continually celebrateth him. Nay, even amongst the barbarous, not only Homer's name, but his poems have been recorded and reverenced. The Indians, saith Ælianus (Var. Hist. lib. xii. cap. 48) in their own tongue had Homer's Poems translated and sung. Nor those Indians alone, but the kings of Persia. And amongst the Indians, of all the Greek poets, Homer being ever first in estimation; whensoever they used any divine duties according to the custom of their households and hospitalities, they invited ever Apollo and Homer. Lucian in his Encomion of Demosth. affirmeth all Poets celebrated Homer’s birthday, and sacrificed to him the first fruits of their verses. So Thersagoras answereth Lucian, he used to do himself. Alex. Paphius, saith Eustathius, delivers Homer as born of Egyptian parents, Dmasagoras being his father, and Æthra his mother, his nurse being a certain prophetess and the daughter of Oris, Isis' priest, from whose breasts, oftentimes, honey flowed in the mouth of the infant. After which, in the night, he uttered nine several notes or voices of fowls, viz. of a swallow, a peacock, a dove, a crow, a partridge, a redshank, a stare, a blackbird, and a nightingale; and, being a little boy, was found playing in his bed with nine doves. Sibylla being at a feast of his parents was taken with sudden fury, and sung verses whose beginning was Δμασαγ όρα πολύνικε; polynice, signifying much victory, in which song also she called him μεγάκλεα, great in glory, and στεϕανίτην, signifying garland-seller, and commanded him to build a temple to the Pegridarij, that is, to the Muses. Herodotus affirms that Phæmius, teaching a public school at Smyrna, was his master; and Dionysius in his 56th Oration saith, Socrates was Homer's scholar. In short, what he was, his works show most truly; to which, if you please, go on and examine him.

[1] Of Translation, and the natural difference of Dialects necessarily to be observed in it.

[2] Ironicè.

[3] The necessary nearness of Translation to the example.

[4] The power of Nature above Art in Poesy.

[5] Our English language above all others for Rhythmical Poesy. THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Apollo's priest to th' Argive fleet doth bring Gifts for his daughter, pris'ner to the king; For which her tender'd freedom he entreats; But, being dismiss'd with contumelious threats, At Phœbus' hands, by vengeful pray'r, he seeks To have a plague inflicted on the Greeks. Which had; Achilles doth a council cite, Embold'ning Calchas, in the king's despite; To tell the truth why they were punish'd so. From hence their fierce and deadly strife did grow. For wrong in which Æacides so raves, That goddess Thetis, from her throne of waves Ascending heav'n, of Jove assistance won, To plague the Greeks by absence of her son, And make the general himself repent To wrong so much his army's ornament. This found by Juno, she with Jove contends; Till Vulcan, with heav'n's cup, the quarrel ends. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Alpha the prayer of Chryses sings: The army's plague: the strife of kings.

Achilles' baneful wrath resound, O Goddess, that impos'd Infinite sorrows on the Greeks, and many brave souls los'd. From breasts heroic; sent them far to that invisible cave That no light comforts; and their limbs to dogs and vultures gave; To all which Jove's will gave effect; from whom first strife begun Betwixt Atrides, king of men, and Thetis' godlike son. What god gave Eris their command, and op'd that fighting vein? Jove's and Latona's son: who fir'd against the king of men, For contumély shown his priest, infectious sickness sent To plague the army, and to death by troops the soldiers went. Occasion'd thus: Chryses, the priest, came to the fleet to buy, For presents of unvalu'd price, his daughter's liberty; The golden sceptre and the crown of Phœbus in his hands Proposing; and made suit to all, but most to the commands Of both th' Atrides, who most rul'd. "Great Atreus' sons," said he, "And all ye well-greav'd Greeks, the gods, whose habitations be In heav'nly houses, grace your pow'rs with Priam's razéd town, And grant ye happy conduct home! To win which wish'd renown Of Jove, by honouring his son, far-shooting Phœbus, deign For these fit presents to dissolve the ransomable chain Of my lov'd daughter's servitude." The Greeks entirely gave Glad acclamations, for sign that their desires would have The grave priest reverenc'd, and his gifts of so much price embrac'd. The Gen'ral yet bore no such mind, but viciously disgrac'd With violent terms the priest, and said:—"Dotard! avoid our fleet, Where ling'ring be not found by me; nor thy returning feet Let ever visit us again; lest nor thy godhead's crown, Nor sceptre, save thee! Her thou seek'st I still will hold mine own, Till age deflow'r her. In our court at Argos, far transferr'd From her lov'd country, she shall ply her web, and see prepar'd [1] With all fit ornaments my bed. Incense me then no more, But, if thou wilt be safe, be gone." This said, the sea-beat shore, Obeying his high will, the priest trod off with haste and fear; And, walking silent, till he left far off his enemies' ear, Phœbus, fair hair'd Latona's son, he stirr'd up with a vow, To this stern purpose: "Hear, thou God that bear'st the silver bow, That Chrysa guard'st, rul'st Tenedos with strong hand, and the round Of Cilia most divine dost walk! O Sminthëus! if crown'd With thankful off'rings thy rich fane I ever saw, or fir'd Fat thighs of oxen and of goats to thee, this grace desir'd Vouchsafe to me: pains for my tears let these rude Greeks repay, Forc'd with thy arrows." Thus he pray'd, and Phœebus heard him pray, And, vex'd at heart, down from the tops of steep heav'n stoop'd; his bow, And quiver cover'd round, his hands did on his shoulders throw; And of the angry Deity the arrows as he mov'd Rattled about him. Like the night he rang'd the host, and rov'd (Apart the fleet set) terribly; with his hard-loosing hand His silver bow twang'd; and his shafts did first the mules command, And swift hounds; then the Greeks themselves his deadly arrows shot. The fires of death went never out; nine days his shafts flew hot About the army; and the tenth, Achilles called a court Of all the Greeks; heav'n's white-arm'd Queen (who, ev'rywhere cut short, Beholding her lov'd Greeks, by death) suggested it; and he (All met in one) arose, and said: "Atrides, now I see We must be wandering again, flight must be still our stay, If flight can save us now, at once sickness and battle lay Such strong hand on us. Let us ask some prophet, priest, or prove Some dream-interpreter (for dreams are often sent from Jove) Why Phœbus is so much incens'd; if unperformed vows He blames in us, or hecatombs; and if these knees he bows To death may yield his graves no more, but off'ring all supply Of savours burnt from lambs and goats, avert his fervent eye, And turn his temp'rate." Thus, he sat; and then stood up to them Calchas, surnam'd Thestorides, of augurs the supreme; He knew things present, past, to come, and rul'd the equipage Of th' Argive fleet to Ilion, for his prophetic rage Giv'n by Apollo; who, well-seen in th' ill they felt, propos'd This to Achilles: "Jove's belov'd, would thy charge see disclos'd The secret of Apollo's wrath? then cov'nant and take oath To my discov'ry, that, with words and pow'rful actions both, Thy strength will guard the truth in me; because I well conceive That he whose empire governs all, whom all the Grecians give Confirm'd obedience, will be mov'd; and then you know the state Of him that moves him. When a king hath once mark'd for his hate A man inferior, though that day his wrath seems to digest Th' offence he takes, yet evermore he rakes up in his breast Brands of quick anger, till revenge hath quench'd to his desire The fire reservéd. Tell me, then, if, whatsoever ire Suggests in hurt of me to him, thy valour will prevent?" Achilles answer'd: "All thou know'st speak, and be confident; For by Apollo, Jove's belov'd, (to whom performing vows, O Calchas, for the state of Greece, thy spirit prophetic shows Skills that direct us) not a man of all these Grecians here, I living, and enjoy'ng the light shot through this flow'ry sphere, Shall touch thee with offensive hands; though Agamemnon be The man in question, that doth boast the mightiest empery Of all our army." Then took heart the prophet unreprov'd, And said: "They are not unpaid vows, nor hecatombs, that mov'd The God against us; his offence is for his priest impair'd By Agamemnon, that refus'd the present he preferr'd, And kept his daughter. This is cause why heav'n's Far-darter darts These plagues amongst us; and this still will empty in our hearts His deathful quiver, uncontain'd till to her lovéd sire The black-eyed damsel be resign'd; no rédemptory hire Took for her freedom,-not a gift, but all the ransom quit, And she convey'd, with sacrifice, till her enfranchis'd feet Tread Chrysa under; then the God, so pleas'd, perhaps we may Move to remission." Thus, he sate; and up, the great in sway, Heroic Agamemnon rose, eagérly bearing all; His mind's seat overcast with fumes; an anger general Fill'd all his faculties; his eyes sparkled like kindling fire, Which sternly cast upon the priest, thus vented he his ire: "Prophet of ill! for never good came from thee towards me Not to a word's worth; evermore thou took'st delight to be Offensive in thy auguries, which thou continu'st still, Now casting thy prophetic gall, and vouching all our ill, Shot from Apollo, is impos'd since I refus'd the price Of fair Chryseis' liberty; which would in no worth rise To my rate of herself, which moves my vows to have her home, Past Clytemnestra loving her, that grac'd my nuptial room With her virginity and flow'r. Nor ask her merits less For person, disposition, wit, and skill in housewif'ries. And yet, for all this, she shall go, if more conducible That course be than her holding here. I rather wish the weal Of my lov'd army than the death. Provide yet instantly Supply for her, that I alone of all our royalty Lose not my winnings. 'Tis not fit. Ye see all I lose mine Forc'd by another, see as well some other may resign His prise to me." To this replied the swift-foot, god-like, son Of Thetis, thus: "King of us all, in all ambition Most covetous of all that breathe, why should the great-soul'd Greeks Supply thy lost prise out of theirs? Nor what thy av'rice seeks Our common treasury can find; so little it doth guard Of what our ras'd towns yielded us; of all which most is shar'd, And giv'n our soldiers; which again to take into our hands Were ignominious and base. Now then, since God commands, Part with thy most-lov'd prise to him; not any one of us Exacts it of thee, yet we all, all loss thou suffer'st thus, Will treble, quadruple, in gain, when Jupiter bestows The sack of well-wall'd Troy on us; which by his word he owes." "Do not deceive yourself with wit," he answer'd, "god-like man, Though your good name may colour it; 'tis not your swift foot can Outrun me here; nor shall the gloss, set on it with the God, Persuade me to my wrong. Wouldst thou maintain in sure abode Thine own prise, and slight me of mine? Resolve this: if our friends, As fits in equity my worth, will right me with amends, So rest it; otherwise, myself will enter personally On thy prise, that of Ithacus, or Ajax, for supply; Let him on whom I enter rage. But come, we'll order these Hereafter, and in other place. Now put to sacred seas Our black sail; in it rowers put, in it fit sacrifice; And to these I will make ascend my so much envied prise, Bright-cheek'd Chryseis. For conduct of all which, we must choose A chief out of our counsellors. Thy service we must use, Idomenëus; Ajax, thine; or thine, wise Ithacus; Or thine, thou terriblest of men, thou son of Peleüs, Which fittest were, that thou might'st see these holy acts perform'd For which thy cunning zeal so pleads; and he, whose bow thus storm'd For our offences, may be calm'd." Achilles, with a frown, Thus answer'd: "O thou impudent! of no good but thine own Ever respectful, but of that with all craft covetous, With what heart can a man attempt a service dangerous, Or at thy voice be spirited to fly upon a foe, Thy mind thus wretched? For myself, I was not injur'd so By any Trojan, that my pow'rs should bid them any blows; In nothing bear they blame of me; Phthia, whose bosom flows With corn and people, never felt impair of her increase By their invasion; hills enow, and far-resounding seas, Pour out their shades and deeps between; but thee, thou frontless man, We follow, and thy triumphs make with bonfires of our bane; Thine, and thy brother's, vengeance sought, thou dog's eyes, of this Troy By our expos'd lives; whose deserts thou neither dost employ With honour nor with care. And now, thou threat'st to force from me The fruit of my sweat, which the Greeks gave all; and though it be, Compar'd with thy part, then snatch'd up, nothing; nor ever is At any sack'd town; but of fight, the fetcher in of this, My hands have most share; in whose toils when I have emptied me Of all my forces, my amends in liberality, Though it be little, I accept, and turn pleas'd to my tent; And yet that little thou esteem'st too great a continent In thy incontinent avarice. For Phthia therefore now My course is; since 'tis better far, than here t' endure that thou Should'st still be ravishing my right, draw my whole treasure dry, And add dishonour." He replied: "If thy heart serve thee, fly; Stay not for my cause; others here will aid and honour me; If not, yet Jove I know is sure; that counsellor is he That I depend on. As for thee, of all our Jove-kept kings Thou still art most my enemy; strifes, battles, bloody things, Make thy blood-feasts still. But if strength, that these moods build upon, Flow in thy nerves, God gave thee it; and so 'tis not thine own, But in his hands still. What then lifts thy pride in this so high? Home with thy fleet, and Myrmidons; use there their empery; Command not here. I weigh thee not, nor mean to magnify Thy rough-hewn rages, but, instead, I thus far threaten thee: Since Phœbus needs will force from me Chryseis, she shall go; My ships and friends shall waft her home; but I will imitate so His pleasure, that mine own shall take, in person, from thy tent Bright-cheek'd Briseis; and so tell thy strength how eminent My pow'r is, being compar'd with thine; all other making fear To vaunt equality with me, or in this proud kind bear Their beards against me." Thetis' son at this stood vex'd, his heart Bristled his bosom, and two ways drew his discursive part; If, from his thigh his sharp sword drawn, he should make room about Atrides' person, slaught'ring him, or sit his anger out, And curb his spirit. While these thoughts striv'd in his blood and mind, And he his sword drew, down from heav'n Athenia stoop'd, and shin'd About his temples, being sent by th' ivory-wristed Queen, Saturnia, who out of her heart had ever loving been, And careful for the good of both. She stood behind, and took Achilles by the yellow curls, and only gave her look To him appearance; not a man of all the rest could see. He turning back his eye, amaze strook every faculty; Yet straight he knew her by her eyes, so terrible they were, Sparkling with ardour, and thus spake: "Thou seed of Jupiter, Why com'st thou? To behold his pride, that boasts our empery? Then witness with it my revenge, and see that insolence die That lives to wrong me." She replied: "I come from heav'n to see Thy anger settled, if thy soul will use her sov'reignty In fit reflection. I am sent from Juno, whose affects Stand heartily inclin'd to both. Come, give us both respects, And cease contention; draw no sword; use words, and such as may Be bitter to his pride, but just; for, trust in what I say, A time shall come, when, thrice the worth of that he forceth now, He shall propose for recompense of these wrongs; therefore throw Reins on thy passions, and serve us." He answer'd "Though my heart Burn in just anger, yet my soul must conquer th' angry part, And yield you conquest. Who subdues his earthly part for heav'n, Heav'n to his pray'rs subdues his wish." This said, her charge was given Fit honour; in his silver hilt he held his able hand, And forc'd his broad sword up; and up to heav'n did re-ascend Minerva, who, in Jove's high roof that bears the rough shield, took Her place with other deities. She gone, again forsook Patience his passion, and no more his silence could confine His wrath, that this broad language gave: "Thou ever steep'd in wine, Dog's face, with heart but of a hart, that nor in th' open eye Of fight dar'st thrust into a prease, nor with our noblest lie In secret ambush! These works seem too full of death for thee; 'Tis safer far in the open host to dare an injury To any crosser of thy lust. Thou subject-eating king! Base spirits thou govern'st, or this wrong had been the last foul thing Thou ever author'dst; yet I vow, and by a great oath swear, Ev'n by this sceptre, that, as this never again shall bear [2] Green leaves or branches, nor increase with any growth his size, Nor did since first it left the hills, and had his faculties And ornaments bereft with iron; which now to other end Judges of Greece bear, and their' laws, receiv'd from Jove, defend; (For which my oath to thee is great); so, whensoever need Shall burn with thirst of me thy host, no pray'rs shall ever breed Affection in me to their aid, though well-deserved woes Afflict thee for them, when to death man-slaught'ring Hector throws Whole troops of them, and thou torment'st thy vex'd mind with conceit Of thy rude rage now, and his wrong that most deserv'd the right Of all thy army." Thus, he threw his sceptre 'gainst the ground, With golden studs stuck, and took seat. Atrides' breast was drown'd In rising choler. Up to both sweet-spoken Nestor stood, The cunning Pylian orator, whose tongue pour'd forth a flood Of more-than-honey-sweet discourse; two ages were increas'd Of divers-languag'd men, all born in his time and deceas'd, In sacred Pylos, where he reign'd amongst the third-ag'd men He, well-seen in the world, advis'd, and thus express'd it then: "O Gods! Our Greek earth will be drown'd in just tears; rapeful Troy, Her king, and all his sons, will make as just a mock, and joy, Of these disjunctions; if of you, that all our host excel In counsel and in skill of fight, they hear this. Come, repel These young men's passions. Y' are not both, put both your years in one, So old as I. I liv'd long since, and was companion With men superior to you both, who yet would ever hear My counsels with respect. My eyes yet never witness were, Nor ever will be, of such men as then delighted them; Pirithous, Exadius, and god-like Polypheme, Cæneus, and Dryas prince of men, Ægean Theseüs, A man like heav'n's immortals form'd; all, all most vigorous, Of all men that ev'n those days: bred; most vig'rous men, and fought With beasts most vig'rous, mountain beasts, (for men in strength were nought Match'd with their forces) fought with them, and bravely fought them down Yet ev'n with these men I convers'd, being call'd to the renown Of their societies, by their suits, from Pylos far, to fight In th' Apian kingdom; and I fought, to a degree of might That help'd ev'n their mights, against such as no man now would dare To meet in conflict; yet ev'n these my counsels still would hear, And with obedience crown my words. Give you such palm to them; 'Tis better than to wreath your wraths. Atrides, give not stream To all thy pow'r, nor force his prise, but yield her still his own, As all men else do. Nor do thou encounter with thy crown, Great son of Peleus, since no king that ever Jove allow'd Grace of a sceptre equals him. Suppose thy nerves endow'd With strength superior, and thy birth a very goddess gave, Yet he of force is mightier, since what his own nerves have Is amplified with just command of many other. King of men, Command thou then thyself; and I with my pray'rs will obtain Grace of Achilles to subdue his fury; whose parts are Worth our entreaty, being chief check to all our ill in war." "All this, good father," said the king, "is comely and good right; But this man breaks all such bounds; he affects, past all men, height; All would in his pow'r hold, all make his subjects, give to all His hot will for their temp'rate law; all which he never shall Persuade at my hands. If the gods have giv'n him the great style Of ablest soldier, made they that his licence to revile Men with vile language?" Thetis' son prevented him, and said: "Fearful and vile I might be thought, if the exactions laid By all means on me I should bear. Others command to this, Thou shalt not me; or if thou dost, far my free spirit is From serving thy command. Beside, this I affirm (afford Impression of it in thy soul): will not use my sword On thee or any for a wench, unjustly though thou tak'st The thing thou gav'st; but all things else, that in my ship thou mak'st Greedy survey of, do not touch without my leave; or do,— Add that act's wrong to this, that these may see that outrage too,— And then comes my part; then be sure, thy blood upon my lance Shall flow in vengeance." These high terms these two at variance Us'd to each other; left their seats; and after them arose The whole court. To his tents and ships, with friends and soldiers, goes Angry Achilles. Atreus' son the swift ship launch'd, and put Within it twenty chosen row'rs, within it likewise shut The hecatomb t' appease the God; then caus'd to come aboard Fair-cheek'd Chryseis; for the chief, he in whom Pallas pour'd Her store of counsels, Ithacus, aboard went last; and then The moist ways of the sea they sail'd. And now the king of men Bade all the host to sacrifice. They sacrific'd, and cast The offal of all to the deeps; the angry God they grac'd With perfect hecatombs; some bulls, some goats, along the shore Of the unfruitful sea, inflam'd. To heav'n the thick fumes bore Enwrapped savours. Thus, though all the politic king made shew Respects to heav'n, yet he himself all that time did pursue His own affections; the late jar, in which he thunder'd threats Against Achilles, still he fed, and his affections' heats Thus vented to Talthybius, and grave Eurybates, Heralds, and ministers of trust, to all his messages. "Haste to Achilles' tent; where take Briseis' hand, and bring Her beauties to us. If he fail to yield her, say your king Will come himself, with multitudes that shall the horribler Make both his presence, and your charge, that so he dares defer." This said, he sent them with a charge of hard condition. They went unwillingly, and trod the fruitless sea's shore; soon They reach'd the navy and the tents, in which the quarter lay Of all the Myrmidons, and found the chief Chief in their sway Set at his black bark in his tent. Nor was Achilles glad To see their presence; nor themselves in any glory had Their message, but with rev'rence stocd, and fear'd th' offended king, Ask'd not the dame, nor spake a word. He yet, well knowing the thing That caus'd their coming, grac'd them thus: "Heralds, ye men that bear The messages of men and gods, y' are welcome, come ye near. I nothing blame you, but your king; 'tis he I know doth send You for Briseis; she is his. Patroclus, honour'd friend, Bring forth the damsel, and these men let lead her to their lord. But, heralds, be you witnesses, before the most ador'd, Before us mortals, and before your most ungentle king, Of what I suffer, that, if war ever hereafter bring My aid in question, to avert any severest bane It brings on others, I am 'scus'd to keep mine aid in wane, Since they mine honour. But your king, in tempting mischief, raves, Nor sees at once by present things the future; how like waves Ills follow ills; injustices being never so secure In present times, but after-plagues ev'n then are seen as sure; Which yet he sees not, and so soothes his present lust, which, check'd, Would check plagues future; and he might, in succouring right, protect Such as fight for his right at fleet. They still in safety fight, That fight still justly." This speech us'd, Patroclus did the rite His friend commanded, and brought forth Briseis from her tent, Gave her the heralds, and away to th' Achive ships they went. She sad, and scarce for grief could go. Her love all friends forsook, And wept for anger. To the shore of th' old sea he betook Himself alone, and casting forth upon the purple sea His wet eyes, and his hands to heav'n advancing, this sad plea Made to his mother; "Mother! Since you brought me forth to breathe So short a life, Olympius had good right to bequeath My short life honour; yet that right he doth in no degree, But lets Atrides do me shame, and force that prise from me That all the Greeks gave." This with tears he utter'd, and she heard, Set with her old sire in his deeps, and instantly appear'd Up from the grey sea like a cloud, sate by his side, and said: "Why weeps my son? What grieves thee? Speak, conceal not what hath laid Such hard hand on thee, let both know." He, sighing like a storm, Replied: "Thou dost know. Why should I things known again inform? We march'd to Thebes, the sacred town of king Eëtion, Sack'd it, and brought to fleet the spoil, which every valiant son Of Greece indifferently shar'd. Atrides had for share Fair-cheek'd Chryseis. After which, his priest that shoots so far, Chryses, the fair Chryseis' sire, arriv'd at th' Achive fleet, With infinite ransom, to redeem the dear imprison'd feet Of his fair daughter. In his hands he held Apollo's crown, And golden sceptre; making suit to ev'ry Grecian son, But most the sons of Atreüs, the others' orderers, Yet they least heard him; all the rest receiv'd with rev'rend ears The motion, both the priest and gifts gracing, and holding worth His wish'd acceptance. Atreus' son yet (vex'd) commanded forth With rude terms Phœbus' rev'rend priest; who, angry, made retreat, And pray'd to Phœbus, in whose grace he standing passing great Got his petitión. The God an ill shaft sent abroad That tumbled down the Greeks in heaps. The host had no abode That was not visited. We ask'd a prophet that well knew The cause of all; and from his lips Apollo's prophecies flew, Telling his anger. First myself exhorted to appease The anger'd God; which Atreus' son did at the heart displease, And up he stood, us'd threats, perform'd. The black-eyed Greeks sent home Chryseis to her sire, and gave his God a hecatomb. Then, for Briseis, to my tents Atrides' heralds came, And took her that the Greeks gave all. If then thy pow'rs can frame Wreak for thy son, afford it. Scale Olympus, and implore Jove (if by either word, or fact, thou ever didst restore Joy to his griev'd heart) now to help. I oft have heard thee vaunt, In court of Peleus, that alone thy hand was conversant In rescue from a cruel spoil the black-cloud-gath'ring Jove, Whom other Godheads would have bound (the Pow'r whose pace doth move The round earth, heav'n's great Queen, and Pallas); to whose bands Thou cam'st with rescue, bringing up him with the hundred hands To great Olympus, whom the Gods call Briarëus, men Ægæon, who his sire surpass'd, and was as strong again, And in that grace sat glad by Jove. Th' immortals stood dismay'd At his ascension, and gave free passage to his aid. Of all this tell Jove; kneel to him, embrace his knee, and pray, If Troy's aid he will ever deign, that now their forces may Beat home the Greeks to fleet and sea; embruing their retreat In slaughter; their pains pay'ng the wreak of their proud sov'reign's heat; And that far-ruling king may know, from his poor soldier's harms His own harm falls; his own and all in mine, his best in arms." Her answer she pour'd out in tears: "O me, my son," said she, "Why brought I up thy being at all, that brought thee forth to be Sad subject of so hard a fate? O would to heav'n, that since Thy fate is little, and not long, thou might'st without offence And tears perform it! But to live, thrall to so stern a fate As grants thee least life, and that least so most unfortunate, Grieves me t' have giv'n thee any life. But what thou wishest now, If Jove will grant, I'll up and ask; Olympus crown'd with snow I'll climb; but sit thou fast at fleet, renounce all war, and feed Thy heart with wrath, and hope of wreak; till which come, thou shalt need A little patience. Jupiter went yesterday to feast Amongst the blameless Æthiops, in th' ocean's deepen'd breast, All Gods attending him; the twelfth, high heav'n again he sees, And then his brass-paved court I'll scale, cling to his pow'rful knees, And doubt not but to win thy wish." Thus, made she her remove, And left wrath tyring on her son, for his enforcèd love. Ulysses, with the hecatomb, arriv'd at Chrysa's shore; And when amidst the hav'n's deep mouth, they came to use the oar, They straight strook sail, then roll'd them up, and on the hatches threw; The top-mast to the kelsine then, with halyards down they drew; Then brought the ship to port with oars; then forked anchor cast; And, 'gainst the violence of storm, for drifting made her fast. All come ashore, they all expos'd the holy hecatomb To angry Phœbus, and, with it, Chryseis welcom'd home; Whom to her sire, wise Ithacus, that did at th' altar stand, For honour led, and, spoken thus, resign'd her to his hand: "Chryses, the mighty king of men, great Agamemnon, sends Thy lov'd seed by my hands to thine; and to thy God commends A hecatomb, which my charge is to sacrifice, and seek Our much-sigh-mix'd woe his recure, invok'd by ev'ry Greek." Thus he resign'd her, and her sire receiv'd her highly joy'd. About the well-built altar, then, they orderly employ'd The sacred off'ring, wash'd their hands, took salt cakes; and the priest, With hands held up to heav'n, thus pray'd: "O thou that all things seest, Fautour of Chrysa, whose fair hand doth guard fully dispose Celestial Cilia, governing in all pow'r Tenedos, O hear thy priest, and as thy hand, in free grace to my pray'rs, Shot fervent plague-shafts through the Greeks, now hearten their affairs With health renew'd, and quite remove th' infection from their blood." He pray'd; and to his pray'rs again the God propitious stood. All, after pray'r, cast on salt cakes, drew back, kill'd, flay'd the beeves, Cut out and dubb'd with fat their thighs, fair dress'd with doubled leaves, And on them all the sweetbreads' prick'd, The priest, with small sere wood, Did sacrifice, pour'd on red wine; by whom the young men stood, And turn'd, in five ranks, spits; on which (the legs enough) they eat The inwards; then in giggots cut the other fit for meat, And put to fire; which roasted well they drew. The labour done, They serv'd the feast in, that fed all to satisfaction. Desire of meat and wine thus quench'd, the youths crown'd cups of wine Drunk off, and fill'd again to all. That day was held divine, And spent in pæans to the Sun, who heard with pleaséd ear; When whose bright chariot stoop'd to sea, and twilight hid the clear, All soundly on their cables slept, ev'n till the night was worn. And when the lady of the light, the rosy-finger'd Morn, Rose from the hills, all fresh arose, and to the camp retir'd. Apollo with a fore-right wind their swelling bark inspir'd. The top-mast hoisted, milk-white sails on his round breast they put, The mizens strooted with the gale, the ship her course did cut So swiftly that the parted waves against her ribs did roar; Which, coming to the camp, they drew aloft the sandy shore, Where, laid on stocks, each soldier kept his quarter as before. But Peleus' son, swift-foot Achilles, at his swift ships sate, Burning in wrath, nor ever came to councils of estate That make men honour'd, never trod the fierce embattled field, But kept close, and his lov'd heart pin'd, what fight and cries could yield Thirsting at all parts to the host, And now, since first he told His wrongs to Thetis, twelve fair morns their ensigns did unfold, And then the ever-living gods mounted Olympus, Jove First in ascension. Thetis then, remember'd well to move Achilles' motion, rose from sea, and, by the morn's first light, The great heav'n and Olympus climb'd; where, in supremest height Of all that many-headed hill, she saw the far-seen son Of Saturn, set from all the rest, in his free seat alone. Before whom, on her own knees fall'n, the knees of Jupiter Her left hand held, her right his chin, and thus she did prefer Her son's petition: "Father Jove! If ever I have stood Aidful to thee in word or work, with this imploréd good, Requite my aid, renown my son, since in so short a race (Past others) thou confin'st his life. An insolent disgrace Is done him by the king of men; he forc'd from him a prise Won with his sword. But thou, O Jove, that art most strong, most wise, Honour my son for my sake; add strength to the Trojans' side By his side's weakness in his want; and see Troy amplified In conquest, so much, and so long, till Greece may give again The glory reft him, and the more illustrate the free reign Of his wrong'd honour." Jove at this sate silent; not a word In long space pass'd him. Thetis still hung on his knee, implor'd The second time his help, and said: "Grant, or deny my suit, Be free in what thou dost; I know, thou canst not sit thus mute For fear of any; speak, deny, that so I may be sure, Of all heav'n's Goddesses 'tis I, that only must endure Dishonour by thee." Jupiter, the great cloud-gath'rer, griev'd With thought of what a world of griefs this suit ask'd, being achiev'd, Swell'd, sigh'd, and answer'd: "Works of death thou urgest. O, at this Juno will storm, and all my pow'rs inflame with contumelies. Ever she wrangles, charging me in ear of all the Gods That I am partial still, that I add the displeasing odds Of my aid to the Ilians. Begone then, lest she see; Leave thy request to my care; yet, that trust may hearten thee With thy desire's grant, and my pow'r to give it act approve How vain her strife is, to thy pray'r my eminent head shall move; Which is the great sign of my will with all th' immortal states; Irrevocable; never fails; never without the rates Of all pow'rs else; when my head bows, all heads bow with it still As their first mover; and gives pow'r to any work I will." He said; and his black eyebrows bent; above his deathless head Th' ambrosian curls flow'd; great heav'n shook: and both were severéd, Their counsels broken. To the depth of Neptune's kingdom div'd Thetis from heav'n's height; Jove arose; and all the Gods receiv'd (All rising from their thrones) their Sire, attending to his court. None sate when he rose, none delay'd the furnishing his port Till he came near; all met with him, and brought him to his throne. Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone Old Nereus' silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought Counsels to heav'n; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought This sharp invective: "Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor Of all the Gods) that so apart some secret did implore? Ever, apart from me, thou lov'st to counsel and decree Things of more close trust than thou think'st are fit t' impart to me. Whatever thou determin'st, I must ever be denied The knowledge of it by thy will." To her speech thus replied The Father both of men and Gods: "Have never hope to know My whole intentions, though my wife; it fits not, nor would show Well to thine own thoughts; but what fits thy woman's ear to hear, Woman, nor man, nor God, shall know before it grace thine ear. Yet what, apart from men and Gods, I please to know, forbear T' examine, or inquire of that." She with the cow's fair eyes, Respected Juno, this return'd: "Austere king of the skies, What hast thou utter'd? When did I before this time inquire, Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still. Your desire Is serv'd with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed That makes it public, being seduc'd by this old sea-god's seed, That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt, The late act of thy bowéd head was for the working out Of some boon she ask'd; that her son thy partial hand would please With plaguing others." "Wretch!" said he, "thy subtle jealousies Are still exploring; my designs can never 'scape thine eye, Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity Makes thee less car'd for at my hands, and horrible the end Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend, What then? 'Tis my free will it should; to which let way be giv'n With silence. Curb your tongue in time; lest all the Gods in heav'n Too few be and too weak to help thy punish'd insolence, When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee." The sense Of this high threat'ning made her fear, and silent she sate down, Humbling her great heart. All the Gods in court of Jove did frown At this offence giv'n; amongst whom heav'n's famous artizan, Ephaistus, in his mother's care, this comely speech began: "Believe it, these words will breed wounds, beyond our pow'rs to bear, If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best. But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request His wisdom audience. Give good terms to our lov'd father Jove, For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove A wrathful battle. If he will, the heav'nly Light'ner can Take you and toss you from your throne; his pow'r Olympian Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen, And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again." This said, arising from his throne, in his lov'd mother's hand He put the double-handed cup, and said: "Come, do not stand On these cross humours, suffer, bear, though your great bosom grieve, And lest blows force you; all my aid not able to relieve Your hard condition, though these eyes behold it, and this heart Sorrow to think it. 'Tis a task too dang'rous to take part Against Olympius. I myself the proof of this still feel. When other Gods would fain have help'd, he took me by the heel, And hurl'd me out of heav'n. All day I was in falling down; At length in Lemnos I strook earth. The likewise-falling sun And I, together, set; my life almost set too; yet there The Sintii cheer'd and took me up." This did to laughter cheer White-wristed Juno, who now took the cup of him, and smil'd. The sweet peace-making draught went round, and lame Ephaistus fill'd Nectar to all the other Gods. A laughter never left Shook all the blesséd deities, to see the lame so deft At that cup service. All that day, ev'n till the sun went down, They banqueted, and had such cheer as did their wishes crown. Nor had they music less divine; Apollo there did touch His most sweet harp, to which, with voice, the Muses pleas'd as much. But when the sun's fair light was set, each Godhead to his house Address'd for sleep, where ev'ry one, with art most curious, By heav'n's great both-foot-halting God a sev'ral roof had built. Ev'n he to sleep went, by whose hand heav'n is with lightning gilt, High Jove, where he had us'd to rest when sweet sleep seiz'd his eyes; By him the golden-thron'd Queen slept, the Queen of deities. THE END OF THE FIRST BOOK.

[1] "See my bed made," it may be Englished. The word is ἀντιόωσαν, which signifies contra stantem as standing of one side opposite to another on the other side; which yet others translate capessentem et adornantem; which since it shows best to a reader, I follow.

[2] This simile Virgil directly translates. THE SECOND BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Jove calls a vision up from Somnus' den To bid Atrides muster up his men. The King, to Greeks dissembling his desire, Persuades them to their country to retire. By Pallas' will, Ulysses stays their flight: And wise old Nestor heartens them to fight. They take their meat; which done, to arms they go, And march in good array against the foe. So those of Troy; when Iris, from the sky, Of Saturn's son performs the embassy. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Beta the dream and synod cites; And catalogues the naval knights.

The other Gods, and knights at arms, all night slept; only Jove Sweet slumber seiz'd not; he discours'd how best he might approve His vow made for Achilles' grace, and make the Grecians find His miss in much death. All ways cast, this counsel serv'd his mind With most allowance; to despatch a harmful Dream to greet The king of men, and gave this charge: "Go to the Achive fleet, Pernicious Dream, and, being arriv'd in Agamemnon's tent, Deliver truly all this charge. Command him to convent His whole host arm'd before these tow'rs; for now Troy's broad-way'd town He shall take in; the heav'n-hous'd Gods are now indiff'rent grown: Juno's request hath won them; Troy now under imminent ills At all parts labours." This charge heard, the Vision straight fulfils; The ships reach'd, and Atrides' tent, in which he found him laid, Divine sleep pour'd about his pow'rs. He stood above his head Like Nestor, grac'd of old men most, and this did intimate: "Sleeps the wise Atreus' tame-horse son? A councillor of state Must not the whole night spend in sleep, to whom the people are For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care. Now hear me, then, Jove's messenger, who, though far off from thee, Is near thee yet in ruth and care, and gives command by me To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way'd town of Troy Shall now take in; no more the Gods dissentiously employ Their high-hous'd powers; Juno's suit hath won them all to her; And ill fates overhang these tow'rs, address'd by Jupiter. Fix in thy mind this, nor forget to give it action, when Sweet sleep shall leave thee." Thus, he fled; and left the king of men Repeating in discourse his dream, and dreaming still, awake, Of pow'r, not ready yet for act. O fool, he thought to take In that next day old Priam's town; not knowing what affairs Jove had in purpose, who prepar'd, by strong fight, sighs and cares For Greeks and Trojans. The Dream gone, his voice still murmured About the king's ears; who sate up, put on him in his bed His silken inner weed, fair, new; and then in haste arose, Cast on his ample mantle, tied to his soft feet fair shoes, His silver-hilted sword he hung about his shoulder, took His father's sceptre never stain'd, which then abroad he shook, And went to fleet. And now great heav'n Goddess Aurora scal'd, To Jove, and all Gods, bringing light; when Agamemnon call'd His heralds, charging them aloud to call to instant court The thick-hair'd Greeks. The heralds call'd; the Greeks made quick resort. The Council chiefly he compos'd of old great-minded men, At Nestor's ships, the Pylian king. All there assembled then, Thus Atreus' son begun the court: "Hear, friends: A Dream divine, Amidst the calm night in my sleep, did through my shut eyes shine, Within my fantasy. His form did passing naturally Resemble Nestor; such attire, a stature just as high. He stood above my head, and words thus fashion'd did relate: 'Sleeps the wise Atreus' tame-horse son? A councillor of state Must not the whole night spend in sleep, to whom the people are For guard committed, and whose life stands bound to so much care. Now hear me then, Jove's messenger, who, though far off from thee, Is near thee yet in love and care, and gives command by me To arm thy whole host. Thy strong hand the broad-way'd town of Troy Shall now take in; no more the Gods dissentiously employ Their high-hous'd pow'rs; Saturnia's suit hath won them all to her; And ill fates over-hang these tow'rs, address'd by Jupiter. Fix in thy mind this.' This express'd, he took wing and away, And sweet sleep left me. Let us then by all our means assay To arm our army; I will first (as far as fits our right) Try their addictions, and command with full-sail'd ships our flight; Which if they yield to, oppose you." He sate, and up arose Nestor, of sandy Pylos king, who, willing to dispose Their counsel to the public good, propos'd this to the state: "Princes and Councillors of Greece, if any should relate This vision but the king himself, it might be held a tale, And move the rather our retreat; but since our General Affirms he saw it, hold it true, and all our best means make To arm our army." This speech us'd, he first the Council brake; The other sceptre-bearing States arose too, and obey'd The people's Rector. Being abroad, the earth was overlaid With flockers to them, that came forth, as when of frequent bees Swarms rise out of a hollow rock, repairing the degrees Of their egression endlessly, with ever rising new From forth their sweet nest; as their store, still as it faded, grew, And never would cease sending forth her clusters to the spring, They still crowd out so; this fleck here, that there, belabouring The loaded flow'rs; so from the ships and tents the army's store Troop'd to these princes and the court, along th' unmeasur'd shore; Amongst whom, Jove's ambassadress, Fame, in her virtue shin'd, Exciting greediness to hear. The rabble, thus inclin'd, Hurried together; uproar seiz'd the high court; earth did groan Beneath the settling multitude; tumult was there alone. Thrice-three vocif'rous heralds rose, to check the rout, and get Ear to their Jove-kept governors; and instantly was set That huge confusion; ev'ry man set fast, the clamour ceas'd. Then stood divine Atrides up, and in his hand compress'd His sceptre, th' elaborate work of fi'ry Mulciber, Who gave it to Saturnian Jove; Jove to his messenger; His messenger, Argicides, to Pelops, skill'd in horse; Pelops to Atreus, chief of men; he, dying, gave it course To prince Thyestes, rich in herds; Thyestes to the hand Of Agamemnon render'd it, and with it the command Of many isles, and Argos all. On this he leaning, said: "O friends, great sons of Danaus, servants of Mars, Jove laid A heavy curse on me, to vow, and bind it with the bent Of his high forehead; that, this Troy of all her people spent, I should return; yet now to mock our hopes built on his vow, And charge ingloriously my flight, when such an overthrow Of brave friends I have authored. But to his mightiest will We must submit us, that hath raz'd, and will be razing still, Men's footsteps from so many towns; because his pow'r is most, He will destroy most. But how vile such and so great an host Will show to future times, that, match'd with lesser numbers far, We fly, not putting on the crown of our so-long-held war, Of which there yet appears no end! Yet should our foes and we Strike truce, and number both our pow'rs; Troy taking all that be Her arm'd inhabitants, and we, in tens, should all sit down At our truce banquet, ev'ry ten allow'd one of the town To fill his feast-cup; many tens would their attendant want; So much I must affirm our pow'r exceeds th' inhabitant. But their auxiliáry bands, those brandishers of spears, From many cities drawn, are they that are our hinderers, Not suff'ring well-rais'd Troy to fall. Nine years are ended now, Since Jove our conquest vow'd; and now, our vessels rotten grow, Our tackling falls; our wives, young sons, sit in their doors and long For our arrival; yet the work, that should have wreak'd our wrong, And made us welcome, lies unwrought. Come then, as I bid, all Obey, and fly to our lov'd home; for now, nor ever, shall Our utmost take-in broad-way'd Troy." This said, the multitude Was all for home; and all men else that what this would conclude Had not discover'd. All the crowd was shov'd about the shore, In sway, like rude and raging waves, rous'd with the fervent blore Of th' east and south winds, when they break from Jove's clouds, and are borne On rough backs of th' Icarian seas: or like a field of corn High grown, that Zephyr's vehement gusts bring eas'ly underneath, And make the stiff up-bristled ears do homage to his breath; For ev'n so eas'ly, with the breath Atrides us'd, was sway'd The violent multitude. To fleet with shouts, and disarray'd, All rush'd; and, with a fog of dust, their rude feet dimm'd the day; Each cried to other, "Cleanse our ships, come, launch, aboard, away." The clamour of the runners home reach'd heav'n; and then, past fate, The Greeks had left Troy, had not then the Goddess of estate Thus spoke to Pallas: "O foul shame, thou untam'd seed of Jove, Shall thus the sea's broad back be charg'd with these our friends' remove, Thus leaving Argive Helen here, thus Priam grac'd, thus Troy, In whose fields, far from their lov'd own, for Helen's sake, the joy And life of so much Grecian birth is vanish'd? Take thy way T' our brass-arm'd people, speak them fair, let not a man obey The charge now giv'n, nor launch one ship." She said, and Pallas did As she commanded; from the tops of heav'n's steep hill she slid, And straight the Greeks' swift ships she reach'd; Ulysses (like to Jove In gifts of counsel) she found out; who to that base remove Stirr'd not a foot, nor touch'd a ship, but griev'd at heart to see That fault in others. To him close the blue-eyed Deity Made way, and said: "Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes' son, Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run? Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends, If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends Have clos'd your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home. Go to these people, use no stay, with fair terms overcome Their foul endeavour, not a man a flying sail let hoice." Thus spake she; and Ulysses knew 'twas Pallas by her voice, Ran to the runners, cast from him his mantle, which his man And herald, grave Eurybates, the Ithacensian That follow'd him, took up. Himself to Agamemnon went, His incorrupted sceptre took, his sceptre of descent, And with it went about the fleet. What prince, or man of name, He found flight-giv'n, he would restrain with words of gentlest blame: "Good sir, it fits not you to fly, or fare as one afraid, You should not only stay yourself, but see the people staid. You know not clearly, though you heard the king's words, yet his mind; He only tries men's spirits now, and, whom his trials find Apt to this course, he will chastise, Nor you, nor I, heard all He spake in council; nor durst press too near our General, Lest we incens'd him to our hurt. The anger of a king Is mighty; he is kept of Jove, and from Jove likewise spring His honours, which, out of the love of wise Jove, he enjoys." Thus he the best sort us'd; the worst, whose spirits brake out in noise, He cudgell'd with his sceptre, chid, and said: "Stay, wretch, be still, And hear thy betters; thou art base, and both in pow'r and skill Poor and unworthy, without name in council or in war. We must not all be kings. The rule is most irregular, Where many rule. One lord, one king, propose to thee; and he, To whom wise Saturn's son, hath giv'n both law and empery To rule the public, is that king." Thus ruling, he restrain'd The host from flight; and then again the Council was maintain'd With such a concourse, that the shore rung with the tumult made; As when the far-resounding sea doth in its rage invade His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involvéd wave, And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave. Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder'd store Of words he foolishly pour'd out, of which his mind held more Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure To touch no kings; t' oppose their states becomes not jesters' parts. But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts In Troy's brave siege; he was squint-ey'd, and lame of either foot; So crook-back'd, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot (Here and there spers'd) thin mossy hair. He most of all envíed Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide. Nor could the sacred King himself avoid his saucy vein; Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain, Being angry for Achilles' wrong, he cried out, railing thus: "Atrides, why complain'st thou now? What would'st thou more of us? Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine, With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign To our invasion. Want'st thou then, besides all this, more gold From Troy's knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold I or some other Greek must take? Or would'st thou yet again Force from some other lord his prise, to soothe the lusts that reign In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy, And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, fly Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys, And try if we help'd him or not; he wrong'd a man that weighs Far more than he himself in worth; he forc'd from Thetis' son, And keeps his prise still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won The style of wrathful worthily; he's soft, he's too remiss; Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries." Thus he the people's Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim, This bitter check gave: "Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restrain, With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree; For not a worse, of all this host, came with our King than thee, To Troy's great siege; then do not take into that mouth of thine The names of kings, much less revile the dignities that shine In their supreme states, wresting thus this motion for our home, To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will come Of these designments, if it be our good to stay, or go. Nor is it that thou stand'st on; thou revil'st our Gen'ral so, Only because he hath so much, not giv'n by such as thou But our heroës. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow (Which shall be curiously observ'd) if ever I shall hear This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear This head, nor be the father call'd of young Telemachus, If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes, weeping hence This glory thou affect'st to rail." This said, his insolence He settled with his sceptre; strook his back and shoulders so That bloody wales rose. He shrunk round; and from his eyes did flow Moist tears, and, looking filthily, he sate, fear'd, smarted, dried His blubber'd cheeks; and all the prease, though griev'd to be denied Their wish'd retreat for home, yet laugh'd delightsomely, and spake Either to other: "O ye Gods, how infinitely take Ulysses' virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great In ord'ring armies, how most well this act became his heat, To beat from council this rude fool! I think his saucy spirit, Hereafter, will not let his tongue abuse the sov'reign merit, Exempt from such base tongues as his." Thus spake the people; then The city-razer Ithacus stood up to speak again, Holding his sceptre. Close to him gray-eyed Minerva stood, And, like a herald, silence caus'd, that all the Achive brood (From first to last) might hear and know the counsel; when, inclin'd To all their good, Ulysses said: "Atrides, now I find These men would render thee the shame of all men; nor would pay Their own vows to thee, when they took their free and honour'd way From Argos hither, that, till Troy were by their brave hands rac'd, They would not turn home. Yet, like babes, and widows, now they haste To that base refuge, 'Tis a spite to see men melted so In womanish changes; though 'tis true, that if a man do go Only a month to sea, and leave his wife far off, and he, Tortur'd with winter's storms, and toss'd with a tumultuous sea, Grows heavy, and would home. Us then, to whom the thrice-three year Hath fill'd his revoluble orb since our arrival here, I blame not to wish home much more; yet all this time to stay, Out of our judgments, for our end; and now to take our way Without it, were absurd and vile. Sustain then, friends; abide The time set to our object; try if Calchas prophesied True of the time or not. We know, ye all can witness well, (Whom these late death-conferring fates have fail'd to send to hell) That when in Aulis, all our fleet, assembled with a freight Of ills to Ilion and her friends, beneath the fair grown height A platane bore, about a fount, whence crystal water flow'd, And near our holy altar, we upon the Gods bestow'd Accomplish'd hecatombs; and there appear'd a huge portent, A dragon with a bloody scale, horrid to sight, and sent To light by great Olympius; which, crawling from beneath The altar, to the platane climb'd, and ruthless crash'd to death A sparrow's young, in number eight, that in a top-bough lay Hid under leaves; the dam the ninth, that hover'd every way, Mourning her lov'd birth, till at length, the serpent, watching her, Her wing caught, and devour'd her too. This dragon, Jupiter, That brought him forth, turn'd to a stone, and made a pow'rful mean To stir our zeals up, that admir'd, when of a fact so clean Of all ill as our sacrifice, so fearful an ostent Should be the issue. Calchas, then, thus prophesied th' event 'Why are ye dumb-strook, fair-hair'd Greeks? Wise Jove is he hath shown This strange ostent to us. 'Twas late, and passing lately done, But that grace it foregoes to us, for suff'ring all the state Of his appearance (being so slow) nor time shall end, nor fate. As these eight sparrows, and the dam (that made the ninth) were eat By this stern serpent; so nine years we are t' endure the heat Of rav'nous war, and, in the tenth, take-in this broad-way'd town.' Thus he interpreted this sign; and all things have their crown As he interpreted, till now. The rest, then, to succeed Believe as certain. Stay we all, till, that most glorious deed Of taking this rich town, our hands are honour'd with." This said, The Greeks gave an unmeasur'd shout; which back the ships repaid With terrible echoes, in applause of that persuasion Divine Ulysses us'd; which yet held no comparison With Nestor's next speech, which was this: "O shameful thing! Ye talk Like children all, that know not war. In what air's region walk Our oaths, and cov'nants? Now, I see the fit respects of men Are vanish'd quite; our right hands giv'n, our faiths, our counsels vain, Our sacrifice with wine, all fled in that profanéd flame We made to bind all; for thus still we vain persuasions frame, And strive to work our end with words, not joining stratagemes And hands together, though, thus long, the pow'r of our extremes Hath urg'd us to them. Atreus' son, firm as at first hour stand! Make good thy purpose; talk no more in councils, but command In active field. Let two or three, that by themselves advise, Faint in their crowning; they are such as are not truly wise; They will for Argos, ere they knew if that which Jove hath said Be false or true. I tell them all, that high Jove bow'd his head, As first we went aboard our fleet, for sign we should confer These Trojans their due fate and death; almighty Jupiter All that day darting forth his flames, in an unmeasur'd light, On our right hand. Let therefore none once dream of coward flight, Till (for his own) some wife of Troy he sleeps withal, the rape Of Helen wreaking, and our sighs enforc'd for her escape. If any yet dare dote on home, let his dishonour'd haste His black and well-built bark but touch, that (as he first disgrac'd His country's spirit) fate, and death, may first his spirit let go. But be thou wise, king, do not trust thyself, but others. Know I will not use an abject word. See all thy men array'd In tribes and nations, that tribes tribes, nations may nations, aid. Which doing, thou shalt know what chiefs, what soldiers, play the men, And what the cowards; for they all will fight in sev'ral then, Easy for note. And then shalt thou, if thou destroy'st not Troy, Know if the prophecy's defect, or men thou dost employ In their approv'd arts want in war, or lack of that brave heat Fit for the vent'rous spirits of Greece, was cause to thy defeat." To this the king of men replied: "O father, all the sons Of Greece thou conquer'st in the strife of consultations. I would to Jove, Athenia, and Phœbus, I could make, Of all, but ten such counsellors; then instantly would shake King Priam's city, by our hands laid hold on and laid waste. But Jove hath order'd I should grieve, and to that end hath cast My life into debates past end. Myself, and Thetis' son, Like girls, in words fought for a girl, and I th' offence begun. But if we ever talk as friends, Troy's thus deferréd fall Shall never vex us more one hour. Come then, to victuals all, That strong Mars all may bring to field. Each man his lance's steel See sharpen'd well, his shield well lin'd, his horses meated well, His chariot carefully made strong, that these affairs of death We all day may hold fiercely out. No man must rest, or breath; The bosoms of our targeteers must all be steeped in sweat; The lancer's arm must fall dissolv'd; our chariot-horse with heat Must seem to melt. But if I find one soldier take the chace, Or stir from fight, or fight not still fix'd in his enemy's face, Or hid a-ship-board, all the world, for force, nor price, shall save His hated life, but fowls and dogs be his abhorréd grave." He said; and such a murmur rose, as on a lofty shore The waves make, when the south wind comes, and tumbles them before Against a rock, grown near the strand which diversely beset Is never free, but, here and there, with varied uproars beat. All rose then, rushing to the fleet, perfum'd their tents, and eat; Each off'ring to th' immortal gods, and praying to 'scape the heat Of war and death. The king of men an ox of five years' spring T' almighty Jove slew, call'd the peers; first Nestor; then the king Idomenëus; after them th' Ajaces; and the son Of Tydeus; Ithacus the sixth, in counsel paragon To Jove himself. All these he bade; but at-a-martial-cry Good Menelaus, since he saw his brother busily Employ'd at that time, would not stand on invitation, But of himself came. All about the off'ring over-thrown Stood round, took salt-cakes, and the king himself thus pray'd for all: "O Jove, most great, most glorious, that, in that starry hall, Sitt'st drawing dark clouds up to air, let not the sun go down, Darkness supplying it, till my hands the palace and the town Of Priam overthrow and burn; the arm, on Hector's breast Dividing, spoiling with my sword thousands, in interest Of his bad quarrel, laid by him in dust, and eating earth." He pray'd; Jove heard him not, but made more plentiful the birth Of his sad toils, yet took his gifts. Pray'rs past, cakes on they threw; The ox then, to the altar drawn, they kill'd, and from him drew His hide, then cut him up, his thighs; in two hewn, dubb'd with fat, Prick'd on the sweetbreads, and with wood, leaveless, and kindled at Apposéd fire, they burn the thighs; which done, the inwards, slit, They broil'd on coals and eat; the rest, in giggots cut, they spit, Roast cunningly, draw, sit, and feast; nought lack'd to leave allay'd Each temp'rate appetite; which serv'd, Nestor began and said: "Atrides, most grac'd king of men, now no more words allow, Nor more defer the deed Jove vows. Let heralds summon now The brazen-coated Greeks, and us range ev'rywhere the host, To stir a strong war quickly up." This speech no syllable lost; The high-voic'd heralds instantly he, charg'd to call to arms The curl'd-head Greeks; they call'd; the Greeks straight answer'd their alarms. The Jove-kept kings, about the king all gather'd, with their aid Rang'd all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed Maid Great Ægis (Jove's bright shield) sustain'd, that can be never old, Never corrupted, fring'd about with serpents forg'd of gold, As many all suffic'd to make an hundred fringes, worth An hundred oxen, ev'ry snake all sprawling, all set forth With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the Goddess ran, In fury casting round her eyes, and furnish'd ev'ry man With strength, exciting all to arms, and fight incessant. None Now lik'd their lov'd homes like the wars. And as a fire upon A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light; So the divine brass shin'd on these thus thrusting on for fight, Their splendour through the air reach'd heav'n. And as about the flood Caïster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood, Cranes, geese, or long-neck'd swans, here, there, proud of their pinions fly, And in their falls layout such throats, that with their spiritful cry The meadow shrieks again; so here, these many-nation'd men Flow'd over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships; the din Was dreadful that the feet of men and horse beat out of earth. And in the flourishing mead they stood, thick as the odorous birth Of flow'rs, or leaves bred in the spring; or thick as swarms of flies Throng then to sheep-cotes, when each swarm his erring wing applies To milk dew'd on the milk-maid's pails; all eagerly dispos'd To give to ruin th' Ilians. And as in rude heaps clos'd, Though huge goatherds are at their food, the goatherds eas'ly yet Sort into sundry herds; so here the chiefs in battle set Here tribes, here nations, ord'ring all. Amongst whom shin'd the king, With eyes like lightning-loving Jove, his forehead answering, In breast like Neptune, Mars in waist. And as a goodly bull Most eminent of all a herd, most wrong, most masterful, So Agamemnon, Jove that day made overheighten clear That heav'n-bright army, and preferr'd to all th' heroës there. Now tell me, Muses, you that dwell in heav'nly roofs, (for you Are Goddesses, are present here, are wise, and all things know, We only trust the voice of fame, know nothing,) who they were That here were captains of the Greeks, commanding princes here. The multitude exceed my song, though fitted to my choice Ten tongues were, harden'd palates ten, a breast of brass, a voice Infract and trump-like; that great work, unless the seed of Jove, The deathless Muses, undertake, maintains a pitch above All mortal pow'rs. The princes then, and navy that did bring Those so inenarrable troops, and all their soils, I sing. THE CATALOGUE OF THE GRECIAN SHIPS AND CAPTAINS

Peleüs, and Leitus, all that Bœotia bred, Arcesilaus, Clonius, and Prothoenor led; Th' inhabitants of Hyria, and stony Aulida, Schæne, Scole, the hilly Eteon, and holy Thespia, Of Græa, and great Mycalesse, that hath the ample plain, Of Harma, and Ilesius, and all that did remain In Eryth, and in Eleon, in Hylen, Peteona, In fair Ocalea, and, the town well-builded, Medeona, Copas, Eutresis, Thisbe, that for pigeons doth surpass, Of Coroneia, Haliart, that hath such store of grass, All those that in Platæa dwelt, that Glissa did possess, And Hypothebs, whose well-built walls are rare and fellowless, In rich Onchestus' famous wood, to wat'ry Neptune vow'd, And Arne, where the vine-trees are with vig'rous bunches bow'd, With them that dwelt in Midea, and Nissa most divine, All those whom utmost Anthedon did wealthily confine. From all these coasts, in general, full fifty sail were sent; And six score strong Bœotian youths in ev'ry burthen went. But those who in Aspledon dwelt, and Minian Orchomen, God Mars's sons did lead (Ascalaphus and Ialmen) Who in Azidon Actor's house did of Astyoche come; The bashful maid, as she went up into the higher room, The War-god secretly compress'd. In safe conduct of these, Did thirty hollow-bottom'd barks divide the wavy seas. Brave Schedius and Epistrophus, the Phocian captains were, (Naubolida-Iphitus' sons) all proof 'gainst any fear; With them the Cyparissians went, and bold Pythonians, Men of religious Chrysa's soil, and fat Daulidians, Panopæans, Anemores, and fierce Hyampolists; And those that dwell where Cephisus casts up his silken mists; The men that fair Lilæa held, near the Cephisian spring; All which did forty sable barks to that designment bring. About th' entoil'd Phocensian fleet had these their sail assign'd; And near to the sinister wing the arm'd Bœotians shin'd. Ajax the less, Oïleus' son, the Locrians led to war; Not like to Ajax Telamon, but lesser man by far, Little he was, and ever wore a breastplate made of linne, But for the manage of his lance he gen'ral praise did win. The dwellers of Caliarus, of Bessa, Opoën, The youths of Cynus, Scarphis, and Augias, lovely men, Of Tarphis, and of Thronius, near flood Boagrius' fall; Twice-twenty martial barks of these, less Ajax sail'd withal. Who near Eubœa's blesséd soil their habitations had, Strength-breathing Abants, who their seats in sweet Eubœa made, The Histiæans rich in grapes, the men of Chalcida, The Cerinths bord'ring on the sea, of rich Eretria, Of Dion's highly-seated town, Charistus, and of Styre, All these the duke Alphenor led, a flame of Mars's fire, Surnam'd Chalcodontiades, the mighty Abants' guide, Swift men of foot, whose broad-set backs their trailing hair did bide, Well-seen in fight, and soon could pierce with far extended darts The breastplates of their enemies, and reach their dearest hearts. Forty black men of war did sail in this Alphenor's charge. The soldiers that in Athens dwelt, a city builded large, The people of Eristhius, whom Jove-sprung Pallas fed, And plenteous-feeding Tellus brought out of her flow'ry bed; Him Pallas placed in her rich fane, and, ev'ry ended year, Of bulls and lambs th' Athenian youths please him with off'rings there; Mighty Menestheus, Peteus' son, had their divided care; For horsemen and for targeteers none could with him compare, Nor put them into better place, to hurt or to defend; But Nestor (for he elder was) with him did sole contend; With him came fifty sable sail. And out of Salamine Great Ajaxax brought twelve sail, that with th' Athenians did combine. Who did in fruitful Argos dwell, or strong Tiryntha keep, Hennion, or in Asinen whose bosom is so deep, Trœzena, Eïon, Epidaure where Bacchus crowns his head, Ægina, and Maseta's soil, did follow Diomed, And Sthenelus, the dear-lov'd son of famous Capaneus Together with Euryalus, heir of Mecisteus, The king of Talæonides; past whom in deeds of war, The famous soldier Diomed of all was held by far. Four score black ships did follow these. The men fair Mycene held, The wealthy Corinth, Cleon that for beauteous site excell'd, Aræthyrea's lovely seat, and in Ornia's plain, And Sicyona, where at first did king Adrastus reign, High-seated Gonoëssa's towers, and Hyperisius, That dwelt in fruitful Pellenen, and in divine Ægius, With all the sea-side borderers, and wide Helice's friends, To Agamemnon ev'ry town her native birth commends, In double-fifty sable barks. With him a world of men Most strong and full of valour went, and he in triumph then Put on his most resplendent arms, since he did over-shine The whole heroic host of Greece, in pow'r of that design. Who did in Lacedæmon's rule th' unmeasur'd concave hold, High Pharis, Sparta, Messe's tow'rs, for doves so much extoll'd, Bryseia's and Augia's grounds, strong Laa, Oetylon, Amyclas, Helos' harbour-town, that Neptune beats upon, All these did Menelaus lead (his brother, that in cries Of war was famous). Sixty ships convey'd these enemies To Troy in chief, because their king was chiefly injur'd there, In Helen's rape, and did his best to make them buy it dear. Who dwelt in Pylos' sandy soil, and Arene the fair, In Thryon, near Alpheus' flood, and Aepy full of air, In Cyparisscus, Amphigen, and little Pteleon, The town where all the Iliots dwelt, and famous Doreon, Where all the Muses, opposite, in strife of poesy, To ancient Thamyris of Thrace, did use him cruelly, (He coming from Eurytus' court, the wise Œchalian king,) Because he proudly durst affirm he could more sweetly sing Than that Pierian race of Jove; who, angry with his vaunt, Bereft his eyesight, and his song, that did the ear enchant, And of his skill to touch his harp disfurnishéd his hand. All these in ninety hollow keels grave Nestor did command. The richly-blest inhabitants of the Arcadian land Below Cyllene's mount (that by Epytus' tomb did stand) Where dwelt the bold near-fighting men, who did in Phæneus live, And Orchomen, where flocks of sheep the shepherds clust'ring drive, In Ripe, and in Stratié, the fair Mantinean town, And strong Enispe, that for height is ever weather-blown, Tegea, and in Stymphalus, Parrhasia strongly wall'd, All these Alcæus' son to field (king Agapenor) call'd; In sixty barks he brought them on, and ev'ry bark well-mann'd With fierce Arcadian's, skill'd to use the utmost of a band. King Agamemnon, on these men, did well-built ships bestow To pass the gulfy purple sea, that did no sea rites know. They, who in Hermin, Buphrasis, and Elis, did remain, What Olen's cliffs, Alisius, and Myrsin did contain, Were led to war by twice-two dukes (and each ten ships did bring, Which many vent'rous Epians did serve for burthening,) Beneath Amphimachus's charge, and valiant Thalpius, (Son of Eurytus-Actor one, the other Cteatus,) Diores Amaryncides the other did employ, The fourth divine Polixenus (Agasthenes's joy). The king of fair Angeiades, who from Dulichius came, And from Echinaus' sweet isles, which hold their holy frame By ample Elis region, Meges Phylides led; Whom duke Phyleus, Jove's belov'd, begat, and whilome fled To large Dulichius, for the wrath that fir'd his father's breast. Twice-twenty ships with ebon sails were in his charge address'd. The warlike men of Cephale, and those of Ithaca, Woody Neritus, and the men of wet Crocylia, Sharp Ægilipa, Samos' isle, Zacynthus sea inclos'd, Epirus, and the men that hold the continent oppos'd, All these did wise Ulysses lead, in counsel peer to Jove; Twelve ships he brought, which in their course vermilion sterns did move. Thoas, Andremon's well-spoke son, did guide th' Ætolians well, Those that in Pleuron, Olenon, and strong Pylene dwell, Great Chalcis, that by sea-side stands, and stony Calydon; (For now no more of Œneus' sons surviv'd; they all were gone; No more his royal self did live, no more his noble son The golden Meleager now, their glasses all were run) All things were left to him in charge, th' Ætolians' chief he was, And forty ships to Trojan wars the seas with him did pass. The royal soldier Idomen did lead the Cretans stout, The men of Gnossus, and the town Gortyna wall'd about, Of Lictus, and Miletus' tow'rs, of white Lycastus' state, Of Phæstus, and of Rhytius, the cities fortunate. And all the rest inhabiting the hundred towns of Crete; Whom warlike Idomen did lead, co-partner in the fleet With kill-man Merion. Eighty ships with them did Troy invade. Tlepolemus Heraclides, right strong and bigly made, Brought nine tall ships of war from Rhodes, which haughty Rhodians mann'd, Who dwelt in three dissever'd parts of that most pleasant land, Which Lyndus and Jalissus were, and bright Camirus, call'd. Tlepolemus commanded these, in battle unappall'd; Whom fair Astyoche brought forth, by force of Hercules, Led out of Ephyr with his hand, from river Selleës, When many towns of princely youths he levell'd with the ground. Tlepolem, in his father's house (for building much renown'd) Brought up to headstrong state of youth, his mother's brother slew, The flow'r of arms, Licymnius, that somewhat aged grew; Then straight he gather'd him a fleet, assembling bands of men, And fled by sea, to shun the threats' that were denouncéd then By other sons and nephews of th' Alciden fortitude. He in his exile came to Rhodes, driv'n in with tempests rude. The Rhodians were distinct in tribes, and great with Jove did stand, The King of men and Gods, who gave much treasure to their land. Nirëus, out of Syma's hav'n three well-built barks did bring; Nirëus, fair Aglaia's son, and Charopes' the king; Nirëus was the fairest man that to fair Ilion came Of all the Greeks, save Peleus' son, who pass'd for gen'ral frame; But weak this was, not fit for war, and therefore few did guide. Who did in Cassus, Nisyrus, and Crapathus, abide, In Co, Eurypylus's town, and in Calydna's soils, Phidippus and bold Antiphus did guide to Trojan toils, (The sons of crownéd Thessalus, deriv'd from Hercules) Who went with thirty hollow ships well-order'd to the seas. Now will I sing the sackful troops Pelasgian Argos held, That in deep Alus, Alopé, and soft Trechina dwell'd, In Phthia, and in Hellade where live the lovely dames, The Myrmidons, Hellenians, and Achives, rob'd of fames; All which the great Æacides in fifty ships did lead. For these forgat war's horrid voice, because they lack'd their head That would have brought them bravely forth; but now at fleet did lie That wind-like user of his feet, fair Thetis' progeny, Wroth for bright-cheek'd Briseis' loss, whom from Lyrnessus' spoils (His own exploit) he brought away as trophy of his toils, When that town was depopulate; he sunk the Theban tow'rs; Myneta, and Epistrophus, he sent to Pluto's bow'rs, Who came of king Evenus' race, great Helepiades; Yet now he idly lives enrag'd, but soon must leave his ease. Of those that dwelt in Phylace, and flow'ry Pyrason The wood of Ceres, and the soil that sheep are fed upon Iton, and Antron built by sea, and Pteleus full of grass, Protesilaus, while he liv'd, the worthy captain was, Whom now the sable earth detains; his tear-torn-facéd spouse He woeful left in Phylace, and his half-finish'd house; A fatal Dardan first his life, of all the Greeks, bereft, As he was leaping from his ship; yet were his men unleft Without a chief, for though they wish'd to have no other man But good Protesilay their guide, Podarces yet began To govern them, (Iphitis' son, the son of Phylacus) Most rich in sheep, and brother to short-liv'd Protesilaus, Of younger birth, less, and less strong, yet serv'd he to direct The companies, that still did more their ancient duke affect. Twice-twenty jetty sails with him the swelling stream did take. But those that did in Pheres dwell, at the Bœbeian lake, In Bœbe, and in Glaphyra, Iaolcus builded fair, In thrice-six ships to Pergamus did through the seas repair, With old Admetus' tender son, Eumelus, whom he bred Of Alcest, Pelius' fairest child of all his female seed. The soldiers that before the siege Methone's vales did hold, Thaumacie, flow'ry Melibœ, and Olison the cold, Duke Philoctetes governéd, in darts of finest sleight; Sev'n vessels in his charge convey'd their honourable freight, By fifty rowers in a bark, most expert in the bow; But he in sacred Lemnos lay, brought miserably low By torment of an ulcer grown with Hydra's poison'd blood, Whose sting was such, Greece left him there in most impatient mood; Yet thought they on him at his ship and choos'd, to lead his men, Medon, Oïleus' bastard son, brought forth to him by Rhen. From Tricce, bleak Ithomen's clifts, and hapless Oechaly, (Eurytus' city, rul'd by him in wilful tyranny,) In charge of Æsculapius' sons, physician highly prais'd, Machaon, Podalirius, were thirty vessels rais'd. Who near Hyperia's fountain dwelt, and in Ormenius, The snowy tops of Titanus, and in Asterius, Evemon's son, Eurypylus, did lead into the field; Whose towns did forty black-sail'd ships to that encounter yield. Who Gyrton, and Argissa, held, Orthen, and Elon's seat, And chalky Oloössone, were led by Polypœte, The issue of Pirithous, the son of Jupiter. Him the Athenian Theseus' friend Hippodamy did bear, When he the bristled savages did give Ramnusia, And drove them out of Pelius, as far as Æthica. He came not single, but with him Leonteus, Coron's son, An arm of Mars, and Coron's life Cenëus' seed begun. Twice-twenty ships attended these. Gunëus next did bring From Cyphus twenty sail and two; the Enians following; And fierce Peræbi, that about Dodon's frozen mould Did plant their houses; and the men that did the meadows hold, Which Titaresius decks with flow'rs and his sweet current leads Into the bright Peneïus, that hath the silver heads, Yet with his admirable stream doth not his waves commix, But glides aloft on it like oil; for 'tis the flood of Styx, By which th' immortal Gods do swear. Teuthredon's honour'd birth, Prothous, led the Magnets forth, who near the shady earth Of Pelius, and Peneïon, dwelt; forty revengeful sail Did follow him. These were the dukes and princes of avail That came from Greece. But now the man, that overshin'd them all, Sing, Muse; and their most famous steeds to my recital call, That both th' Atrides followéd. Fair Pheretiades The bravest mares did bring by much; Eumelius manag'd these, Swift of their feet as birds of wing, both of one hair did shine, Both of an age, both of a height, as measur'd by a line, Whom silver-bow'd Apollo bred in the Pierian mead, Both slick and dainty, yet were both in war of wondrous dread. Great Ajax Telamon for strength pass'd all the peers of war, While vex'd Achilles was away; but he surpass'd him far. The horse that bore that faultless man were likewise past compare; Yet lay he at the crook'd-stern'd ships, and fury was his fare, For Atreus' son's ungracious deed, his men yet pleas'd their hearts With throwing of the holéd stone, with hurling of their darts, And shooting fairly on the shore; their horse at chariots fed On greatest parsley, and on sedge that in the fens is bred. His princes' tents their chariots held, that richly cover'd were. His princes, amorous of their chief, walk'd storming here and there About the host, and scorn'd to fight: their breaths as they did pass Before them flew, as if a fire fed on the trembling grass; Earth under-groan'd their high-rais'd feet, as when offended Jove, In Arime, Typhœius with rattling thunder drove Beneath the earth; in Arime, men say, the grave is still, Where thunder tomb'd Typhœius, and is a monstrous hill; And as that thunder made earth groan, so groan'd it as they past, They trod with such hard-set-down steps, and so exceeding fast. To Troy the rainbow-girded Dame right heavy news relates From Jove, as all to council drew in Priam's palace-gates, Resembling Priam's son in voice, Polites, swift of feet; In trust whereof, as sentinel, to see when from the fleet The Grecians sallied, he was set upon the lofty brow Of aged Æsyetes' tomb; and this did Iris show: "O Priam, thou art always pleas'd with indiscreet advice, And fram'st thy life to times of peace, when such a war doth rise As threats inevitable spoil. I never did behold Such and so mighty troops of men, who trample on the mould In number like Autumnus' leaves, or like the marine sand, All ready round about the walls to use a ruining hand. Hector, I therefore charge thee most, this charge to undertake. A multitude remain in Troy, will fight for Priam's sake, Of other lands and languages; let ev'ry leader then Bring forth well-arm'd into the field his sev'ral bands of men." Strong Hector knew a Deity gave charge to this assay, Dismiss'd the council straight; like waves, clusters to arms do sway; The ports are all wide open set; out rush'd the troops in swarms, Both horse and foot; the city run with sudden-cried alarms. A column stands without the town, that high his head doth raise, A little distant, in a plain trod down with divers ways, Which men do Batieia call, but the Immortals name Myrine's famous sepulchre, the wondrous active dame. Here were th' auxiliary bands, that came in Troy's defence, Distinguish'd under sev'ral guides of special excellence. The duke of all the Trojan pow'r great helm-deck'd Hector was, Which stood of many mighty men well-skill'd in darts of brass. Æneas of commixéd seed (a Goddess with a man, Anchises with the Queen of love) the troops Dardanian Led to the field; his lovely sire in Ida's lower shade Begat him of sweet Cyprides; he solely was not made Chief leader of the Dardan pow'rs, Antenor's valiant sons, Archilochus and Acamas, were joind companions. Who in Zelia dwelt beneath the sacred foot of Ide, That drank of black Æsepus' stream, and wealth made full of pride, The Aphnii, Lycaon's son, whom Phœbus gave his bow, Prince Pandarus did lead to field. Who Adrestinus owe, Apesus' city, Pityæ, and mount Tereiës, Adrestus and stout Amphius led; who did their sire displease, (Merops Percosius, that excell'd all Troy in heav'nly skill Of futures-searching prophecy) for, much against his will, His sons were agents in those arms; whom since they disobey'd, The fates, in letting slip their threads, their hasty valours stay'd. Who in Percotes, Practius, Arisba, did abide, Who Sestus and Abydus bred, Hyrtacides did guide; Prince Asius Hyrtacides, that, through great Selees' force, Brought from Arisba to that fight the great and fiery horse. Pylæus, and Hippothous, the stout Pelasgians led, Of them Larissa's fruitful soil before bad nourishéd; These were Pelasgian Pithus' sons, son of Teutamidas. The Thracian guides were Pirous, and valiant Acamas, Of all that the impetuous flood of Hellespont enclos'd. Euphemus, the Ciconian troops, in his command dispos'd, Who from Trœzenius-Ceades right nobly did descend. Pyræchmes did the Pæons rule, that crookéd bows do bend; From Axius, out of Amydon, he had them in command, From Axius, whose most beauteous stream still overflows the land. Pylæmen with the well-arm'd heart, the Paphlagonians led, From Enes, where the race of mules fit for the plough is bred. The men that broad Cytorus' bounds, and Sesamus, enfold, About Parthenius' lofty flood, in houses much extoll'd, From Cromna and Ægialus, the men that arms did bear, And Erythinus situate high, Pylæmen's soldiers were. Epistrophus and Dius did the Halizonians guide, Far-fetch'd from Alybe, where first the silver mines were tried. Chromis, and augur Ennomus, the Mysians did command, Who could not with his auguries the strength of death withstand, But suffer'd it beneath the stroke of great Æacides, In Xanthus; where he made more souls dive to the Stygian seas. Phorcys, and fair Ascanius, the Phrygians brought to war, Well train'd for battle, and were come out of Ascania far. With Methles, and with Antiphus, (Pylæmen's sons) did fight The men of Meïon, whom the fen Gygæa brought to light, And those Meionians that beneath the mountain Tmolus sprung. The rude unletter'd Caribæ, that barbarous were of tongue, Did under Nastes' colours march, and young Amphimachus, (Nomion's famous sons) to whom, the mountain Phthirorus That with the famous wood is crown'd, Miletus, Mycales That hath so many lofty marks for men that love the seas, The crooked arms Mæander bow'd with his so snaky flood, Resign'd for conduct the choice youth of all their martial brood. The fool Amphimachus, to field, brought gold to be his wrack, Proud-girl-like that doth ever bear her dow'r upon her back; Which wise Achilles mark'd, slew him, and took his gold in strife, At Xanthus' flood; so little Death did fear his golden life. Sarpedon led the Lycians, and Glaucus unreprov'd, From Lycia, and the gulfy flood of Xanthus far remov'd. THE END OF THE SECOND BOOK. THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Paris, betwixt the hosts, to single fight, Of all the Greeks, dares the most hardy knight. King Menelaus doth accept his brave, Conditioning that he again should have Fair Helena, with all she brought to Troy, If he subdu'd; else Paris should enjoy Her, and her wealth, in peace. Conquest doth grant Her dear wreath to the Grecian combatant; But Venus to her champion's life doth yield Safe rescue, and conveys him from the field Into his chamber, and for Helen sends, Whom much her lover's foul disgrace offends; Yet Venus for him still makes good her charms, And ends the second combat in his arms. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Gamma the single fight doth sing 'Twixt Paris and the Spartan king.

When ev'ry least commander's will best soldiers had obey'd, And both the hosts were rang'd for fight, the Trojans would have fray'd The Greeks with noises, crying out, in coming rudely on; At all parts like the cranes that fill, with harsh confusion, Of brutish clangés all the air, and in ridiculous war (Eschewing the unsuffer'd storms, shot from the winter's star) Visit the ocean, and confer the Pygmei soldiers' death. The Greeks charg'd silent, and like men, bestow'd their thrifty breath In strength of far-resounding blows, still entertaining care Of either's rescue, when their strength did their engagements dare. And as, upon a hill's steep tops, the south wind pours a cloud, To shepherds thankless, but by thieves that love the night, allow'd, A darkness letting down, that blinds a stone's cast off men's eyes; Such darkness from the Greeks' swift feet (made all of dust) did rise. But, ere stern conflict mix'd both strengths, fair Paris stept before The Trojan host; athwart his back a panther's hide he wore, A crookéd bow, and sword, and shook two brazen-headed darts; With which well-arm'd, his tongue provok'd the best of Grecian hearts To stand with him in single fight. Whom when the man, wrong'd most Of all the Greeks, so gloriously saw stalk before the host; As when a lion is rejoic'd, (with hunger half forlorn,) That finds some sweet prey, as a hart, whose grace lies in his horn, Or sylvan goat, which he devours, though never so pursu'd With dogs and men; so Sparta's king exulted, when he viewed The fair-fac'd Paris so expos'd to his so thirsted wreak, Whereof his good cause made him sure. The Grecian front did break, And forth he rush'd, at all parts arm'd, leapt from his chariot, And royally prepar'd for charge. Which seen, cold terror shot The heart of Paris, who retir'd as headlong from the king As in him he had shunn'd his death. And as a hilly spring Presents a serpent to a man, full underneath his feet, Her blue neck, swoln with poison, rais'd, and her sting out, to greet His heedless entry, suddenly his walk he altereth, Starts back amaz'd, is shook with fear, and looks as pale as death; So Menelaus Paris scar'd; so that divine-fac'd foe Shrunk in his beauties. Which beheld by Hector, he let go This bitter check at him; "Accurs'd, made but in beauty's scorn, Impostor, woman's man! O heav'n, that thou hadst ne'er been born, Or, being so manless, never liv'd to bear man's noblest state, The nuptial honour! Which I wish, because it were a fate Much better for thee than this shame. This spectacle doth make A man a monster. Hark! how loud the Greeks laugh, who did take Thy fair form for a continent of parts as fair. A rape Thou mad'st of nature, like their queen. No soul, an empty shape, Takes up thy being; yet how spite to ev'ry shade of good Fills it with ill! for as thou art, thou couldst collect a brood Of others like thee, and far hence fetch ill enough to us, Ev'n to thy father; all these friends make those foes mock them thus In thee, for whose ridiculous sake so seriously they lay All Greece, and fate, upon their necks. O wretch! Not dare to stay Weak Menelaus? But 'twas well; for in him thou hadst tried What strength lost beauty can infuse, and with the more grief died To feel thou robb'dst a worthier man, to wrong a soldier's right. Your harp's sweet touch, curl'd locks, fine shape, and gifts so exquisite, Giv'n thee by Venus, would have done your fine dames little good, When blood and dust had ruffled them, and had as little stood Thyself in stead; but what thy care of all these in thee flies We should inflict on thee ourselves. Infectious cowardice In thee hath terrified our host; for which thou well deserv'st A coat of tombstone, not of steel in which, for form, thou serv'st." To this thus Paris spake, (for form, that might inhabit heav'n) "Hector, because thy sharp reproof is out of justice giv'n, I take it well; but though thy heart, inur'd to these affrights, Cuts through them as an axe through oak, that more us'd more excites The workman's faculty, whose art can make the edge go far, Yet I, less practis'd than thyself in these extremes of war, May well be pardon'd, though less bold; in these your worth exceeds, In others mine. Nor is my mind of less force to the deeds Requir'd in war, because my form more flows in gifts of peace. Reproach not, therefore, the kind gifts of golden Cyprides. All heav'n's gifts have their worthy price; as little to be scorn'd As to be won with strength, wealth, state; with which to be adorn'd, Some men would change state, wealth, or strength. But, if your martial heart Wish me to make my challenge good, and hold it such a part Of shame to give it over thus, cause all the rest to rest, And, 'twixt both hosts, let Sparta's king and me perform our best For Helen and the wealth she brought; and he that overcomes, Or proves superior any way, in all your equal dooms, Let him enjoy her utmost wealth, keep her, or take her home; The rest strike leagues of endless date, and hearty friends become; You dwelling safe in gleby Troy, the Greeks retire their force T' Achaia, that breeds fairest dames, and Argos, fairest horse." He said, and his amendsful words did Hector highly please, Who rush'd betwixt the fighting hosts, and made the Trojans cease, By holding up in midst his lance. The Grecians noted not The signal he for parley used, but at him fiercely shot, Hurl'd stones, and still were leveling darts. At last the king of men, Great Agamemnon, cried aloud: "Argives! for shame, contain; Youths of Achaia, shoot no more; the fair-helm'd Hector shows As he desir'd to treat with us." This said, all ceas'd from blows, And Hector spake to both the hosts: "Trojans, and hardy Greeks, Hear now what he that stirr'd these wars, for their cessation seeks. He bids us all, and you, disarm, that he alone may fight With Menelaus, for us all, for Helen and her right, With all the dow'r she brought to Troy; and he that wins the day, Or is, in all the art of arms, superior any way, The queen, and all her sorts of wealth, let him at will enjoy; The rest strike truce, and let love seal firm leagues 'twixt Greece and Troy." The Greek host wonder'd at this brave; silence flew ev'rywhere; At last spake Sparta's warlike king: "Now also give me ear, Whom grief gives most cause of reply. I now have hope to free The Greeks and Trojans of all ills, they have sustain'd for me, And Alexander, that was cause I stretch'd my spleen so far. Of both then, which is nearest fate, let his death end the war; The rest immediately retire, and greet all homes in peace. Go then (to bless your champion, and give his pow'rs success) Fetch for the Earth, and for the Sun (the Gods on whom ye call) Two lambs, a black one and a white, a female and a male; And we another, for ourselves, will fetch, and kill to Jove. To sign which rites bring Priam's force, because we well approve His sons perfidious, envious, and (out of practis'd bane To faith, when she believes in them) Jove's high truce may profane. All young men's hearts are still unstaid; but in those well-weigh'd deeds An old man will consent to pass things past, and what succeeds He looks into, that he may know, how best to make his way Through both the fortunes of a fact, and will the worst obey." This granted, a delightful hope both Greeks and Trojans fed, Of long'd-for rest from those long toils, their tedious war had bred. Their horses then in rank they set, drawn from their chariots round, Descend themselves, took off their arms, and plac'd them on the ground, Near one another; for the space 'twixt both the hosts was small. Hector two heralds sent to Troy, that they from thence might call King Priam, and to bring the lambs, to rate the truce they swore. But Agamemnon to the fleet Talthybius sent before, To fetch their lamb; who nothing slack'd the royal charge was giv'n. Iris, the rain-bow, then came down, ambassadress from heav'n, To white-arm'd Helen. She assum'd at ev'ry part the grace Of Helen's last love's sister's shape, who had the highest place In Helen's love, and had to name Laodice, most fair Of all the daughters Priam had, and made the nuptial pair With Helicaon, royal sprout of ole Antenor's seed. She found queen Helena at home, at work about a weed, Wov'n for herself; it shin'd like fire, was rich, and full of size, The work of both sides being alike; in which she did comprise The many labours warlike Troy and brass-arm'd Greece endur'd For her fair sake, by cruel Mars and his stern friends procur'd. Iris came in in joyful haste, and said; "O come with me, Lov'd nymph, and an admiréd sight of Greeks and Trojans see, Who first on one another brought a war so full of tears, Ev'n thirsty of contentious war. Now ev'ry man forbears, And friendly by each other sits, each leaning on his shield, Their long and shining lances pitch'd fast by them in the field, Paris, and Sparta's king, alone must take up all the strife; And he that conquers only call fair Helena his wife." Thus spake the thousand-colour'd Dame, and to her mind commends The joy to see her first espous'd, her native tow'rs, and friends; Which stirr'd a sweet desire in her: to serve the which she hied, Shadow'd her graces with white veils, and (though she took a pride To set her thoughts at gaze, and see, in her clear beauty's flood, What choice of glory swum to her yet tender womanhood) Season'd with tears her joys to see more joys the more offence, And that perfection could not flow from earthly excellence. Thus went she forth, and took with her her women most of name, Æthra, Pitthëus' lovely birth, and Clymene, whom fame Hath for her fair eyes memoris'd. They reach'd the Scæn Tow'rs, Where Priam sat, to see the fight, with all his counsellors; Panthous, Lampus, Clytius, and stout Hicetaon, Thymœtes, wise Antenor, and profound Ucalegon; All grave old men; and soldiérs they had been, but for age Now left the wars; yet counsellors they were exceeding sage. And as in well-grown woods, or trees, cold spiny grasshoppers Sit chirping, and send voices out, that scarce can pierce our ears For softness, and their weak faint sounds; so, talking on the tow'r, These seniors of the people sat; who when they saw the pow'r Of beauty, in the queen, ascend ev'n those cold-spirited peers, Those wise and almost wither'd men, found this heat in their years, That they were forc'd (though whispéring) to say: "What man can blame The Greeks and Trojans to endure, for so admir'd a dame, So many mis'ries, and so long? In her sweet count'nance shine Looks like the Goddesses. And yet (though never so divine) Before we boast, unjustly still, of her enforcéd prise, And justly suffer for her sake, with all our progenies, Labour and ruin, let her go; the profit of our land Must pass the beauty." Thus, tough these could bear so fit a hand On their affections, yet, when all their gravest powers were us'd, They could not choose but welcome her, and rather they accus'd The Gods than beauty; for thus spake the most-fam'd king of Troy: "Come, lovéd daughter, sit by me and take the worthy joy Of thy first husband's sight, old friends, and princes near allied, And name me some of these brave Greeks, so manly beautified. Come, do not think I lay the wars, endur'd by us, on thee, The Gods have sent them, and the tears in which they swum to me. Sit then, and name this goodly Greek, so tall, and broadly spread, Who than the rest, that stand by him, is higher by the head; The bravest man I ever saw, and most majestical, His only presence makes me think him king amongst them all." The fairest of her sex replied: Most rev'rend father-in-law, Most lov'd, most fear'd, would some ill death had seiz'd me, when I saw The first mean why I wrong'd you thus: that I had never lost The sight of these my ancient friends, of him that lov'd me most, Of my sole daughter, brothers both, with all those kindly mates, Of one soil, one age, born with me, though under diff'rent fates! But these boons envious stars deny; the memory of these In sorrow pines those beauties now, that then did too much please; Nor satisfy they your demand, to which I thus reply: That's Agamemnon, Atreus' son, the great in empery; A king, whom double royalty doth crown, being great and good, And one that was my brother-in-law, when I contain'd my blood, And was more worthy; if at all I might be said to be, My being being lost so soon in all that honour'd me." The good old king admir'd, and said: "O Atreus' blesséd son, Born unto joyful destinies, that hast the empire won Of such a world of Grecian youths, as I discover here! I once march'd into Phrygia, that many vines doth bear, Where many Phrygians I beheld, well-skill'd in use of horse, That of the two men, like two Gods, were the commanded force, Otrëus, and great Mygdonus, who on Sangarius' sands Set down their tents with whom myself, for my assistant bands, Was number'd as a man in chief; the cause of war was then Th' Amazon dames, that in their facts affected to be men. In all there was a mighty pow'r, which yet did never rise To equal these Achaian youths, fat have the sable eyes." Then (seeing Ulysses next) he said: "Lov'd daughter, what is he That, lower than great Atreus' son; seems by the head to me, Yet, in his shoulders and big breast, presents a broader show? His armour lies upon the earth; he up and down doth go, To see his soldiers keep their ranks, and ready have their arms, If, in this truce, they should be tried by any false alarms. Much like a well-grown bell-wether, or feltred ram, he shows, That walks before a wealthy flock of fair white-fleeced ewes." High Jove and Leda's fairest seed to Priam thus replies: "This is the old Laertes' son, Ulysses, call'd the wise; Who, though unfruitful Ithaca was made his nursing seat, Yet knows he ev'ry sort of sleight, and is in counsels great." The wise Antenor answer'd her: "'Tis true, renownéd dame; For, some times past, wise Ithacus to Troy a legate came, With Menelaus, for your cause; to whom I gave receipt As guests, and welcom'd to my house, with all the love I might. I learn'd the wisdom of their souls, and humours of their blood; For when the Trojan council met, and these together stood, By height of his broad shoulders had Atrides eminence, Yet, set, Ulysses did exceed, and bred more reverence. And when their counsels and their words they wove in one, the speech Of Atreus' son was passing loud, small, fast, yet did not reach To much, being naturally born Laconical; nor would His humour lie for anything, or was, like th' other, old; But when the prudent Ithacus did to his counsels rise, He stood a little still, and fix'd upon the earth his eyes, His sceptre moving neither way, but held it formally, Like one that vainly doth affect. Of wrathful quality, And frantic (rashly judging him) you would have said he was, But when, out of his ample breast he gave his great voice pass, And words that flew about our ears, like drifts of winter's snow, None thenceforth might contend with him, tho' nought admir'd for show." The third man, aged Priam mark'd, was Ajax Telamon, Of whom he ask'd: "What lord is that, so large of limb and bone, So rais'd in height, that to his breast I see there reacheth none?" To him the Goddess of her sex, the large-veil'd Helen, said: "That Lord is Ajax Telamon, a bulwark in their aid. On th' other side stands Idomen, in Crete of most command, And round about his royal sides his Cretan captains stand; Oft hath the warlike Spartan king giv'n hospitable due To him within our Lacene court, and all his retinue. And now the other Achive dukes I gen'rally discern; All which I know, and all their names could make thee quickly learn. Two princes of the people yet, I nowhere can behold, Castor, the skilful knight on horse and Pollux, uncontroll'd For all stand-fights, and force of hand; both at a burthen bred; My natural brothers; either here they have not followéd From lovely Sparta, or, arriv'd within the sea-born fleet, In fear of infamy for me, in broad field shame to meet." Nor so; for holy Tellus' womb inclos'd those worthy men In Sparta, their belovéd soil. The voiceful heralds then The firm agreement of the Gods through all the city ring; Two lambs, and spirit-refreshing wine (the fruit of earth) they bring, Within a goat-skin bottle clos'd; Idæus also brought A massy glitt'ring bowl, and cups, that all of gold were wrought; Which bearing to the king, they cried: "Son of Laomedon Rise, for the well-rode peers of Troy, and brass-arm'd Greeks, in one, Send to thee to descend the field, that they firm vows may make; For Paris, and the Spartan king, must fight for Helen's sake, With long-arm'd lances; and the man that proves victorious, The woman, and the wealth she brought, shall follow to his house; The rest knit friendship, and firm leagues; we safe in Troy shall dwell, In Argos and Achaia they, that do in dames excel." He said; and Priam's aged joints with chilléd fear did shake, Yet instantly he bade his men his chariot ready make. Which soon they did, and he ascends. He takes the reins, and guide Antenor calls; who instantly mounts to his royal side, And, through the Scæan ports to field, the swift-foot horse they drive. And when at them of Troy and Greece the aged lords arrive, From horse, on Troy's well-feeding soil, 'twixt both the hosts they go. When straight up-rose the king of men, up-rose Ulysses too, The heralds in their richest coats repeat (as was the guise) The true vows of the Gods (term'd theirs, since made before their eyes) Then in a cup of gold they mix the wine that each side brings, And next pour water on the hands of both the kings of kings. Which done, Atrides drew his knife, that evermore he put Within the large sheath of his sword; with which away he cut The wool from both fronts of the lambs, which (as a rite in use Of execration to their heads, that brake the plighted truce) The heralds of both hosts did give the peers of both; and then, With hands and voice advanc'd to heav'n, thus pray'd the king of men: "O Jove, that Ida dost protect, and hast the titles won Most glorious, most invincible; aid thou all-seeing Sun, All-hearing, all-recomforting; Floods; Earth; and Pow'rs beneath, That all the perjuries of men chastise ev'n after death! Be witnesses, and see perform'd the hearty vows we make.— If Alexander shall the life of Menelaus take, He shall from henceforth Helena, with all her wealth, retain, And we will to our household Gods, hoise sail, and home again. If, by my honour'd brother's hand, be Alexander slain, The Trojans then shall his forc'd queen, with all her wealth, restore, And pay convenient fine to us, aid ours for evermore. If Priam and his sons deny to pay his, thus agreed, When Alexander shall be slain; or that perfidious deed, And for the fine, will I fight here, till dearly they repay, By death and ruin, the amends, that falsehood keeps away." This said, the throats of both the lambs cut with his royal knife, He laid them panting on the earth, till, quite depriv'd of life, The steel had robb'd them of their strength; then golden cups they crown'd, With wine out of a cistern drawn; which pour'd upon the ground, They fell upon their humble knees to all the Deities, And thus pray'd one of both the hosts, that might do sacrifice: "O Jupiter, most high, most great, and all the deathless Pow'rs! Who first shall dare to violate the late sworn oaths of ours, So let the bloods and brains of them, and all they shall produce, Flow on the stain'd face of the earth, as now this sacred juice; And let their wives with bastardice brand all their future race." Thus pray'd they; but, with wish'd effects, their pray'rs Jove did not grace; When Priam said: "Lords of both hosts, I can no longer stay To see my lov'd son try his life, and so must take my way To wind-exposéd Ilion. Jove yet and heav'n's high States Know only, which of these must now pay tribute to the Fates." Thus, putting in his coach the lambs, he mounts and reins his horse; Antenor to him; and to Troy, both take their speedy course. Then Hector, Priam's martial son, stepp'd forth, and met the ground, With wise Ulysses, where the blows of combat must resound; Which done, into a helm they put two lots, to let them know Which of the combatants should first his brass-pil'd jav'lin throw; When all the people standing by, with hands held up to heav'n, Pray'd Jove the conquest might not be by force or fortune giv'n, But that the man, who was in right the author of most wrong, Might feel his justice, and no more these tedious wars prolong, But, sinking to the house of death, leave them (as long before) Link'd fast in leagues of amity, that might dissolve no more. Then Hector shook the helm that held the equal dooms of chance, Look'd back, and drew; and Paris first had lot to hurl his lance, The soldiers all sat down enrank'd, each by his arms and horse That then lay down and cool'd their hoofs. And now th' allotted course Bids fair-hair'd Helen's husband arm; who first makes fast his greaves With silver buckles to his legs; then on his breast receives The curets that Lycaon wore (his brother) but made fit For his fair body; next his sword he took, and fasten'd it, All damask'd, underneath his arm; his shield then grave and great His shoulders wore; and on his head his glorious helm he set, Topp'd with a plume of horse's hair, that horribly did dance, And seem'd to threaten as he mov'd; at last he takes his lance, Exceeding big, and full of weight, which he with ease could use. In like sort, Sparta's warlike king himself with arms indues. Thus arm'd at either army both, they both stood bravely in, Possessing both hosts with amaze, they came so chin to chin, And, with such horrible aspécts, each other did salute. A fair large field was made for them; where wraths, for hugeness mute, And mutual, made them mutually at either shake their darts Before they threw. Then Paris first with his long jav'lin parts; It smote Atrides' orby targe, but ran not through the brass, For in it (arming well the shield) the head reflected was. Then did the second combatant apply him to his spear, Which ere he threw, he thus besought almighty Jupiter: "O Jove! Vouchsafe me now revenge, and that my enemy, For doing wrong so undeserv'd, may pay deservedly The pains he forfeited; and let these hands inflict those pains, By conqu'ring, ay, by conqu'ring dead, him on whom life complains; That any now, or anyone of all the brood of men To live hereafter, may with fear from all offence abstain, Much more from all such foul offence to him that was his host, And entertain'd him as the man whom he affected most." This said, he shook and threw his lance; which strook through Paris' shield, And, with the strength he gave to it, it made the curets yield, His coat of mail, his breast, and all, and drove his entrails in, In that low region where the guts in three small parts begin; Yet he, in bowing of his breast, prvented sable death. This taint he follow'd with his sword, drawn from a silver sheath, Which lifting high, he strook his helm full where his plume did stand, On which it piecemeal brake, and fell from his unhappy hand. At which he sighing stood, and star'd upon the ample sky, And said: "O Jove, there is no God giv'n more illiberally To those that serve thee than thyself, why have I pray'd in vain? I hop'd my hand should have reveng'd, the wrongs I still sustain, On him that did them, and still dares their foul defence pursue; And now my lance hath miss'd his end, my sword in shivers flew, And he 'scapes all." With this, again he rush'd upon his guest, And caught him by the horse-hair plume, that dangled on his crest, With thought to drag him to the Greeks; which he had surely done, And so, besides the victory, had wondrous glory won, (Because the needle-painted lace, with which his helm was tied Beneath his chin, and so about his dainty throat implied, Had strangled him;) but that, in time, the Cyprian seed of Jove Did brake the string, with which was lin'd that which the needle wove, And was the tough thong of a steer; and so the victor's palm Was, for so full a man-at-arms, only an empty helm. That then he swung about his head, and cast among his friends, Who scrambled, and took 't up with shouts. Again then he intends To force the life-blood of his foe, and ran on him amain, With shaken jav'lin; when the Queen, that lovers loves, again [1] Attended, and now ravish'd him from that encounter quite, With ease, and wondrous suddenly; for she, a Goddess, might. She hid him in a cloud of gold, and never made him known, Till in his chamber, fresh and sweet, she gently set him down, And went for Helen; whom she found in Scæa's utmost height, To which whole swarms of city dames had climb'd to see the sight. To give her errand good success, she took on her the shape Of beldame Græa, who was brought by Helen, in her rape, From Lacedæmon, and had trust in all her secrets still, Being old, and had (of all her maids) the main bent of her will, And spun for her her finest wool. Like her, Love's Empress came, Pull'd Helen by the heav'nly veil, and softly said: "Madame, My lord calls for you, you must needs make all your kind haste home; He's in your chamber, stays, and longs; sits by your bed; pray come, 'Tis richly made, and sweet; but he more sweet, and looks so clear, So fresh, and movingly attir'd, that, seeing, you would swear He came not from the dusky fight, but from a courtly dance, Or would to dancing." This she made a charm for dalliance; Whose virtue Helen felt, and knew, by her so radiant eyes, White neck, and most enticing breasts, the deified disguise. At which amaz'd, she answer'd her: "Unhappy Deity! Why lov'st thou still in these deceits to wrap my phantasy? Or whither yet, of all the towns giv'n to their lust beside, In Phrygia, or Mæonia, com'st thou to be my guide, If there (of divers-languag'd men thou hast, as here in Troy, Some other friend to be my shame; since here thy latest joy By Menelaus now subdu'd, by him shall I be borne Home to his court, and end my life in triumphs of his scorn? And, to this end, would thy deceits my wanton life allure? Hence, go thyself to Priam's son and all the ways abjure Of Gods, or godlike-minded dames, nor ever turn again Thy earth-affecting feet to heav'n but for his sake sustain Toils here; guard, grace him endlessly, till he requite thy grace By giving thee my place with him; or take his servant's place, If, all dishonourable ways, your favours seek to serve His never-pleas'd incontinence; I better will deserve, Than serve his dotage now. What shame were it for me to feed This lust in him; all honour'd dames would hate me for the deed! He leaves a woman's love so sham'd, and shows so base a mind, To feel nor my shame nor his own; griefs of a greater kind Wound me than such as can admit such kind delights so soon." The Goddess, angry that, past shame, her mere will was not done, Replied: "Incense me not, you wretch, lest, once incens'd, I leave Thy curs'd life to as strange a hate, as yet it may receive A love from me; and lest I spread through both hosts such despite, For those plagues they have felt for thee, that both abjure thee quite, And setting thee in midst of both, turn all their wraths on thee, And dart thee dead; that such a death may wreak thy wrong of me." This strook the fair dame with such fear, it took her speech away, And, shadow'd in her snowy veil, she durst not but obey; And yet, to shun the shame she fear'd, she vanish'd undescried Of all the Trojan ladies there, for Venus was her guide. Arriv'd at home, her women both fell to their work in haste; When she, that was of all her sex the most divinely grac'd, Ascended to a higher room, though much against her will, Where lovely Alexander was, being led by Venus still. The laughter-loving Dame discen'd her mov'd mind by her grace, And, for her mirth sake, set a stool, full before Paris' face, Where she would needs have Helen sit; who, though she durst not choose But sit, yet look'd away for all the Goddess' pow'r could use, And used her tongue too, and to chide whom Venus sooth'd so much, And chid, too, in this bitter kind: "And was thy cowardice such, So conquer'd, to be seen alive? O would to God, thy life Had perish'd by his worthy hand, to whom I first was wife! Before this, thou wouldst glorify thy valour and thy lance, And, past my first love's, boast them far. Go once more, and advance Thy braves against his single pow'r; this foil might fall by chance. Poor conquer'd man! 'Twas such a chance, as I would not advise Thy valour should provoke again. Shun him, thou most unwise, Lest next, thy spirit sent to hell, thy body be his prise." He answer'd: "Pray thee, woman, cease, to chide and grieve me thus. Disgraces will not ever last. Look on their end. On us Will other Gods, at other times, let fall the victor's wreath, As on him Pallas put it now. Shall our love sink beneath The hate of fortune? In love's fire, let all hates vanish. Come, Love never so inflam'd my heart; no, not when, bringing home Thy beauty's so delicious prise, on Cranaë's blest shore I long'd for, and enjoy'd thee first." With this he went before, She after, to the odorous bed. While these to pleasure yield, Perplex'd Atrides, savage-like, ran up and down the field, And ev'ry thickest troop of Troy, and of their far-call'd aid, Search'd for his foe, who could not be by any eye betray'd; Nor out of friendship (out of doubt) did they conceal his sight, All hated him so like their deaths, and ow'd him such despite. At last thus spake the king of men: "Hear me, ye men of Troy, Ye Dardans, and the rest, whose pow'rs you in their aids employ. The conquest on my brother's part, ye all discern is clear, Do you then Argive Helena, with all her treasure here, Restore to us, and pay the mulct, that by your vows is due, Yield us an honour'd recompense, and, all that should accrue To our posterities, confirm; that when you render it, Our acts may here be memoris'd." This all Greeks else thought fit. THE END OF THE THIRD BOOK.

[1] When the Queen, etc.-This place Virgil imitateth. THE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

The Gods in council, at the last, decree That famous Ilion shall expugnéd be; And that their own continu'd faults may prove The reasons that have so incenséd Jove, Minerva seeks, with more offences done Against the lately injur'd Atreus' son, (A ground that clearest would make seen their sin) To have the Lycian Pandarus begin. He ('gainst the truce with sacred cov'nants bound) Gives Menelaus a dishonour'd wound, Machaon heals him. Agamemnon then To mortal war incenseth all his men. The battles join; and, in the heat of fight, Cold death shuts many eyes in endless night. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Delta is the Gods' Assize; The truce is broke; wars freshly rise.

Within the fair-pav'd court of Jove, he and the Gods conferr'd About the sad events of Troy; amongst whom minister'd Bless'd Hebe nectar. As they sat, and did Troy's tow'rs behold, They drank, and pledg'd each other round in full-crown'd cups of gold. The mirth at whose feast was begun by great Saturnides In urging a begun dislike amongst the Goddesses, But chiefly in his solemn queen, whose spleen he was dispos'd To tempt yet further, knowing well what anger it inclos'd, And how wives' angers should be us'd. On which, thus pleas'd, he play'd: "Two Goddesses there are that still give Menelaus aid, And one that Paris loves. The two that sit from us so far (Which Argive Juno is, and She that rules in deeds of war,) No doubt are pleas'd to see how well the late-seen fight did frame; And yet, upon the adverse part, the laughter-loving Dame Made her pow'r good too for her friend; for, though he were so near The stroke of death in th' others' hopes, she took him from them clear. The conquest yet is questionless the martial Spartan king's. We must consult then what events shall crown these future things, If wars and combats we shall still with even successes strike, Or as impartial friendship plant on both parts. If ye like The last, and that it will as well delight as merely please Your happy deities, still let stand old Priam's town in peace, And let the Lacedæmon king again his queen enjoy." As Pallas and Heav'n's Queen sat close, complotting ill to Troy, With silent murmurs they receiv'd this ill-lik'd choice from Jove; 'Gainst whom was Pallas much incens'd, because the Queen of Love Could not, without his leave, relieve in that late point of death The son of Priam, whom she loath'd; her wrath yet fought beneath Her supreme wisdom, and was curb'd; but Juno needs must ease Her great heart with her ready tongue, and said; "What words are these, Austere, and too-much-Saturn's son? Why wouldst thou render still My labours idle, and the sweat of my industrious will Dishonour with so little pow'r? My chariot-horse are tir'd With posting to and fro for Greece, and bringing banes desir'd To people must'ring Priamus, and his perfidious sons; Yet thou protect'st, and join'st with them whom each just Deity shuns. Go on, but ever go resolv'd all other Gods have vow'd To cross thy partial course for Toy, in all that makes it proud." At this, the cloud-compelling Jove a far-fetch'd sigh let fly, And said: "Thou fury! What offence of such impiety Hath Priam or his sons done thee, that, with so high a hate, Thou shouldst thus ceaselessly desire to raze and ruinate So well a builded town as Troy? I think, hadst thou the pow'r, Thou wouldst the ports and far-stretch'd walls fly over, and devour Old Priam and his issue quick, and make all Troy thy feast, And then at length I hope thy wrath and tiréd spleen would rest; To which run on thy chariot, that nought be found in me Of just cause to our future jars. In this yet strengthen thee, And fix it in thy memory fast, this if I entertain As peremptory a desire to level with the plain A city where thy lovéd live, stand not betwixt my ire And what it aims at, but give way, when thou hast thy desire; Which now I grant thee willingly, although against my will. For not beneath the ample sun, and heav'n's star-bearing hill, There is a town of earthly men so honour'd in my mind As sacred Troy; nor of earth's kings as Priam and his kind, Who never let my altars lack rich feast of off'rings slain, And their sweet savours; for which grace I honour them again." Dread Juno, with the cow's fair eyes, replied: "Three towns there are Of great and eminent respect, both in my love and care; Mycene, with the broad highways; and Argos, rich in horse; And Sparta; all which three destroy, when thou envi'st their force, I will not aid them, nor malign thy free and sov'reign will, For if I should be envious, and set against their ill, I know my envy were in vain, since thou art mightier far. But we must give each other leave, and wink at either's war. I likewise must have pow'r to crown my works with wishéd end, Because I am a Deity, and did from thence descend Whence thou thyself, and th' elder born; wise Saturn was our sire; And thus there is a two-fold cause that pleads for my desire, Being sister, and am call'd thy wife; and more, since thy command Rules all Gods else, I claim therein a like superior hand. All wrath before then now remit, and mutually combine In either's empire; I, thy rule, and thou, illustrate, mine; So will the other Gods agree, and we shall all be strong. And first (for this late plot) with speed let Pallas go among The Trojans, and some one of them entice to break the truce By off'ring in some treach'rous wound the honour'd Greeks abuse." The Father both of men and Gods agreed, and Pallas sent, With these wing'd words, to both the hosts: "Make all haste, and invent Some mean by which the men of Troy, against the truce agreed, May stir the glorious Greeks to arms with some inglorious deed." Thus charg'd he her with haste that did, before, in haste abound, Who cast herself from all the heights, with which steep heav'n is crown'd. And as Jove, brandishing a star, which men a comet call, Hurls out his curled hair abroad, that from his brand exhals A thousand sparks, to fleets at sea, and ev'ry mighty host, Of all presages and ill-haps a sign mistrusted most; So Pallas fell 'twixt both the camps, and suddenly was lost, When through the breasts of all that saw, she strook a strong amaze With viewing, in her whole descent, her bright and ominous blaze. When straight one to another turn'd, and said: "Now thund'ring Jove (Great Arbiter of peace and arms) will either stablish love Amongst our nations, or renew such war as never was." Thus either army did presage, when Pallas made her pass Amongst the multitude of Troy; who now put on the grace Of brave Laodocus, the flow'r of old Antenor's race, And sought for Lycian Pandarus, a man that, being bred Out of a faithless family, she thought was fit to shed The blood of any innocent, and break the cov'nant sworn; He was Lycaon's son, whom Jove into a wolf did turn For sacrificing of a child, and yet in arms renown'd As one that was inculpable. Him Pallas standing found, And round about him his strong troops that bore the shady shields; He brought them from Æsepus' flood, let through the Lycian fields; Whom standing near, she whisper'd thus: "Lycaon's warlike son, Shall I despair at thy kind hands to have a favour done? Nor dar'st thou let an arrow fly upon the Spartan king? It would be such a grace to Troy, and such a glorious thing, That ev'ry man would give his gift; but Alexander's hand Would load thee with them, if he could discover from his stand His foe's pride strook down with thy shaft, and he himself ascend The flaming heap of funeral. Come, shoot him, princely friend; But first invoke the God of Light, that in thy land was born, And is in archers' art the best that ever sheaf hath worn, To whom a hundred first-ew'd lambs vow thou in holy fire, When safe to sacred Zelia's tow'rs thy zealous steps retire." With this the mad gift-greedy man Minerva did persuade, Who instantly drew forth a bow, most admirably made Of th' antler of a jumping goat bred in a steep upland, Which archer-like (as long before he took his hidden stand, The evicke skipping from a rock) into the breast he smote, And headlong fell'd him from his cliff. The forehead of the goat Held out a wondrous goodly palm, that sixteen branches brought; Of all which join'd, an useful bow a skilful bowyer wrought, Which pick'd and polish'd, both the ends he hid with horns of gold. And this bow, bent, he close laid down, and bad his soldiers hold Their shields before him, lest the Greeks, discerning him, should rise In tumults ere the Spartan king could be his arrow's prise. Mean space, with all his care he choos'd, and from his quiver drew, An arrow, feather'd best for flight and yet that never flew, Strong headed, and most apt to pierce; then took he up his bow, And nock'd his shaft, the ground whence all their future grief did grow. When, praying to his God the Sun, that was in Lycia bred, And king of archers, promising that he the blood would shed Of full an hundred first-fall'n lambs, all offer'd to his name, When to Zelia's sacred walls from rescu'd Troy he came, He took his arrow by the nock, and to his bended breast [1] The oxy sinew close he drew, ev'n till the pile did rest Upon the bosom of the bow; and as that savage prise His strength constrain'd into an orb, as if the wind did rise The coming of it made a noise, the sinew-forgéd string Did give a mighty twang, and forth the eager shaft did sing, Affecting speediness of flight, amongst the Achive throng. Nor were the blesséd Heav'nly Pow'rs unmindful of thy wrong, O Menelaus, but, in chief, Jove's seed: the Pillager, Stood close before, and slack'd the force the arrow did confer, With as much care and little hurt, as doth a mother use, And keep off from her babe, when sleep doth through his pow'rs diffuse His golden humour, and th' assaults of rude and busy flies She still checks with her careful hand; for so the shaft she plies That on the buttons made of gold, which made his girdle fast, And where his curets double were, the fall of it she plac'd. And thus much proof she put it to: the buckle made of gold; The belt it fast'ned, bravely wrought; his curets' double fold; And last, the charméd plate he wore, which help'd him more than all, And, 'gainst all darts and shafts bestow'd, was to his life a wall; So, through all these, the upper skin the head did only race; Yet forth the blood flow'd, which did much his royal person grace, And show'd upon his ivory skin, as doth a purple dye Laid, by a dame of Caïra, or lovely Mæony, On ivory, wrought in ornaments to deck the cheeks of horse; Which in her marriage room must lie; whose beauties have such force That they are wish'd of many knights, but are such precious things, That they are kept for horse that draw the chariots of kings, Which horse, so deck'd, the charioteer esteems a grace to him; Like these, in grace, the blood upon thy solid thighs did swim, O Menelaus, down by calves and ankles to the ground. For nothing decks a soldier so, as doth an honour'd wound. Yet, fearing he had far'd much worse, the hair stood up on end On Agamemnon, when he saw so much black blood descend. And stiff'ned with the like dismay was Menelaus too, But seeing th' arrow's stale without, and that the head did go No further than it might be seen, he call'd his spirits again; Which Agamemnon marking not but thinking he was slain, He grip'd his brother by the hand, and sigh'd as he would break, Which sigh the whole host took from him, who thus at last did speak: "O dearest brother, is't for this, that thy death must be wrought, Wrought I this truce? For this has thou the single combat fought For all the army of the Greeks? For this hath Ilion sworn, And trod all faith beneath their feet? Yet all this hath not worn The right we challeng'd out of force; this cannot render vain Our stricken right hands, sacred wine, nor all our off'rings slain; For though Olympius be not quick in making good our ill, He will be sure as he is slow, and sharplier prove his will. Their own hands shall be ministers of those plagues they despise, Which shall their wives and children reach, and all their progenies. For both in mind and soul I know, that there shall come a day When Ilion, Priam, all his pow'r, shall quite be worn away, When heav'n-inhabiting Jove shall shake his fiery shield at all, For this one mischief. This, I know, the world cannot recall. But be all this, all my grief still for thee will be the same, Dear brother. If thy life must here put out his royal flame, I shall to sandy Argos turn with infamy my face; And all the Greeks will call for home; old Priam and his race Will flame in glory; Helena untouch'd be still their prey; And thy bones in our enemies' earth our curséd fates shall lay; Thy sepulchre be trodden down; the pride of Troy desire Insulting on it, 'Thus, O thus, let Agamemnon's ire In all his acts be expiate, as now he carries home His idle army, empty ships, and leaves here overcome Good Menelaus.' When this rave breaks in their bated breath, Then let the broad earth swallow me, and take me quick to death." "Nor shall this ever chance," said he, "and therefore be of cheer, Lest all the army, led by you, your passions put in fear. The arrow fell in no such place a death could enter at, My girdle, curets doubled here, and my most trusted plate, Objected all 'twixt me and death, the shaft scarce piercing one." "Good brother," said the king, "I wish it were no further gone, For then our best in med'cines skilled shall ope and search the wound, Applying balms to ease thy pains, and soon restore thee sound." This said, divine Talthybiús he call'd, and bad him haste Machaon (Æsculapius' son, who most of men was grac'd With physic's sov'reign remedies) to come and lend his hand To Menelaus, shot by one well-skill'd in the command Of bow and arrows, one of Troy, or of the Lycian aid, Who much hath glorified our foe, and us as much dismay'd. He heard, and hasted instantly, and cast his eyes about The thickest squadrons of the Greeks, to find Machaon out. He found him standing guarded well with well-arm'd men of Thrace; With whom he quickly join'd, and said: "Man of Apollo's race, Haste, for the king of men commands, to see a wound impress'd In Menelaus, great in arms, by one instructed best In th' art of archery, of Troy, or of the Lycian bands, That them with much renown adorns, us with dishonour brands." Machaon much was mov'd with this, who with the herald flew From troop to troop alongst the host; and soon they came in view Of hurt Atrides, circled round with all the Grecian kings; Who all gave way, and straight he draws the shaft, which forth he brings Without the forks; the girdle then, plate, curets, off he plucks, And views the wound; when first from it the clotter'd blood he sucks, Then med'cines, wondrously compos'd, the skilful leech applied, Which loving Chiron taught his sire, he from his sire had tried. While these were thus employ'd to ease the Atrean martialist, The Trojans arm'd, and charg'd the Greeks; the Greeks arm and resist. Then not asleep, nor maz'd with fear, nor shifting off the blows, You could behold the king of men, but in full speed he goes To set a glorious fight on foot; and he examples this, With toiling, like the worst, on foot; who therefore did dismiss His brass-arm'd chariot, and his steeds, with Ptolemëus' son, Son of Piraides, their guide, the good Eurymedon; "Yet," said the king, "attend with them, lest weariness should seize My limbs, surcharg'd with ord'ring troops so thick and vast as these." Eurymedon then rein'd his horse, that trotted neighing by; The king a footman, and so scours the squadrons orderly. Those of his swiftly-mounted Greeks, that in their arms were fit, Those he put on with cheerful words, and bad them not remit The least spark of their forward spirits, because the Trojans durst Take these abhorr'd advantages, but let them do their worst; For they might be assur'd that Jove would patronise no lies, And that who, with the breach of truce, would hurt their enemies, With vultures should be torn themselves; that they should raze their town, Their wives, and children at their breast, led vassals to their own. But such as he beheld hang of from that increasing fight, Such would he bitterly rebuke, and with disgrace excite: "Base Argives, blush ye not to stand as made for butts to darts? Why are ye thus discomfited, like hinds that have no hearts, Who, wearied with a long-run field, are instantly emboss'd, Stand still, and in their beastly breasts is all their courage lost? And so stand you strook with amaze, nor dare to strike a stroke. Would ye the foe should nearer yet your dastard spleens provoke, Ev'n where on Neptune's foamy shore our navies lie in sight, To see if Jove will hold your hands, and teach ye how to fight?" Thus he, commanding, rang'd the host, and, passing many a band, He came to the Cretensian troops, where all did arméd stand About the martial Idomen; who bravely stood before In vanguard of his troops, and match'd for strength a savage boar; Meriones, his charioteer, the rearguard bringing on. Which seen to Atreus' son, to him it was a sight alone, And Idomen's confirméd mind with these kind words he seeks: "O Idomen! I ever lov'd thy self past all the Greeks, In war, or any work of peace, at table, ev'rywhere; For when the best of Greece besides mix ever, at our cheer, My good old ardent wine with small, and our inferior mates Drink ev'n that mix'd wine measur'd too, thou drink'st, without those rates, Our old wine neat, and evermore thy bowl stands full like mine, To drink still when and what thou wilt. Then rouse that heart of thine, And, whatsoever heretofore thou hast assum'd to be, This day be greater." To the king in this sort answer'd he: "Atrides, what I ever seem'd, the same at ev'ry part This day shall show me at the full, and I will fit thy heart. But thou shouldst rather cheer the rest, and tell them they in right Of all good war must offer blows, and should begin the fight, (Since Troy first brake the holy truce) and not endure these braves. To take wrong first, and then be dar'd to the revenge it craves; Assuring them that Troy in fate must have the worst at last, Since first, and 'gainst a truce, they hurt, where they should have embrac'd." This comfort and advice did fit Atrides' heart indeed Who still through new-rais'd swarms of men held his laborious speed, And came where both th' Ajaces stood; whom like the last he found Arm'd, casqu'd, and ready for the fight. Behind them, hid the ground A cloud of foot, that seem'd to smoke. And as a goatherd spies, On some hill's top, out of the sea a rainy vapour rise, Driv'n by the breath of Zephyrus which, though far off he rest, Comes on as black as pitch, and brings a tempest in his breast, Whereat he frighted, drives his herds apace into a den; So dark'ning earth with darts and shields show'd these with all their men. This sight with like joy fir'd the king, who thus let forth the flame In crying out to both the dukes: "O you of equal name, I must not cheer, nay, I disclaim all my command of you, Yourselves command with such free minds, and make your soldiers show As you nor I led, but themselves. O would our father Jove, Minerva, and the God of Light, would all our bodies move With such brave spirits as breathe in you, then Priam's lofty town Should soon be taken by our hands, for ever overthrown!" Then held he on to other troops, and Nestor next beheld, The subtle Pylian orator, range up and down the field Embattelling his men at arms, and stirring all to blows, Points ev'ry legion out his chief, and ev'ry chief he shows The forms and discipline of war, yet his commanders were All expert, and renownéd men. Great Pelagon was there, Alastor, manly Chromius, and Hæmon worth a throne, Arid Bias that could armies lead. With these he first put on His horse troops with their chariots; his foot (of which he choos'd Many, the best and ablest men, and which he ever us'd As rampire to his gen'ral pow'r) he in the rear dispos'd. The slothful, and the least of spirit, he in the midst inclos'd, That, such as wanted noble wills, base need might force to stand. His horse troops, that the vanguard had, he strictly did command To ride their horses temp'rately, to keep their ranks, and shun Confusion, lest their horsemanship and courage made them run (Too much presum'd on) much too far, and, charging so alone, Engage themselves in th' enemy's strength, where many fight with one. "Who his own chariot leaves to range, let him not freely go, But straight unhorse him with a lance; for 'tis much better so. And with this discipline," said he, "this form, these minds, this trust, Our ancestors have walls and towns laid level with the dust." Thus prompt, and long inur'd to arms, this old man did exhort; And this Atrides likewise took in wondrous cheerful sort, And said: "O father, would to heav'n, that as thy mind remains In wonted vigour, so thy knees could undergo our pains! But age, that all men overcomes, hath made his prise on thee; Yet still I wish that some young man, grown old in mind, might be Put in proportion with thy years, and thy mind, young in age, Be fitly answer'd with his youth; that still where conflicts rage, And young men us'd to thirst for fame, thy brave exampling hand Might double our young Grecian spirits, and grace our whole command." The old knight answer'd: "I myself could wish, O Atreus' son, I were as young as when I slew brave Ereuthalion, But Gods at all times give not all their gifts to mortal men. If then I had the strength of youth, I miss'd the counsels then That years now give me; and now years want that main strength of youth; Yet still my mind retains her strength (as you now said the sooth) And would be where that strength is us'd, affording counsel sage To stir youth's minds up; 'tis the grace and office of our age; Let younger sinews, men sprung up whole ages after me, And such as have strength, use it, and as strong in honour be." The king, all this while comforted, arriv'd next where he found Well-rode Menestheus (Peteus' son) stand still, inviron'd round With his well-train'd Athenian troops, and next to him he spied The wise Ulysses, deedless too, and all his bands beside Of strong Cephalians; for as yet th' alarm had not been heard In all their quarters, Greece and Troy were then so newly stirr'd, And then first mov'd, as they conceiv'd; and they so look'd about To see both hosts give proof of that they yet had cause to doubt. Atrides seeing them stand so still, and spend their eyes at gaze, Began to chide: "And why," said he, "dissolv'd thus in amaze, Thou son of Peteus, Jove-nurs'd king, and thou in wicked sleight A cunning soldier, stand ye off? Expect ye that the fight Should be by other men begun? "Tis fit the foremost band Should show you there; you first should front who first lifts up his hand. First you can hear, when I invite the princes to a feast, When first, most friendly, and at will, ye eat and drink the best, Yet in the fight, most willingly, ten troops ye can behold Take place before ye." Ithacus at this his brows did fold, And said: "How hath thy violent tongue broke through thy set of teeth, To say that we are slack in fight, and to the field of death Look others should enforce our way, when we were busied then, Ev'n when thou spak'st, against the foe to cheer and lead our men? But thy eyes shall be witnesses, if it content thy will, And that (as thou pretend'st) these cares do so affect thee still, The father of Telemachus (whom I esteem so dear, And to whom, as a legacy, I'll leave my deeds done here) Ev'n with the foremost band of Troy hath his encounter dar'd, And therefore are thy speeches vain, and had been better spar'd." He, smiling, since he saw him mov'd, recall'd his words, and said: "Most generous Laertes' son, most wise of all our aid, I neither do accuse thy worth, more than thyself may hold Fit, (that inferiors think not much, being slack, to be controll'd) Nor take I on me thy command; for well I know thy mind Knows how sweet gentle counsels are, and that thou stand'st inclin'd, As I myself, for all our good. On then; if now we spake What hath displeas'd, another time we full amends will make; And Gods grant that thy virtue ere may prove so free and brave, That my reproofs may still be vain, and thy deservings grave." Thus parted they; and forth he went, when he did leaning find, Against his chariot, near his horse, him with the mighty mind, Great Diomedes, Tydeus' son, and Sthenelus, the seed Of Capaneius; whom the king seeing likewise out of deed, Thus cried he out on Diomed: "O me! In what a fear The wise great warrior, Tydeus' son, stands gazing ev'rywhere For others to begin the fight! It was not Tydeus' use To be so daunted, whom his spirit would evermore produce Before the foremost of his friends in these affairs of fright, As they report that have beheld him labour in a fight. For me, I never knew the man, nor in his presence came, But excellent, above the rest, he was in gen'ral fame; And one renown'd exploit of his, I am assur'd, is true. He came to the Mycenian court, without arms, and did sue, At godlike Polynices' hands, to have some worthy aid To their designs that 'gainst the walls of sacred Thebes were laid. He was great Polynices' guest, and nobly entertain'd, And of the kind Mycenian state what he requested gain'd, In mere consent; but when they should the same in act approve, By some sinister prodigies, held out to them by Jove, They were discourag'd. Thence he went, and safely had his pass Back to Asopus' flood, renown'd for bulrushes and grass. Yet, once more, their ambassador, the Grecian peers address Lord Tydeus to Eteocles; to whom being giv'n access, He found him feasting with a crew of Cadmeans in his hall; Amongst whom, though an enemy, and only one to all; To all yet he his challenge made at ev'ry martial feat, And eas'ly foil'd all, since with him Minerva was so great. The rank-rode Cadmeans, much incens'd with their so foul disgrace, Lodg'd ambuscadoes for their foe, in some well-chosen place By which he was to make return. Twice five-and-twenty men, And two of them great captains too, the ambush did contain. The names of those two men of rule were Mæon, Hæmon's son, And Lycophontes, Keep-field call'd, the heir of Autophon, By all men honour'd like the Gods; yet these and all their friends Were sent to hell by Tydeus' hand, and had untimely ends. He trusting to the aid of Gods, reveal'd by augury, Obeying which, one chief he sav'd, and did his life apply To be the heavy messenger of all the others' deaths; And that sad message, with his life, to Mæon he bequeaths. So brave a knight was Tydeüs of whom a son is sprung, Inferior far in martial deeds, though higher in his tongue." All this Tydides silent heard, aw'd by the rev'rend king; Which stung hot Sthenelus with wrath, who thus put forth his sting: "Atrides, when thou know'st the truth, speak what thy knowledge is, And do not lie so; for I know and I will brag in this, That we are far more able men than both our fathers were. We took the sev'n-fold ported Thebes, when yet we had not there So great help as our fathers had; and fought beneath a wall, Sacred to Mars, by help of Jove, and trusting to the fall Of happy signs from other Gods, by whom we took the town Untouch'd; our fathers perishing here by follies of their own; And therefore never more compare our fathers' worth with ours." Tydides frown'd at this, and said: "Suppress thine anger's pow'rs, Good friend, and hear why I refrain'd. Thou seest I am not mov'd Against our gen'ral, since he did but what his place behov'd, Admonishing all Greeks to fight; for, if Troy prove our prise, The honour and the joy is his; if here our ruin lies, The shame and grief for that as much is his in greatest kinds. As he then his charge, weigh we ours; which is our dauntless minds." Thus, from his chariot, amply arm'd, he jump'd down to the ground; The armour of the angry king so horribly did sound, It might have made his bravest foe let fear take down his braves. And as when with the west-wind flaws, the sea thrusts up her waves, One after other, thick and high, upon the groaning shores, First in herself loud, but oppos'd with banks and rocks she roars, And, all her back in bristles set, spits ev'ry way her foam; So, after Diomed, instantly the field was overcome With thick impressions of the Greeks; and all the noise that grew (Ord'ring and cheering up their men) from only leaders flew. The rest went silently away, you could not hear a voice, Nor would have thought, in all their breasts, they had one in their choice, Their silence uttering their awe of them that them controll'd, Which made each man keep right his arms, march, fight still where he should The Trojans (like a sort of ewes, penn'd in a rich man's fold, Close at his door, till all be milk'd, and never baaing hold Hearing the bleating of their lambs) did all their wide host fill With shouts and clamours, nor observ'd one voice, one baaing still, But show'd mix'd tongues from many a land of men call'd to their aid. Rude Mars had th' ordering of their spirits; of Greeks, the learned Maid But Terror follow'd both the hosts, and Flight, and furious Strife The sister, and the mate, of Mars, that spoil of human life; And never is her rage at rest, at first she is but small, Yet after, but a little fed, she grows so vast and tall That, while her feet move here in earth, her forehead is in heav'n; And this was she that made ev'n then both hosts so deadly giv'n. Through ev'ry troop she stalk'd, and stirr'd rough sighs up as she went; But when in one field both the foes her fury did content, And both came under reach of darts, then darts and shields oppos'd To darts and shields; strength answer'd strength; then swords and targets clos'd With swords and targets; both with pikes; and then did tumult rise Up to her height; then conqu'rors' boasts mix'd with the conquer'd's cries; Earth flow'd with blood. And as from hills rainwaters headlong fall, That all ways eat huge ruts, which, met in one bed, fill a vall With such a confluence of streams, that on the mountain grounds Far off, in frighted shepherds' ears, the bustling noise rebounds: So grew their conflicts, and so show'd their scuffling to the ear, With flight and clamour still commix'd, and all effects of fear. And first renown'd Antilochus slew (fighting, in the face Of all Achaia's foremost bands, with an undaunted grace) Echepolus Thalysiades; he was an arméd man; Whom on his hair-plum'd helmet's crest the dart first smote, then ran Into his forehead, and there stuck; the steel pile making way Quite through his skull; a hasty night shut up his latest day. His fall was like a fight-rac'd tow'r; like which lying there dispread, King Elephenor (who was son to Chalcodon, and led The valiant Abants) covetous that he might first possess His arms, laid hands upon his feet, and hal'd him from the press Of darts and jav'lins hurl'd at him. The action of the king When great-in-heart Agenor saw, he made his jav'lin sing To th' others' labour; and along as he the trunk did wrest, His side (at which he bore his shield) in bowing of his breast Lay naked, and receiv'd the lance, that made him lose his hold And life together; which, in hope of that he lost, he sold, But for his sake the fight grew fierce, the Trojans and their foes Like wolves on one another rush'd, and man for man it goes. The next of name, that serv'd his fate, great Ajax Telamon Preferr'd so sadly. He was heir to old Anthemion, And deck'd with all the flow'r of youth; the fruit of which yet fled, Before the honour'd nuptial torch could light him to his bed. His name was Simoisius; for, some few years before, His mother walking down the hill of Ida, by the shore Of silver Simois, to see her parents' flocks, with them She, feeling suddenly the pains of child-birth, by the stream Of that bright river brought him forth; and so (of Simois) They call'd him Simoisius. Sweet was that birth of his To his kind parents, and his growth did all their care employ; And yet those rites of piety, that should have been his joy To pay their honour'd years again in as affectionate sort, He could not graciously perform, his sweet life was so short, Cut off with mighty Ajax' lance; for, as his spirit put on, He strook him at his breast's right pap, quite through his shoulder-bone, And in the dust of earth he fell, that was the fruitful soil Of his friends' hopes; but where he sow'd he buried all his toil. And as a poplar shot aloft, set by a river side, In moist edge of a mighty fen, his head in curls implied, But all his body plain and smooth, to which a wheel-wright puts The sharp edge of his shining axe, and his soft timber cuts From his in native root, in hope to hew out of his bole The fell'ffs, or out-parts of a wheel, that compass in the whole, To serve some goodly chariot; but, being big and sad, And to be hal'd home through the bogs, the useful hope he had Sticks there, and there the goodly plant lies with'ring out his grace: So lay, by Jove-bred Ajax' hand, Anthemion's forward race, Nor could through that vast fen of toils be drawn to serve the ends Intended by his body's pow'rs, nor cheer his aged friends. But now the gay-arm'd Antiphus, a son of Priam, threw His lance at Ajax through the prease; which went by him, and flew On Leucus, wise Ulysses' friend; his groin it smote, as fain He would have drawn into his spoil the carcass of the slain, By which he fell, and that by him; it vex'd Ulysses' heart, Who thrust into the face of fight, well-arm'd at ev'ry part, Came close, and look'd about to find an object worth his lance; Which when the Trojans saw him shake, and he so near advance, All shrunk; he threw, and forth it shin'd, nor fell but where it fell'd; His friend's grief gave it angry pow'r, and deadly way it held Upon Democoon, who was sprung of Priam's wanton force, Came from Abydus, and was made the master of his horse. Through both his temples strook the dart, the wood of one side shew'd, The pile out of the other look'd, and so the earth he strew'd With much sound of his weighty arms. Then back the foremost went; Ev'n Hector yielded; then the Greeks gave worthy clamours vent, Effecting then their first-dumb pow'rs; some drew the dead, and spoil'd, Some follow'd, that, in open flight, Troy might confess it foil'd. Apollo, angry at the sight, from top of Ilion cried: "Turn head, ye well-rode peers of Troy, feed not the Grecians' pride, They are not charm'd against your points, of steel, nor iron, fram'd; Nor fights the fair-hair'd Thetis' son, but sits at fleet inflam'd." So spake the dreadful God from Troy. The Greeks, Jove's noblest Seed Encourag'd to keep on the chace; and, where fit spirit did need, She gave it, marching in the midst. Then flew the fatal hour Back on Diores, in return of Ilion's sun-burn'd pow'r; Diores Amaryncides, whose right leg's ankle-bone, And both the sinews, with a sharp and handful-charging stone Pirus Imbrasides did break, that led the Thracian bands And came from Ænos; down he fell, and up he held his hands To his lov'd friends; his spirit wing'd to fly out of his breast With which not satisfied, again Imbrasides address'd His jav'lin at him, and so ripp'd his navel, that the wound, As endlessly it shut his eyes, so, open'd, on the ground It pour'd his entrails. As his foe went then suffic'd away, Thoas Ætolius threw a dart, that did his pile convey, Above his nipple, through his lungs; when, quitting his stern part, He clos'd with him, and, from his breast first drawing out his dart, His sword flew in, and by the midst it wip'd his belly out; So took his life, but left his arms; his friends so flock'd about, And thrust forth lances of such length before their slaughter'd king, Which, though their foe were big and strong, and often brake the ring Forg'd of their lances, yet (enforc'd) he left th' affected prise. The Thracian and Epeian dukes, laid close with closéd eyes By either other, drown'd in dust; and round about the plain, All hid with slaughter'd carcasses, yet still did hotly reign The martial planet; whose effects had any eye beheld, Free and unwounded (and were led by Pallas through the field, To keep off jav'lins, and suggest the least fault could be found) He could not reprehend the fight, so many strew'd the ground. THE END OF THE FOURTH BOOK.

[1] Virgil useth these verses. THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

King Diomed (by Pallas' spirit inspir'd With will and pow'r) is for his acts admir'd, Mere men, and men deriv'd from Deities, And Deities themselves, he terrifies. Adds wounds to terrors. His inflamed lance Draws blood from Mars, and Venus. In a trance He casts Æneas, with a weighty stone; Apollo quickens him, and gets him gone. Mars is recur'd by Pæon, but by Jove Rebukuk'd for authoring breach of human love. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Epsilon, Heav'n's blood is shed By sacred rage of Diomed.

Then Pallas breath'd in Tydeus' son; to render whom supreme To all the Greeks, at all his parts, she cast a hotter beam On his high mind, his body fill'd with much superior might, And made his cómplete armour cast a far more cómplete light. From his bright helm and shield did burn a most unwearied fire, [1] Like rich Autumnus' golden lamp, whose brightness men admire Past all the other host of stars, when, with his cheerful face Fresh wash'd in lofty Ocean waves, he doth the skies enchase. To let whose glory, lose no sight, still Pallas made him turn Where tumult most express'd his pow'r, and where the fight did burn. An honest and a wealthy man inhabited in Troy, Dares, the priest of Mulciber, who two sons did enjoy, Idæus, and bold Phegeüs, well-seen in ev'ry fight. These (singled from their troops, and hors'd) assail'd Minerva's knight, Who rang'd from fight to fight on foot. All hasting mutual charge, And now drawn near, first Phegeus threw a jav'lin swift and large, Whose head the king's left shoulder took, but did no harm at all; Then rush'd he out a lance at him, that had no idle fall, But in his breast stuck 'twixt the paps, and strook him from his horse. Which stern sight when Idæus saw, distrustful of his force To save his slaughter'd brother's spoil, it made him headlong leap From his fair chariot, and leave all; yet had not 'scap'd the heap Of heavy fun'ral, if the God, great President of fire, Had not in sudden clouds of smoke and pity of his sire To leave him utterly unheir'd, giv'n safe pass to his feet. He gone, Tydides sent the horse and chariot to the fleet. The Trojans seeing Dares' sons one slain, the other fled, Were strook amaz'd. The blue-ey'd Maid (to grace her Diomed In giving free way to his pow'r) made this so ruthful fact A fit advantage to remove the War-god out of act, Who rag'd so on the Ilion side. She grip'd his hand, and said: "Mars, Mars, thou ruiner of men, that in the dust hast laid So many cities, and with blood thy godhead dost distain, Now shall we cease to show our breasts as passionate as men, And leave the mixture of our hands, resigning Jove his right, As Rector of the Gods, to give the glory of the fight Where he affecteth, lest he force what he should freely yield?" He held it fit, and went with her from the tumultuous field, Who set him in an herby seat on broad Scamander's shore. He gone, all Troy was gone with him, the Greeks drave all before. And ev'ry leader slew a man; but first the king of men Deserv'd the honour of his name, and led the slaughter then, And slew a leader, one more huge than any man he led, Great Odius, duke of Halizons; quite from his chariot's head He strook him with a lance to earth, as first he flight address'd; It took his forward-turnéd back, and look'd out of his breast; His huge trunk sounded, and his arms did echo the resound. Idomenæus to the death did noble Phæstus wound, The son of Meon-Borus, that from cloddy Terna came; Who, taking chariot, took his wound, and tumbled with the same From his attempted seat: the lance through his right shoulder strook, And horrid darkness strook through him; the spoil his soldiers took. Atrides-Menelaus slew, as he before him fled, Scamandrius, son of Strophius, that was a huntsman bred; A skilful huntsman, for his skill Diana's self did teach, And made him able with his dart infallibly to reach All sorts of subtlest savages, which many a woody hill Bred for him, and he much preserv'd, and all to show his skill. Yet not the dart-delighting Queen taught him to shun this dart, Nor all his hitting so far off, the mast'ry of his art; His back receiv'd it, and he fell upon his breast withal; His body's ruin, and his arms, so sounded in his fall, That his affrighted horse flew off, and left him, like his life. Meriones slew Phereclus, whom she that ne'er was wife, Yet Goddess of good housewives, held in excellent respect For knowing all the witty things that grace an architect, And having pow'r to give it all the cunning use of hand. Harmonides, his sire, built ships, and made him understand, With all the practice it requir'd, the frame of all that skill. He built all Alexander's ships, that author'd all the ill Of all the Trojans and his own, because he did not know The oracles advising Troy (for fear of overthrow) To meddle with no sea affair, but live by tilling land. This man Meriones surpris'd, and drave his deadly hand Through his right hip; the lance's head ran through the región About the bladder, underneath th' in-muscles and the bone; He, sighing, bow'd his knees to death, and sacrific'd to earth. Phylides stay'd Pedæus' flight, Antenor's bastard birth, Whom virtuous Theano his wife, to please her husband, kept As tenderly as those she lov'd. Phylides near him stept, And in the fountain of the nerves did drench his fervent lance, At his head's back-part; and so far the sharp head did advance, It cleft the organ of his speech, and th' iron, cold as death, He took betwixt his grinning teeth, and gave the air his breath. Eurypylus, the much renown'd, and great Evemon's son, Divine Hypsenor slew, begot by stout Dolopion, And consecrate Scamander's priest; he had a God's regard Amongst the people; his hard flight the Grecian follow'd hard, Rush'd in so close, that with his sword he on his shoulder laid A blow that his arm's brawn cut off; nor there his vigour stay'd, But drave down, and from off his wrist it hew'd his holy hand That gush'd out blood, and down it dropp'd upon the blushing sand; Death, with his purple finger, shut, and violent fate, his eyes. Thus fought these, but distinguish'd well. Tydides so implies His fury that you could not know whose side had interest In his free labours, Greece or Troy; but as a flood, increas'd By violent and sudden show'rs, let down from hills, like hills Melted in fury, swells and foams, and so he overfills His natural channel; that besides both hedge and bridge resigns To his rough confluence, far spread; and lusty flourishing vines Drown'd in his outrage; Tydeus' son so overran the field, Strew'd such as flourish'd in his way, and made whole squadrons yield, When Pandarus, Lycaon's son, beheld his ruining hand, With such resistless insolence, make lanes through ev'ry band, He bent his gold-tipp'd bow of horn, and shot him rushing in, At his right shoulder, where his arms were hollow; forth did spin The blood, and down his curets ran; then Pandarus cried out: "Rank-riding Trojans, now rush in. Now, now, I make no doubt: Our bravest foe is mark'd for death; he cannot long sustain My violent shaft, if Jove's fair Son did worthily constrain My foot from Lycia." Thus he brav'd, and yet his violent shaft Strook short with all his violence, Tydides' life was saft; Who yet withdrew himself behind his chariot and steeds, And call'd to Sthenelus: "Come, friend, my wounded shoulder needs Thy hand to ease it of this shaft." He hasted from his seat Before the coach, and drew the shaft; the purple wound did sweat, And drown his shirt of mail in blood, and as it bled he pray'd: "Hear me, of Jove-Ægiochus thou most unconquer'd Maid! If ever in the cruel field thou has assistful stood Or to my father, or myself, now love, and do me good. Give him into my lance's reach, that thus hath giv'n a wound To him thou guard'st, preventing me, and brags that never more I shall behold the cheerful sun." Thus did the king implore. The Goddess heard, came near, and took the weariness of fight From all his nerves and lineaments, and made them fresh and light, And said: "Be bold, O Diomed, in ev'ry combat shine, The great shield-shaker Tydeus' strength (that knight, that sire of thine) By my infusion breathes in thee; and from thy knowing mind I have remov'd those erring mists that made it lately blind, That thou may'st diff'rence Gods from men, and therefore use thy skill Against the tempting Deities, if any have a will To try if thou presum'st of that, as thine, that flows from them, And so assum'st above thy right. "Where thou discern'st a beam Of any other Heav'nly Pow'r than She that rules in love, That calls thee to the change of blows, resist not, but remove; But if that Goddess be so bold (since she first stirr'd this war) Assault and mark her from the rest with some infámous scar." The blue-eyed Goddess vanishéd, and he was seen again Amongst the foremost, who before though he were prompt and fain To fight against the Trojans' pow'rs, now, on his spirits were call'd With thrice the vigour; lion-like, that hath been lately gall'd By some bold shepherd in a field, where his curl'd flocks were laid, Who took him as he leap'd the fold, not slain yet, but appaid With greater spirit, comes again, and then the shepherd hides, (The rather for the desolate place) and in his cot abides, His flocks left guardless; which, amaz'd, shake and shrink up in heaps; He, ruthless, freely takes his prey, and out again he leaps; So sprightly, fierce, victorious, the great heroë flew Upon the Trojans, and, at once, he two commanders slew, Hypenor and Astynous; in one his lance he fix'd Full at the nipple of his breast; the other smote betwixt The neck and shoulder with his sword, which was so well laid on It swept his arm and shoulder off. These left, he rush'd upon Abas and Polyëidus, of old Eurydamas The hapless sons; who could by dreams tell what would come to pass, Yet, when his sons set forth to Troy, the old man could not read By their dreams what would chance to them, for both were stricken dead By great Tydides, After these, he takes into his rage Xanthus and Thoön, Phænops' sons, born to him in his age; The good old man ev'n pin'd with years, and one son more To heir his goods; yet Diomed took both, and left him store Of tears and sorrows in their steads, since he could never see His sons leave those hot wars alive; so this the end must be Of all his labours; what he heap'd, to make his issue great, Authority heir'd, and with her seed fill'd his forgotten seat. Then snatch'd he up two Priamists, that in one chariot stood, Echemon, and fair Chromius. As feeding in a wood Oxen or steers are, one of which a lion leaps upon, Tears down, and wrings in two his neck; so, sternly, Tydeus' son Threw from their chariot both these hopes of old Dardanides, Then took their arms, and sent their horse to those that ride the seas, Æneas, seeing the troops thus toss'd, brake through the heat of fight, And all the whizzing of the darts, to find the Lycian knight, Lycaon's son; whom having found, he thus bespake the peer; "O Pandarus, where's now thy bow, thy deathful arrows where, In which no one in all our host but gives the palm to thee, Nor in the sun-lov'd Lycian greens, that breed our archery, Lives any that exceeds thyself? Come, lift thy hands to Jove, And send an arrow at this man, if but a man he prove, That wins such god-like victories, and now affects our host With so much sorrow, since so much of our best blood is lost By his high valour. I have fear some God in him doth threat, Incens'd for want of sacrifice; the wrath of God is great." Lycaon's famous son replied: "Great counsellor of Troy, This man, so excellent in arms, I think is Tydeus' joy; I know him by his fi'ry shield, by his bright three-plum'd casque, And by his horse; nor can I say, if or some God doth mask In his appearance, or he be whom I nam'd Tydeus' son, But without God the things he does for certain are not done. Some great Immortal, that conveys his shoulders in a cloud, Goes by and puts by ev'ry dart at his bold breast bestow'd, Or lets it take with little hurt; for I myself let fly A shaft that shot him through his arms, but had as good gone by, Yet which I gloriously affirm'd had driv'n him down to hell. Some God is angry, and with me; for far hence, where I dwell, My horse and chariots idle stand, with which some other way I might repair this shameful miss. Elev'n fair chariots stay In old Lycaon's court, new made, new trimm'd to have been gone, Curtain'd, and arrast under foot; two horse to ev'ry one, That eat white barley and black oats, and do no good at all; And these Lycaon (that well knew how these affairs would fall) Charg'd, when I set down this design, I should command with here, And gave me many lessons more, all which much better were Than any I took forth myself. The reason I laid down Was but the sparing of my horse, since in a siegéd town I thought our horse-meat would be scant; when they were us'd to have Their manger full; so I left them, and like a lackey slave Am come to Ilion, confident in nothing but my bow That nothing profits me. Two shafts I vainly did bestow At two great princes, but of both my arrows neither slew, Nor this, nor Atreus' younger son; a little blood I drew, That serv'd but to incense them more. In an unhappy star I therefore from my armoury have drawn those tools of war That day, when, for great Hector's sake, to amiable Troy: I came to lead the Trojan bands. But if I ever joy, In safe return, my country's sight, my wife's, my lofty tow'rs, Let any stranger take this head, if to the fi'ry Pow'rs This bow, these shafts, in pieces burst, by these hands be not thrown; Idle companions that they are to me and my renown." Æneas said: "Use no such words; for, any other way Than this, they shall not now be us'd. We first will both assay This man with horse and chariot. Come then, ascend to me, That thou may'st try our Trojan horse, how skill'd in field they be, And in pursuing those that fly, or flying, being pursued, How excellent they are of foot; and these, if Jove conclude The 'scape of Tydeüs again, and grace him with our flight, Shall serve to bring us safely off. Come, I'll be first shall fight, Take thou these fair reins and this scourge; or, if thou wilt, fight thou, And leave the horses' care to me." He answer'd: "I will now Descend to fight, keep thou the reins, and guide thyself thy horse; Who with their wonted manager will better wield the force Of the impulsive chariot, if we be driv'n to fly, Than with a stranger; under whom they will be much more shy, And, fearing my voice, wishing thine, grow resty, nor go on To bear us off, but leave engag'd for mighty Tydeus' son Themselves and us. Then be thy part thy one-hoof'd horses' guide, I'll make the fight, and with a dart receive his utmost pride." With this the gorgeous chariot both, thus prepar'd, ascend And make full way at Diomed; which noted by his friend, "Mine own most-lovéd mind," said he, "two mighty men of war I see come with a purpos'd charge; one's he that hits so far With bow and shaft, Lycaon's son; the other fames the brood Of great Anchises and the Queen that rules in amorous blood, Æneas, excellent in arms. Come up, and use your steeds, And look not war so in the face, lest that desire that feeds Thy great mind be the bane of it." This did with anger sting The blood of Diomed, to see his friend, that chid the king Before the fight, and then preferr'd his ablesse and his mind To all his ancestors in fight, now come so far behind; Whom thus he answer'd: "Urge no flight, you cannot please me so; Nor is it honest in my mind to fear a coming foe, Or make a flight good, though with fight. My pow'rs are yet entire, And scorn the help-tire of a horse. I will not blow the fire Of their hot valours with my flight, but cast upon the blaze This body borne upon my knees. I entertain amaze? Minerva will not see that shame. And since they have begun, They shall not both elect their ends; and he that 'scapes shall run, Or stay and take the other's fate. And this I leave for thee;— If amply-wise Athenia give both their lives to me, Rein our horse to their chariot hard, and have a special heed To seize upon Æneas' steeds, that we may change their breed, And make a Grecian race of them that have been long of Troy. For these are bred of those brave beasts which, for the lovely boy That waits now on the cup of Jove, Jove, that far-seeing God, Gave Tros the king in recompense; the best that ever trod The sounding centre, underneath the morning and the sun. Anchises stole the breed of them; for, where their sires did run, He closely put his mares to them, and never made it known To him that heir'd them, who was then the king Laomedon. Six horses had he of that race, of which himself kept four, And gave the other two his son; and these are they that scour The field so bravely towards us, expert in charge and flight. If these we have the pow'r to take, our prise is exquisite, And our renown will far exceed." While these were talking thus, The fir'd horse brought th' assailants near, and thus spake Pandarus: "Most suff'ring-minded Tydeus' son, that hast of war the art, My shaft, that strook thee, slew thee not, I now will prove a dart." This said, he shook, and then he threw, a lance, aloft and large, That in Tydides' curets stuck, quite driving through his targe; Then bray'd he out so wild a voice that all the field might hear: "Now have I reach'd thy root of life, and by thy death shall bear Our praise's chief prise from the field." Tydides undismay'd Replied: "Thou err'st, I am not touch'd; but more charge will be laid To both your lives before you part; at least the life of one Shall satiate the throat of Mars." This said, his lance was gone, Minerva led it to his face, which at his eye ran in, And, as he stoop'd, strook through his jaws, his tongue's root, and his chin. Down from the chariot he fell, his gay arms shin'd and rung, The swift horse trembled, and his soul for ever charm'd his tongue. Æneas with his shield, and lance, leapt swiftly to his friend, Afraid the Greeks would force his trunk; and that he did defend, Bold as a lion of his strength; he hid him with his shield, Shook round his lance, and horribly did threaten all the field With death, if any durst make in. Tydides rais'd a stone With his one hand, of wondrous weight, and pour'd it mainly on The hip of Anchisiades, wherein the joint doth move The thigh ('tis call'd the huckle-bone) which all in sherds it drove, Brake both the nerves, and with the edge cut all the flesh away. It stagger'd him upon his knees, and made th' heroë stay His strook-blind temples on his hand, his elbow on the earth; And there this prince of men had died, if She that gave him birth, (Kiss'd by Anchises on the green, where his fair oxen fed) Jove's loving daughter, instantly had not about him spread Her soft embraces, and convey'd within her heav'nly veil (Us'd as a rampire 'gainst all darts that did so hot assail) Her dear-lov'd issue from the field, Then Sthenelus in haste, Rememb'ring what his friend advis'd, from forth the prease made fast His own horse to their chariot, and presently laid hand Upon the lovely-coated horse Æneas did command. Which bringing to the wond'nng Greeks, he did their guard commend To his belov'd Deipylus, who was his inward friend, And, of his equals, one to whom he had most honour shown, That he might see them safe at fleet; then stept he to his own. With which he cheerfully made in to Tydeus' mighty race, He, mad with his great enemy's rape, was hot in desp'rate chace Of her that made it, with his lance, arm'd less with steel than spite, Well knowing her no Deity that had to do in fight, Minerva his great patroness, nor, She that raceth towns, Bellona, but a goddess weak, and foe to men's renowns. Her, through a world of fight pursu'd, at last he overtook, And, thrusting up his ruthless lance, her heav'nly veil he strook (That ev'n the Graces wrought themselves, at her divine command) Quite through, and hurt the tender back of her delicious hand. The rude point piercing through her palm, forth flow'd th' immortal blood; Blood, such as flows in blesséd Gods, that eat no human food, Nor drink of our inflaming wine, and therefore bloodless are, And call'd Immortals; out she cried, and could no longer bear Her lov'd son; whom she cast from her, and in a sable cloud Phœbus, receiving, hid him close from all the Grecian crowd, Lest some of them should find his death. Away flew Venus then, And after her cried Diomed: "Away, thou spoil of men, Though sprung from all-preserving Jove, these hot encounters leave. Is't not enough that silly dames thy sorc'ries should deceive, Unless thou thrust into the war, and rob a soldier's right? I think a few of these assaults will make thee fear the fight, Wherever thou shalt hear it nam'd." She, sighing, went her way Extremely griev'd, and with her griefs her beauties did decay, And black her ivory body grew. Then from a dewy mist Brake swift-foot Iris to her aid, from all the darts that hiss'd At her quick rapture; and to Mars they took their plaintive course, And found him on the fight's left hand, by him his speedy horse, And huge lance, lying in a fog. The Queen of all things fair Her lovéd brother, on her knees, besought, with instant pray'r, His golden-riband-bound-man'd horse to lend her up to heav'n For she was much griev'd with a wound a mortal man had giv'n, Tydides, that 'gainst Jove himself durst now advance his arm. He granted, and his chariot (perplex'd with her late harm) She mounted, and her waggoness was She that paints the air. The horse she rein'd, and with a scourge importun'd their repair, That of themselves out-flew the wind, and quickly they ascend Olympus, high seat of the Gods. Th' horse knew their journey's end, Stood still, and from their chariot the windy-footed dame Dissolv'd, and gave them heav'nly food; and to Dione came Her wounded daughter, bent her knees. She kindly bade her stand, With sweet embraces help'd her up, strok'd her with her soft hand, Call'd kindly by her name, and ask'd: "What God hath been so rude, Sweet daughter, to chastise thee thus, as if thou wert pursu'd Ev'n to the act of some light sin, and deprehended so? For otherwise, each close escape is in the great let go." She answer'd: "Haughty Tydeus' son hath been so insolent, Since, him whom most my heart esteems of all my lov'd descent, I rescu'd from his bloody hand. Now battle is not giv'n To any Trojans by the Greeks, but by the Greeks to heav'n." She answer'd: "Daughter, think not much, though much it grieve thee; use The patience, whereof many Gods examples may produce, In many bitter ills receiv'd, as well that men sustain By their inflictions as by men repaid to them again. Mars suffer'd much more than thyself by Ephialtes' pow'r, And Otus', Aloëus' sons; who in a brazen tow'r, And in inextricable chains, cast that war-greedy God, Where twice-six months and one he liv'd, and there the period Of his sad life perhaps had clos'd, if his kind step-dame's eye, Fair Erebæa, had not seen; who told it Mercury, And he by stealth enfranchis'd him; though he could scarce enjoy The benefit of franchisement, the chains did so destroy His vital forces with their weight. So Juno suffer'd more When, with a three-fork'd arrow's head, Amphitryo's son did gore Her right breast, past all hope of cure. Pluto sustain'd no less By that self man, and by a shaft of equal bitterness Shot through his shoulder at hell gates; and there, amongst the dead, Were he not deathless, he had died; but up to heav'n he fled, Extremely tortur'd, for recure, which instantly he won At Pæon's hand, with sov'reign balm; and this did Jove's great son, Unblest, great-high-deed-daring man, that car'd not doing ill, That with his bow durst wound the Gods! But, by Minerva's will, Thy wound the foolish Diomed was so profane to give; Not knowing he that fights with Heav'n hath never long to live, And for this deed, he never shall have child about his knee To call him father, coming home. Besides, hear this from me, Strength-trusting man, though thou be strong, and art in strength a tow'r, Take heed a stronger meet thee not, and that a woman's pow'r Contains not that superior strength, and lest that woman be Adrastus' daughter, and thy wife, the wise Ægiale; When, from this hour not far, she wakes, ev'n sighing with desire To kindle our revenge on thee, with her enamouring fire, In choosing her some fresh young friend, and so drown all thy fame, Won here in war, in her court-piece, and in an opener shame." This said, with both her hands she cleans'd the tender back and palm Of all the sacred blood they lost; and, never using balm, The pain ceas'd, and the wound was cur'd of this kind Queen of love. Juno and Pallas, seeing this, assay'd to anger Jove, And quit his late-made mirth with them, about the loving Dame, With some sharp jest, in like sort, built upon her present shame. Gray-ey'd Athenia began, and ask'd the Thunderer, If, nothing moving him to wrath, she boldly might prefer, What she conceiv'd, to his conceit; and, staying no reply, She bade him view the Cyprian fruit he lov'd so tenderly, Whom she thought hurt, and by this means;—intending to suborn Some other lady of the Greeks (whom lovely veils adorn) To gratify some other friend of her much-lovéd Troy, As she embrac'd and stirr'd her blood to the Venerean joy, The golden clasp, those Grecian dames upon their girdles wear, Took hold of her delicious hand, and hurt it, she had fear. The Thund'rer smil'd, and call'd to him love's golden Arbitress, And told her those rough works of war were not for her access; She should be making marriages, embracings, kisses, charms, Stern Mars and Pallas had the charge of those affairs in arms. While these thus talk'd, Tydides' rage still thirsted to achieve His prise upon Anchises' son, though well he did perceive The Sun himself protected him; but his desires (inflam'd With that great Trojan prince's blood, and arms so highly fam'd) Not that great God did reverence. Thrice rush'd he rudely on, And thrice, betwixt his darts and death, the Sun's bright target shone; But when upon the fourth assault, much like a spirit, he flew, The far-off-working Deity exceeding wrathful grew, And ask'd him: "What! Not yield to gods? Thy equals learn to know. The race of Gods is far above men creeping here below." This drave him to some small retreat; he would not tempt more near The wrath of him that strook so far; whose pow'r had now set clear Æneas from the stormy field within the holy place Of Pergamus, where, to the hope of his so sov'reign grace, A goodly temple was advanc'd; in whose large inmost part He left him, and to his supply inclin'd his mother's heart, Latona, and the dart-pleas'd Queen; who cur'd, and made him strong. The silver-bow'd fair God then threw in the tumultuous throng An image, that in stature, look, and arms, he did create Like Venus' son; for which the Greeks and Trojans made debate, Laid loud strokes on their ox-hide shields, and bucklers eas'ly borne; Which error Phœbus pleas'd to urge on Mars himself in scorn: "Mars, Mars," said he, "thou plague of men, smear'd with the dust and blood Of humans, and their ruin'd walls, yet thinks thy Godhead good To fright this fury from the field, who next will fight with Jove? First in a bold approach he hurt, the moist palm of thy love, And next, as if he did affect to have a Deity's pow'r, He held out his assault on me." This said, the lofty tow'r Of Pergamus he made his seat; and Mars did now excite The Trojan forces, in the form of him that led to fight The Thracian troops, swift Acamas. "O Priam's sons," said he, "How long the slaughter of your men can ye sustain to see? Ev'n till they brave you at your gates? Ye suffer beaten down Æneas, great Anchises' son, whose prowess we renown As much as Hector's; fetch him off from this contentious prease." With this, the strength and spirits of all his courage did increase; And yet Sarpedon seconds him, with this particular taunt Of noble Hector: "Hector, where is thy unthankful vaunt, And that huge strength on which it built, that thou, and thy allies, With all thy brothers (without aid of us or our supplies, And troubling not a citizen) the city safe would hold? In all which friends' and brothers' helps I see not, nor am told Of anyone of their exploits, but (all held in dismay Of Diomed, like a sort of dogs, that at a lion bay, And entertain no spirit to pinch) we, your assistants here, Fight for the town as you help'd us; and I, an aiding peer, No citizen, ev'n out of care, that doth become a man For men and children's liberties, add all the aid I can; Not out of my particular cause; far hence my profit grows, For far hence Asian Lycia lies, where gulfy Xanthus flows, And where my lov'd wife, infant son, and treasure nothing scant, I left behind me, which I see those men would have that want, And therefore they that have would keep. Yet I, as I would lose Their sure fruition, cheer my troops, and with their lives propose Mine own life, both to gen'ral fight, and to particular cope With this great soldier; though, I say, I entertain no hope To have such gettings as the Greeks, nor fear to lose like Troy. Yet thou, ev'n Hector, deedless stand'st, and car'st not to employ Thy town-born friends, to bid them stand, to fight and save their wives, Lest as a fowler casts his nets upon the silly lives Of birds of all sorts, so the foe your walls and houses hales, One with another, on all heads; or such as 'scape their falls, He made the prey and prise of them (as willing overthrown) That hope not for you with their force; and so this brave-built town Will prove a chaos. That deserves in thee so hot a care, As should consume thy days and nights, to hearten and prepare Th' assistant princes; pray their minds to bear their far-brought toils; To give them worth with worthy fight; in victories and foils Still to be equal; and thyself, exampling them in all, Need no reproofs nor spurs. All this in thy free choice should fall." This stung great Hector's heart; and yet, as ev'ry gen'rous mind Should silent bear a just reproof, and show what good they find In worthy counsels, by their ends put into present deeds, Not stomach nor be vainly sham'd; so Hector's spirit proceeds, And from his chariot, wholly arm'd, he jump'd upon the sand, On foot so toiling through the host, a dart in either hand, And all hands turn'd against the Greeks. The Greeks despis'd their worst, And, thick'ning their instructed pow'rs, expected all they durst. Then with the feet of horse and foot, the dust in clouds did rise. And as, in sacred floors of barns, upon corn-winnow'rs flies The chaff, driv'n with an opposite wind, when yellow Ceres dites, Which all the diters' feet, legs, arms, their heads and shoulders whites; So look'd the Grecians gray with dust, that strook the solid heav'n, Rais'd from returning chariots, and troops together driv'n. Each side stood to their labours firm. Fierce Mars flew through the air, And gather'd darkness from the fight, and, with his best affair, Obey'd the pleasure of the Sun, that wears the golden sword Who bade'him raise the spirits of Troy, when Pallas ceas'd t' afford Her helping office to the Greeks; and then his own hands wrought, Which, from his fane's rich chancel, cur'd, the true Æneas brought, And plac'd him by his peers in field; who did with joy admire To see him both alive and safe, and all his pow'rs entire Yet stood not sifting how it chanc'd; another sort of task, Then stirring th' idle sieve of news, did all their forces ask, Inflam'd by Phœbus, harmful Mars, and Eris eag'rer far. The Greeks had none to hearten them; their hearts rose with the war; But chiefly Diomed, Ithacus, and both th' Ajaces us'd Stirring examples and good words; their own fames had infus'd Spirit enough into their bloods, to make them neither fear The Trojans' force, nor Fate itself, but still expecting were, When most was done, what would be more; their ground they still made good, And in their silence, and set pow'rs, like fair still clouds, they stood, With which Jove crowns the tops of hills, in any quiet day, When Boreas and the ruder winds (that use to drive away Air's dusky vapours, being loose, in many a whistling gale) Are pleasingly bound up, and calm, and not a breath exhale; So firmly stood the Greeks, nor fled for all the Ilion's aid. Atrides yet coasts through the troops, confirming men so staid: "O friends," said he, "hold up your minds; strength is but strength of will; Rev'rence each other's good in fight and shame at things done ill. "There soldiers show an honest shame, and love of honour lives, That ranks men with the first in fight, death fewer liveries gives Than life, or than where Fame's neglect makes cowards fight at length. Flight neither doth the body grace, nor shows the mind hath strength." He said, and swiftly through the troops a mortal lance did send, That reft a standard-bearer's life, renown'd Æneas' friend, Deïcoon Pergasides, whom all the Trojans lov'd As he were one of Priam's sons, his mind was so approv'd In always fighting with the first. The lance his target took, Which could not interrupt the blow, that through it clearly strook, And in his belly's rim was sheath'd, beneath his girdle-stead. He sounded falling, and his arms with him resounded, dead. Then fell two princes of the Greeks by great Æneas' ire, Diocleus' sons (Orsilochus and Crethon), whose kind sire In bravely-builded Phæra dwelt, rich, and of sacred blood. He was descended lineally from great Alphæus' flood, That broadly flows through Pyles' fields; Alphæus did beget Orsilochus, who in the rule of many men was set; And that Orsilochus begat the rich Diocleüs; Diocleus sire to Crethon was, and this Orsilochus. Both these; arriv'd at man's estate, with both th' Atrides went, To honour them in th' Ilion wars; and both were one day sent, To death as well as Troy, for death hid both in one black hour. As two young lions (with their dam, sustain'd but to devour) Bred on the tops of some steep hill, and in the gloomy deep Of an inaccessible wood, rush out, and prey on sheep, Steers, oxen, and destroy men's stalls, so long that they come short, And by the owner's steel are slain; in such unhappy sort Fell these beneath Æneas' pow'r. When Menelaus view'd Like two tall fir-trees these two fall, their timeless falls he rued, And to the first fight, where they lay, a vengeful force he took; His arms beat back the sun in flames, a dreadful lance he shook; Mars put the fury in his mind, that by Æneas' hands, Who was to make the slaughter good, he might have strew'd the sands. Antilochus, old Nestor's son, observing he was bent To urge a combat of such odds, and knowing, the event Being ill on his part, all their pains (alone sustain'd for him) Err'd from their end, made after hard, and took them in the trim Of an encounter. Both their hands and darts advanc'd, and shook, And both pitch'd in full stand of charge; when suddenly the look Of Anchisiades took note of Nestor's valiant son, In full charge too; which, two to one, made Venus' issue shun The hot adventure, though he were a soldier well-approv'd. Then drew they off their slaughter'd friends; who giv'n to their belov'd, They turn'd where fight show'd deadliest hate; and there mix'd with the dead Pylæmen, that the targeteers of Paphlagonia led, A man like Mars; and with him fell good Mydon that did guide His chariot, Atymnus' son. The prince Pylæmen died By Menelaus; Nestor's joy slew Mydon; one before The other in the chariot. Atrides' lance did gore Pylæmen's shoulder, in the blade. Antilochus did force A mighty stone up from the earth, and, as he turn'd his horse, Strook Mydon's elbow in the midst; the reins of ivory Fell from his hands into the dust; Antilochus let fly His sword withal, and, rushing in, a blow so deadly laid Upon his temples, that he groan'd, tumbled to earth, and stay'd A mighty while preposterously (because the dust was deep) Upon his neck and shoulders there, ev'n till his foe took keep Of his pris'd horse, and made them stir; and then he prostrate fell. His horse Antilochus took home. When Hector had heard tell, Amongst the uproar, of their deaths, he laid out all his voice, And ran upon the Greeks. Behind came many men of choice, Before him march'd great Mars himself match'd with his female mate, The dread Bellona. She brought on, to fight for mutual fate, A tumult that was wild and mad. He shook a horrid lance, And now led Hector, and anon behind would make the chance. This sight when great Tydides saw, his hair stood up on end; And him, whom all the skill and pow'r of arms did late attend, Now like a man in counsel poor, that, travelling, goes amiss, And having pass'd a boundless plain, not knowing where he is, Comes on the sudden where he sees a river rough, and raves With his own billows ravishéd into the king of waves, Murmurs with foam, and frights him back; so he, amaz'd, retir'd, And thus would make good his amaze: "O friends, we all admir'd Great Hector, as one of himself, well-darting, bold in war, When some God guards him still from death, and makes him dare so far. Now Mars himself, form'd like a man, is present in his rage, And therefore, whatsoever cause importunes you to wage War with these Trojans, never strive, but gently take your rod, Lest in your bosoms, for a man, ye ever find a God." As Greece retir'd, the pow'r of Troy did much more forward prease, And Hector two brave men of war sent to the fields of peace; Menesthes, and Anchialus; one chariot bare them both. Their falls made Ajax Telamon ruthful of heart, and wroth Who lighten'd out a lance that smote Amphius Selages, That dwelt in Pæsos, rich in lands, and did huge goods possess, But Fate, to Priam and his sons, conducted his supply. The jav'lin on his girdle strook, and piercéd mortally His belly's lower part; he fell: his arms had looks so trim, That Ajax needs would prove their spoil; the Trojans pour'd on him Whole storms of lances, large, and sharp, of which a number stuck In his rough shield; yet from the slain he did his jav'lin pluck, But could not from his shoulders force the arms he did affect, The Trojans with such drifts of darts the body did protect; And wisely Telamonius fear'd their valorous defence, So many, and so strong of hand, stood in with such expense Of deadly prowess; who repell'd, though big, strong, bold, he were, The famous Ajax, and their friend did from his rapture bear. Thus this place fill'd with strength of fight; in th' army's other prease, Tlepolemus, a tall big man, the son of Hercules, A cruel destiny inspir'd, with strong desire to prove Encounter with Sarpedon's strength, the son of cloudy Jove; Who, coming on to that stern end, had chosen him his foe. Thus Jove's great nephew, and his son, 'gainst one another go. Tlepolemus, to make his end more worth the will of fate, Began as if he had her pow'r, and show'd the mortal state Of too much confidence in man, with this superfluous brave: "Sarpedon, what necessity or needless humour drave Thy form to these wars, which in heart I know thou dost abhor, A man not seen in deeds of arms, a Lycian counsellor? They lie that call thee son to Jove, since Jove bred none so late; The men of elder times were they, that his high pow'r begat, Such men as had Herculean force. My father Hercules Was Joveve's true issue; he was bold; his deeds did well express They sprung out of a lion's heart. He whilome came to Troy, (For horse that Jupiter gave Tros, for Ganymed, his boy) With six ships only, and few men, and tore the city down, Left all her broad ways desolate, and made the horse his own. For thee, thy mind is ill dispos'd, thy body's pow'rs are poor, And therefore are thy troops so weak; the soldier evermore Follows the temper of his chief; and thou pull'st down a side. But say thou art the son of Jove, and hast thy means supplied With forces fitting his descent, the pow'rs that I compel Shall throw thee hence, and make thy head run ope the gates of hell." Jove's Lycian issue answer'd him: "Tlepolemus, 'tis true Thy father holy Ilion in that sort overthrew; Th' injustice of the king was cause, that, where thy father had Us'd good deservings to his state, he quitted him with bad. Hesione, the joy and grace of king Laomedon, Thy father rescu'd from a whale, and gave to Telamon In honour'd nuptials (Telamon, from whom your strongest Greek Boasts to have issu'd) and this grace might well expect the like; Yet he gave taunts for thanks, and kept, against his oath, his horse, And therefore both thy father's strength, and justice, might enforce The wreak he took on Troy; but this and thy cause differ far. Sons seldom heir their fathers' worths. Thou canst not make his war. What thou assum'st for him, is mine, to be on thee impos'd." With this, he threw an ashen dart; and then Tlepolemus los'd Another from his glorious hand. Both at one instant flew, Both strook, both wounded. From his neck Sarpedon's jav'lin drew The life blood of Tlepolemus; full in the midst it fell; And what he threaten'd, th' other gave, that darkness, and that hell. Sarpedon's left thigh took the lance; it pierc'd the solid bone, And with his raging head ran through; but Jove preserv'd his son. The dart yet vex'd him bitterly, which should have been pull'd out, But none consider'd then so much, so thick came on the rout, And fill'd each hand so full of cause to ply his own defence; 'Twas held enough, both fall'n that both were nobly carried thence Ulysses knew th' events of both, and took it much to heart That his friend's enemy should 'scape; and in a twofold part His thoughts contended, if he should pursue Sarpedon's life, Or take his friend's wreak on his men. Fate did conclude this strife, By whom 'twas otherwise decreed than that Ulysses' steel Should end Sarpedon. In this doubt Minerva took the wheel From fickle Chance, and made his mind resolve to right his friend With that blood he could surest draw. Then did Revenge extend Her full pow'r on the multitude; then did he never miss; Alastor, Halius, Chromius, Noemon, Prytanis, Alcander, and a number more, he slew, and more had slain, If Hector had not understood; whose pow'r made in amain, And strook fear through the Grecian troops, but to Sarpedon gave Hope of full rescue, who thus cried: "O Hector! Help and save My body from the spoil of Greece, that to your lovéd town My friends may see me borne, and then let earth possess her own In this soil, for whose sake I left my country's; for no day Shall ever show me that again, nor to my wife display, And young hope of my name, the joy of my much thirsted sight; All which I left for Troy, for them let Troy then do this right." To all this Hector gives no word, but greedily he strives With all speed to repel the Greeks, and shed in floods their lives, And left Sarpedon; but what face soever he put on Of following the common cause, he left this prince alone For his particular grudge, because, so late, he was so plain In his reproof before the host, and that did he retain; However, for example sake, he would not show it then, And for his shame too, since 'twas just. But good Sarpedon's men Ventur'd themselves, and forc'd him off, and set him underneath The goodly beech of Jupiter, where now they did unsheath The ashen lance; strong Pelagon, his friend, most lov'd, most true, Enforc'd it from his maiméd thigh; with which his spirit flew, And darkness over-flew his eyes; yet with a gentle gale, That round about the dying prince cool Boreas did exhale, He was reviv'd, recomforted, that else had griev'd and died. All this time flight drave to the fleet the Argives, who applied No weapon 'gainst the proud pursuit, nor ever turn'd a head, They knew so well that Mars pursu'd, and dreadful Hector led. Then who was first, who last, whose lives the iron Mars did seize, And Priam's Hector? Helenus, surnam'd Œnopides; Good Teuthras; and Orestes, skill'd in managing of horse; Bold Œnomaus; and a man renown'd for martial force, Trechus, the great Ætolian chief; Oresbius, that did wear The gaudy mitre, studied wealth extremely, and dwelt near Th' Atlantic lake Cephisides, in Hyla, by whose seat The good men of Bœotia dwelt. This slaughter grew so great, It flew to heav'n; Saturnia discern'd it, and cried out To Pallas: "O unworthy sight! To see a field so fought, And break our words to Sparta's king, that Ilion should be rac'd, And he return reveng'd; when thus we see his Greeks disgrac'd, And bear the harmful rage of Mars! Come, let us use our care, That we dishonour not our pow'rs." Minerva was as yare As she at the despite of Troy. Her golden-bridled steeds Then Saturn's daughter brought abroad; and Hebe, she proceeds T' address her chariot; instantly she gives it either wheel, Beam'd with eight spokes of sounding brass; the axle-tree was steel; The fell'ffs incorruptible gold, their upper bands of brass, Their matter most unvalued, their work of wondrous grace; The naves, in which the spokes were driv'n, were all with silver bound; The chariot's seat two hoops of gold and silver strengthen'd round, Edg'd with a gold and silver fringe; the beam, that look'd before, Was massy silver; on whose top, gears all of gold it wore, And golden poitrils. Juno mounts, and her hot horses rein'd, That thirsted for contentión, and still of peace complain'd. Minerva wrapt her in the robe, that curiously she wove, With glorious colours, as she sate on th' azure floor of Jove, And wore the arms that he puts on, bent to the tearful field. About her broad-spread shoulders hung his huge and horrid shield, Fring'd round with ever-fighting snakes; through it was drawn to life The miseries and deaths of fight; in it frown'd bloody Strife, In it shin'd sacred Fortitude, in it fell Púrsuit flew, In it the monster Gorgon's head, in which held out to view Were all the dire ostents of Jove; on her big head she plac'd His four-plum'd glitt'ring casque of gold, so admirably vast It would an hundred garrisons of soldiers comprehend. Then to her shining chariot her vig'rous feet ascend; And in her violent hand she takes his grave, huge, solid lance, With which the conquests of her wrath she useth to advance, And overturn whole fields of men, to show she was the Seed Of him that thunders. Then heav'n's Queen, to urge her horses' speed, Takes up the scourge, and forth they fly. The ample gates of heav'n Rung, and flew open of themselves; the charge whereof is giv'n, With all Olympus, and the sky, to the distinguish'd Hours, That clear, or hide it all in clouds, or pour it down in show'rs. This way their scourge-obeying horse made haste, and soon they won The top of all the topful heav'ns, where aged Saturn's son Sat sever'd from the other Gods; then stay'd the white-arm'd Queen Her steeds, and ask'd of Jove, if Mars did not incense his spleen With his foul deeds, in ruining so many and so great In the command and grace of Greece, and in so rude a heat? At which, she said, Apollo laugh'd, and Venus, who still sue To that mad God, for violence that never justice knew; For whose impiety, she ask'd, if, with his wishéd love, Herself might free the field of him? He bade her rather move Athenia to the charge she sought, who us'd of old to be The bane of Mars, and had as well the gift of spoil as he. This grace she slack'd not, but her horse scourg'd, that in nature flew Betwixt the cope of stars and earth; and how far at a view A man into the purple sea may from a hill descry, So far a high-neighing horse of heav'n at ev'ry jump would fly. [2] Arriv'd at Troy, where, broke in curls, the two floods mix their force, Scamander and bright Simois, Saturnia stay'd her horse, Took them from chariot, and a cloud of mighty depth diffus'd About them; and the verdant banks of Simois produc'd In nature what they eat in heav'n. Then both the Goddesses [3] March'd, like a pair of tim'rous doves, in hasting their access To th' Argive succour. Being arriv'd, where both the most and best Were heap'd together (showing all, like lions at a feast Of new-slain carcasses, or boars, beyond encounter strong) There found they Diomed; and there, 'midst all th' admiring throng, Saturnia put on Stentor's shape, that had a brazen voice, And spake as loud as fifty men; like whom she made a noise, And chid the Argives: "O ye Greeks, in name and outward rite But princes only, not in act, what scandal, what despite, Use ye to honour! All the time the great Æacides Was conversant in arms, your foes durst not a foot address Without their ports, so much they fear'd his lance that all controll'd, And now they outray to your fleet." This did with shame make bold The gen'ral spirit and pow'r of Greece: when, with particular note Of their disgrace, Athenia made Tydeus' issue hot. She found him at his chariot, refreshing of his wound Inflicted by slain Pandarus; his sweat did so abound, It much annoy'd him, underneath the broad belt of his shield; With which, and tiréd with his toil, his soul could hardly yield His body motion. With his hand he lifted up the belt, And wip'd away that clotter'd blood the fervent wound did melt. Minerva lean'd against his horse, and near their withers laid Her sacred hand, then spake to him: "Believe me, Diomed, Tydeus exampled not himself in thee his son; not great, But yet he was a soldier; a man of so much heat, That in his ambassy for Thebes, when I forbad his mind To be too vent'rous, and when feasts his heart might have declin'd, With which they welcom'd him, he made a challenge to the best, And foil'd the best; I gave him aid, because the rust of rest, That would have seiz'd another mind, he suffer'd not, but us'd The trial I made like a man, and their soft feasts refus'd. Yet, when I set thee on, thou faint'st; I guard thee, charge, exhort That, I abetting thee, thou shouldst be to the Greeks a fort, And a dismay to Ilion, yet thou obey'st in nought, Afraid, or slothful, or else both; henceforth renounce all thought That ever thou wert Tydeus' son." He answer'd her: "I know Thou art Jove's daughter, and, for that, in all just duty owe Thy speeches rev'rence, yet affirm ingeniously that fear Doth neither hold me spiritless, nor sloth. I only bear Thy charge in zealous memory, that I should never war With any blesséd Deity, unless (exceeding far The limits of her rule) the Queen, that governs chamber sport, Should press to field; and her thy will enjoin'd my lance to hurt. But, He whose pow'r hath right in arms, I knew in person here, Besides the Cyprian Deity; and therefore did forbear, And here have gather'd in retreat these other Greeks you see, With note and rev'rence of your charge." "My dearest mind," said she, "What then was fit is chang'd. 'Tis true, Mars hath just rule in war, But just war; otherwise he raves, not fights. He's alter'd far. He vow'd to Juno, and myself, that his aid should be us'd Against the Trojans, whom it guards; and therein he abus'd His rule in arms, infring'd his word, and made his war unjust. He is inconstant, impious, mad. Resolve then; firmly trust My aid of thee against his worst, or any Deity; Add scourge to thy free horse, charge home; he fights perfidiously." This said; as that brave king, her knight, with his horse-guiding friend, Were set before the chariot, for sign he should descend, That she might serve for waggoness, she pluck'd the wagg'ner back, And up into his seat she mounts; the beechen tree did crack Beneath the burthen; and good cause, it bore so huge a thing, A Goddess so replete with pow'r, and such a puissant king. She snatch'd the scourge up and the reins, and shut her heaven'ly look In Hell's vast helm from Mars's eyes; and full career she took At him, who then had newly slain the mighty Periphas, Renown'd son to Ochesius, and far the strongest was Of all th' Ætolians; to whose spoil the bloody God was run. But when this man-plague saw the approach of god-like Tydeus' son, He let his mighty Periphas lie, and in full charge he ran At Diomed; and he at him. Both near; the God began, And, thirsty of his blood, he throws a brazen lance that bears Full on the breast of Diomed, above the reins and gears; But Pallas took it on her hand, and strook the eager lance Beneath the chariot. Then the knight of Pallas doth advance, And cast a jav'lin off at Mars, Minerva sent it on, That, where his arming girdle gilt, his belly graz'd upon, Just at the rim, and ranch'd the flesh; the lance again he got, But left the wound, that stung him so, he laid out such a throat As if nine or ten thousand men had bray'd out all their breaths In one confusion, having felt as many sudden deaths. The roar made both the hosts amaz'd. Up flew the God to heav'n; And with him was through all the air as black a tincture driv'n To Diomed's eyes, as when the earth half-choked with smoking heat Of gloomy clouds, that stifle men, and pitchy tempests threat, Usher'd with horrid gusts of wind; with such black vapours plum'd, Mars flew t' Olympus, and broad heav'n, and there his place resum'd. Sadly he went and sat by Jove, show'd his immortal blood, That from a mortal-man-made wound pour'd such an impious flood, And weeping pour'd out these complaints: "O Father, storms't thou not To see us take these wrongs from men? Extreme griefs we have got Ev'n by our own deep councils, held for gratifying them; And thou, our council's president, conclud'st in this extreme Of fighting ever; being rul'd by one that thou hast bred; One never well, but doing ill; a girl so full of head That, though all other Gods obey, her mad moods must command, By thy indulgence, nor by word, nor any touch of hand, Correcting her; thy reason is, she is a spark of thee, And therefore she may kindle rage in men 'gainst Gods, and she May make men hurt Gods, and those Gods that are besides thy seed. First in the palm's hit Cyprides; then runs the impious deed On my hurt person; and, could life give way to death in me, Or had my feet not fetched me off, heaps of mortality Had kept me consort." Jupiter, with a contracted brow, Thus answered Mars: "Thou many minds, inconstant changeling thou, Sit not complaining thus by me, whom most of all the Gods, Inhabiting the starry hill, I hate; no periods Being set to thy contentions, brawls, fights, and pitching fields; Just of thy mother Juno's moods, stiff-neck'd, and never yields, Though I correct her still, and chide, nor can forbear offence, Though to her son; this wound I know tastes of her insolence; But I will prove more natural; thou shalt be cur'd, because Thou com'st of me, but hadst thou been so cross to sacred laws, Being born to any other God, thou had'st been thrown from heav'n Long since, as low as Tartarus, beneath the giants driv'n." This said, he gave his wound in charge to Pæon, who applied Such sov'reign med'cines, that as soon the pain was qualified, And he recur'd; as nourishing milk, when runnet is put in, Runs all in heaps of tough thick curd, though in his nature thin, Ev'n so soon his wound's parted sides ran close in his recure; For he, all deathless, could not long the parts of death endure, Then Hebe bath'd, and put on him fresh garments, and he sate Exulting by his sire again, in top of all his state. So, having, from the spoils of men, made his desir'd remove, Juno and Pallas re-ascend the starry court of Jove. THE END OF THE FIFTH BOOK.

[1] This simile likewise Virgil learns of him.

[2] How far a heavenly horse took at one reach or stroke in galloping or running; wherein Homer's mind is far from being expressed in his interpreters, all taking it for how far Deities were borne from the earth, when instantly they came down to earth: τόσσον ἐπιθρώσκουσι, etc. tantun uno saltu conficiunt, vel, tantum subsultim progrediuntur, deorum altizoni equi, etc. uno being understood, and the horse's swiftness highly expressed. The sense, otherwise, is senseless and contradictory.

[3] ᾽Αμβροσίην is the original word, which Scaliger taxeth very learnedly, asking how the horse came by it on those banks, when the text tells him Simois produced it; being willing to express by hyperbole the delicacy of that soil. If not, I hope the Deities could ever command it. THE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

The Gods now leaving an indiff'rent field, The Greeks prevail, the slaughter'd Trojans yield. Hector, by Helenus' advice, retires In haste to Troy, and Hecuba desires To pray Minerva to remove from fight The son of Tydeus, her affected knight, And vow to her, for favour of such price, Twelve oxen should be slain in sacrifice. In mean space Glaucus and Tydides meet; And either other with remembrance greet Of old love 'twixt their fathers, which inclines Their hearts to friendship; who change arms for signs Of a continu'd love for either's life. Hector, in his return, meets with his wife, And, taking in his arméd arms his son, He prophesies the fall of Ilion. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Zeta, Hector prophesies; Prays for his son; wills sacrifice.

The stern fight freed of all the Gods, conquest with doubtful wings Flew on their lances; ev'ry way the restless field she flings Betwixt the floods of Simois and Xanthus, that confin'd All their affairs of Ilion, and round about them shin'd. The first that weigh'd down all the field, of one particular side, Was Ajax, son of Telamon; who, like a bulwark, plied The Greeks' protection, and of Troy the knotty orders brake, Held out a light to all the rest, and showed them how to make Way to their conquest, He did wound the strongest man of Thrace, The tallest and the biggest set, Eussorian Acamas; His lance fell on his casque's plum'd top, in stooping; the fell head Drave through his forehead to his jaws; his eyes night shadowéd. Tydides slew Teuthranides Axylus, that did dwell, In fair Arisba's well-built tow'rs. He had of wealth a well, And yet was kind and bountiful; he would a traveller pray To be his guest, his friendly house stood in the broad highway, In which he all sorts nobly us'd; yet none of them would stand 'Twixt him and death, but both himself, and he that had command Of his fair horse, Calesius, fell lifeless on the ground. Euryalus, Opheltius and Dresus dead did wound; Nor ended there his fi'ry course, which he again begins, And ran to it successfully, upon a pair of twins, Æsepus, and bold Pedasus, whom good Bucolion (That first call'd father, though base-born, renown'd Laomedon) On Nais Abarbaræa got, a nymph that, as she fed Her curléd flocks, Bucolion woo'd, and mix'd in love and bed. Both these were spoiled of arms and life, by Mecistiades. Then Polypœtes, for stern death, Astyalus did seize; Ulysses slew Percosius; Teucer Aretaön; Antilochus (old Nestor's joy) Ablerus; the great son Of Atreüs, and king of men, Elatus, whose abode: He held at upper Pedasus, where Satnius' river flowed; The great heroë Leitus stay'd Phylacus in flight From further life; Eurypylus, Melanthius reft of light. The brother to the king of men, Adrestus took alive; Whose horse, affrighted with the flight, their driver now did drive Amongst the low-grown tam'risk trees, and at an arm of one The chariot in the draught-tree brake; the horse brake loose, and ron The same way other flyers fled, contending all to town; Himself close at the chariot wheel, upon his face was thrown, And there lay flat, rolled up in dust. Atrides inwards drave; And, holding at his breast his lance, Adrestus sought to save His head by losing of his feet, and trusting to his knees; On which the same parts of the king he hugs, and offers fees Of worthy value for his life, and thus pleads their receipt: "Take me alive, O Atreus' son, and take a worthy weight Of brass, elab'rate iron, and gold. [1] A heap of precious things Are in my father's riches hid, which, when your servant brings News of my safety to his ears, he largely will divide With your rare bounties." Atreus' son thought this the better side, And meant to take it, being about to send him safe to fleet; Which when, far off, his brother saw, he wing'd his royal feet, And came in threat'ning, crying out: "O soft heart! What's the cause Thou spar'st these men thus? Have not they observ'd these gentle laws Of mild humanity to thee, with mighty argument Why thou shouldst deal thus; in thy house, and with all precedent Of honour'd guest-rites, entertain'd? Not one of them shall fly A bitter end for it from heav'n, and much less, dotingly, 'Scape our revengeful fingers; all, ev'n th' infant in the womb, Shall taste of what they merited, and have no other tomb Than razéd Ilion; nor their race have more fruit than the dust." This just cause turn'd his brother's mind, who violently thrust The pris'ner from him; in whose guts the king of men impress'd His ashen lance, which (pitching down his foot upon the breast Of him that upwards fell) he drew; then Nestor spake to all: "O friends, and household men of Mars, let not your púrsuit fall, With those ye fell, for present spoil; nor, like the king of men, Let any 'scape unfell'd; but on, dispatch them all, and then Ye shall have time enough to spoil." This made so strong their chace, That all the Trojans had been hous'd, and never turned a face, Had not the Priamist Helenus, an augur most of name, Will'd Hector and Æneas thus: "Hector! Anchises' fame! Since on your shoulders, with good cause, the weighty burden lies Of Troy and Lycia (being both of noblest faculties For counsel, strength of hand, and apt to take chance at her best In ev'ry turn she makes) stand fast, and suffer not the rest, By any way search'd out for 'scape, to come within the ports, Lest, fled into their wives' kind arms, they there be made the sports Of the pursuing enemy. Exhort, and force your bands To turn their faces; and, while we employ our ventur'd hands, Though in a hard conditión, to make the other stay, Hector, go thou to Ilion, and our queen-mother pray To take the richest robe she hath; the same that's chiefly dear To her court fancy; with which gem, assembling more to her Of Troy's chief matrons, let all go, for fear of all our fates, To Pallas' temple, take the key, unlock the leavy gates, Enter, and reach the highest tow'r, where her Palladium stands, And on it put the precious veil with pure and rev'rend hands, And vow to her, besides the gift, a sacrificing stroke Of twelve fat heifers-of-a-year, that never felt the yoke, (Most answ'ring to her maiden state) if she will pity us, Our town, our wives, our youngest joys, and him, that plagues them thus, Take from the conflict, Diomed, that fury in a fight, That true son of great Tydeús, that cunning lord of flight, Whom I esteem the strongest Greek; for we have never fled Achilles, that is prince of men, and whom a Goddess bred, Like him; his fury flies so high, and all men's wraths commands." Hector intends his brother's will, but first through all his bands He made quick way, encouraging; and all, to fear afraid, All turn'd their heads, and made Greece turn. Slaughter stood still dismay'd On their parts, for they thought some God, fall'n from the vault of stars, Was rush'd into the Ilions' aid, they made such dreadful wars. Thus Hector, toiling in the waves, and thrusting back the flood Of his ebb'd forces, thus takes leave: "So, so, now runs your blood In his right current; forwards now, Trojans, and far-call'd friends! Awhile hold out, till, for success to this your brave amends, I haste to Ilion, and procure our counsellors and wives To pray, and offer hecatombs, for their states in our lives." Then fair-helm'd Hector turn'd to Troy, and, as he trode the field, The black bull's hide, that at his back he wore about his shield, In the extreme circumference, was with his gait so rock'd, That, being large, it both at once his neck and ankles knock'd. And now betwixt the hosts were met, Hippolochus' brave son, Glaucus, who in his very look hope of some wonder won, And little Tydeus' mighty heir; who seeing such a man Offer the field, for usual blows, with wondrous words began: "What art thou, strong'st of mortal men, that putt'st so far before, Whom these fights never show'd mine eyes? They have been evermore Sons of unhappy parents born, that came within the length Of this Minerva-guided lance, and durst close with the strength That she inspires in me. If heav'n be thy divine abode, And thou a Deity thus inform'd, no more with any God Will I change lances. The strong son of Dryus did not live Long after such a conflict dar'd, who godlessly did drive Nysæus' nurses through the hill made sacred to his name, And called Nysseius; with a goad he punch'd each furious dame, And made them ev'ry one cast down their green and leavy spears. This th' homicide Lycurgus did; and those ungodly fears, He put the froes in, seiz'd their God. Ev'n Bacchus he did drive From his Nysseius; who was fain, with huge exclaims, to dive Into the ocean. Thetis there in her bright bosom took The flying Deity; who so fear'd Lycurgus' threats, he shook. For which the freely-living Gods so highly were incens'd, That Saturn's great Son strook him blind, and with his life dispens'd But small time after; all because th' Immortals lov'd him not, Nor lov'd him since he striv'd with them; and his end hath begot Fear in my pow'rs to fight with heav'n. But, if the fruits of earth Nourish thy body, and thy life be of our human birth, Come near, that thou mayst soon arrive on that life-bounding shore, To which I see thee hoise such sail." "Why dost thou so explore," Said Glaucus, "of what race I am, when like the race of leaves The race of man is, that deserves no question; nor receives My being any other breath? The wind in autumn strows The earth with old leaves then the spring the woods with new endows; And so death scatters men on earth, so life puts out again Man's leavy issue. But my race, if, like the course of men, Thou seek'st in more particular terms, 'tis this, to many known: In midst of Argos, nurse of horse, there stands a walléd town, Ephyré, where the mansion-house of Sisyphus did stand, Of Sisyphus-Æölides, most wise of all the land. Glaucus was son to him, and he begat Bellerophon, Whose body heav'n indu'd with strength, and put a beauty on, Exceeding lovely. Prætis yet his cause of love did hate, And banish'd him the town; he might; he rul'd the Argive state. The virtue of the one Jove plac'd beneath the other's pow'r, His exile grew, since he denied to be the paramour Of fair Anteia, Prætus' wife, who felt a raging fire Of secret love to him; but he, whom wisdom did inspire As well as prudence, (one of them advising him to shun The danger of a princess' love, the other not to run Within the danger of the Gods, the act being simply ill,) Still entertaining thoughts divine, subdu'd the earthly still. She, rul'd by neither of his wits, preferr'd her lust to both, And, false to Prætus, would seem true, with this abhorr'd untroth: 'Prætus, or die thyself,' said she, 'or let Bellerophon die. He urg'd dishonour to thy bed; which since I did deny, He thought his violence should grant, and sought thy shame by force.' The king, incens'd with her report, resolv'd upon her course, But doubted how it should be run; he shunn'd his death direct, (Holding a way so near not safe) and plotted the effect By sending him with letters seal'd (that, open'd, touch his life) [2] To Rhëuns king of Lycia, and father to his wife. He went; and happily he went, the Gods walk'd all his way; And being arriv'd in Lycia, where Xanthus doth display The silver ensigns of his waves, the king of that broad land Receiv'd him with a wondrous free and honourable hand. Nine days he feasted him, and kill'd an ox in ev'ry day, In thankful sacrifice to heav'n, for his fair guest; whose stay, With rosy fingers, brought the world, the tenth well-welcom'd morn, And then the king did move to see, the letters he had borne From his lov'd son-in-law; which seen, he wrought thus their contents: Chimæra, the invincible, he sent him to convince, Sprung from no man, but mere divine; a lion's shape before, Behind a dragon's, in the midst a goat's shagg'd form, she bore, And flames of deadly fervency flew from her breath and eyes; Yet her he slew; his confidence in sacred prodigies Render'd him victor. Then he gave his second conquest way Against the famous Solymi, when (he himself would say, Reporting it) he enter'd on a passing vig'rous fight. His third huge labour he approv'd against a woman's spite, That fill'd a field of Amazons; he overcame them all. Then set they on him sly Deceit, when Force had such a fall; An ambush of the strongest men, that spacious Lycia bred, Was lodg'd for him; whom he lodg'd sure, they never rais'd a head. His deeds thus showing him deriv'd from some celestial race, The king detain'd, and made amends, with doing him the grace Of his fair daughter's princely gift; and with her, for a dow'r, Gave half his kingdom; and to this, the Lycians on did pour More than was giv'n to any king; a goodly planted field, In some parts thick of groves and woods, the rest rich crops did yield, This field the Lycians futurely (of future wand'rings there And other errors of their prince, in the unhappy rear Of his sad life) the Errant call'd, The princess brought him forth Three children (whose ends griev'd him more, the more they were of worth) Isander; and Hippolochus; and fair Laodomy, With whom, ev'n Jupiter himself left heav'n itself, to lie, And had by her the man at arms, Sarpedon, call'd divine, The Gods then left him, lest a man should in their glories shine, And set against him; for his son, Isandrus, in a strife Against the valiant Solymi, Mars reft of light and life; Laodamïa, being envied of all the Goddesses, The golden-bridle-handling Queen, the maiden Patroness, Slew with an arrow; and for this he wander'd evermore Alone through his Aleian field, and fed upon the core Of his sad bosom, flying all the loth'd consórts of men. Yet had he one surviv'd to him, of those three childeren, Hippolochus, the root of me; who sent me here with charge That I should always bear me well, and my deserts enlarge Beyond the vulgar, lest I sham'd my race, that far excell'd All that Ephyra's famous tow'rs, or ample Lycia, held. This is my stock, and this am I." This cheer'd Tydides' heart, Who pitch'd his spear down, lean'd, and talk'd in this affectionate part: "Certés, in thy great ancestor, and in mine own, thou art A guest of mine, right ancient. King Oeneus twenty days Detain'd, with feasts, Bellerophon, whom all the world did praise. Betwixt whom mutual gifts were giv'n, My grandsire gave to thine A girdle of Phœnician work, impurpl'd wondrous fine, Thine gave a two-neck'd jug of gold, which, though I use not here, Yet still it is my gem at home. But, if our fathers were Familiar, or each other knew, I know not, since my sire Left me a child, at siege of Thebes, where he left his life's fire. But let us prove our grandsires' sons, and be each other's guests. To Lycia when I come, do thou receive thy friend with feasts; Peloponnesus, with the like, shall thy wish'd presence greet. Mean space, shun we each other here, though in the press we meet. There are enow of Troy beside, and men enow renown'd, To right my pow'rs, whomever heav'n shall let my lance confound, So are there of the Greeks for thee; kill who thou canst. And now, For sign of amity 'twixt us, and that all these may know We glory in th' hospitious rites our grandsires did commend, Change we our arms before them all." From horse then both descend, Join hands, give faith, and take; and then did Jupiter elate [3] The mind of Glaucus, who, to show his rev'rence to the state Of virtue in his grandsire's heart, and gratulate beside The offer of so great a friend, exchang'd in that good pride, Curets of gold for those of brass, that did on Diomed shine, One of a hundred oxen's price, the other but of nine, By this, had Hector reach'd the ports of Scæa, and the tow'rs. About him flock'd the wives of Troy, the children, paramours, Inquiring how their husbands did, their fathers, brothers, loves. He stood not then to answer them, but said: "It now behoves Ye should all go t' implore the aid of heav'n, in a distress Of great effect, and imminent." Then hasted he access To Priam's goodly builded court, which round about was run With walking porches, galleries, to keep off rain and sun. Within, of one side, on a rew, of sundry-colour'd stones, Fifty fair lodgings were built out, for Priam's fifty sons, And for as fair sort of their wives; and, in the opposite view, Twelve lodgings of like stone, like height, were likewise built arew, Where, with their fair and virtuous wives, twelve princes, sons in law To honourable Priam, lay. And here met Hecuba, The loving mother, her great son; and with her needs must be The fairest of her female race, the bright Laodice. The queen gript hard her Hector's hand, and said: "O worthiest son, Why leav'st thou field? Is't not because the curséd nation Afflict our countrymen and friends? They are their moans that move Thy mind to come and lift thy hands, in his high tow'r, to Jove. But stay a little, that myself may fetch our sweetest wine To offer first to Jupiter, then that these joints of thine May be refresh'd; for, woe is me, how thou art toil'd and spent! Thou for our city's gen'ral state, thou for our friends far sent, Must now the press of fight endure; now solitude, to call Upon the name of Jupiter; thou only for us all. But wine will something comfort thee; for to a man dismay'd With careful spirits, or too much with labour overlaid, Wine brings much rescue, strength'ning much the body and the mind." The great helm-mover thus receiv'd the auth'ress of his kind: "My royal mother, bring no wine; lest rather it impair Than help my strength, and make my mind forgetful of th' affair Committed to it; and (to pour it out in sacrifice) I fear with unwash'd hands to serve the pure-liv'd Deities. Nor is it lawful, thus imbru'd with blood and dust, to prove The will of heav'n, or offer vows to cloud-compelling Jove. I only come to use your pains (assembling other dames, Matrons, and women honour'd most, with high and virtuous names) With wine and odours, and a robe most ample, most of price, And which is dearest in your love, to offer sacrifice In Pallas' temple; and to put the precious robe ye bear. On her Palladium; vowing all, twelve oxen-of-a-year, Whose necks were never wrung with yoke, shall pay her grace their lives, If she will pity our sieg'd town; pity ourselves, our wives; Pity our children; and remove, from sacred Ilion, The dreadful soldier Diomed. And, when yourselves are gone About this work, myself will go, to call into the field, If he will hear me, Helen's love; whom would the earth would yield) And headlong take into her gulf, even quick before mine eyes; For then my heart, I hope, would cast her load of miseries, Borne for the plague he hath been born, and bred to the deface, By great Olympius, of Troy, our sire, and all our race." This said, grave Hecuba went home, and sent her maids about, To bid the matrons. She herself descended, and search'd out, Within a place that breath'd perfumes, the richest robe she had; Which lay with many rich ones more, most curiously made By women of Sidonia; which Paris brought from thence, Sailing the broad sea, when he made that voyage of offence, In which he brought home Helena. That robe, transferr'd so far, (That was the undermost) she took; it glittered like a star; And with it went she to the fane, with many ladies more; Amongst whom fair-cheek'd Theano unlock'd the folded door; Chaste Theano, Antenor's wife, and of Cissëus' race, Sister to Hecuba, both born to that great king of Thrace. Her th' Ilions made Minerva's priest; and her they follow'd all Up to the temple's highest tow'r, where on their knees they fall, Lift up their hands, and fill the fane with ladies' piteous cries. Then lovely Theano took the veil, and with it she implies The great Palladium, praying thus: "Goddess of most renown In all the heav'n of Goddesses, great Guardian of our town, Rev'rend Minerva, break the lance of Diomed, cease his grace, Give him to fall in shameful flight, headlong, and on his face, Before our ports of Ilion, that instantly we may, Twelve unyok'd oxen-of-a-year, in this thy temple slay, To thy sole honour; take their bloods, and banish our offence; Accept Troy's zeal, her wives, and save her infants' innocence." She pray'd, but Pallas would not grant. Mean space was Hector come Where Alexander's lodgings were, that many a goodly room Had built in them by architects, of Troy's most curious sort, And were no lodgings, but a house; nor no house, but a court; Or had all these contain'd in them; and all within a tow'r, Next Hector's lodgings and the king's. The lov'd of heav'n's chief Pow'r, Hector, here enter'd. In his hand a goodly lance he bore, Ten cubits long; the brazen head went shining ill before, Help'd with a burnish'd ring of gold. He found his brother then Amongst the women, yet prepar'd to go amongst the men, For in their chamber he was set, trimming his arms, his shield, His curets, and was trying how his crookéd bow would yield To his straight arms. Amongst her maids was set the Argive Queen, Commanding them in choicest works. When Hector's eye had seen His brother thus accompanied, and that he could not bear The very touching of his arms but where the women were, And when the time so needed men, right cunningly he chid. That he might do it bitterly, his cowardice he hid, That simply made him so retir'd, beneath an anger, feign'd In him by Hector, for the hate the citizens sustain'd Against him, for the foil he took in their cause; and again, For all their gen'ral foils in his. So Hector seems to plain Of his wrath to them, for their hate, and not his cowardice; [4] As that were it that shelter'd him in his effeminacies, And kept him, in that dang'rous time, from their fit aid in fight; For which he chid thus: "Wretched man! So timeless is thy spite That 'tis not honest; and their hate is just, 'gainst which it bends. War burns about the town for thee; for thee our slaughter'd friends Besiege Troy with their carcasses, on whose heaps our high walls Are overlook'd by enemies; the sad sounds of their falls Without, are echo'd with the cries of wives and babes within; And all for thee; and yet for them thy honour cannot win Head of thine anger. Thou shouldst need no spirit to stir up thine, But thine should set the rest on fire, and with a rage divine Chastise impartially the best, that impiously forbears. Come forth, lest thy fair tow'rs and Troy be burn'd about thine ears." Paris acknowledg'd, as before, all just that Hector spake, Allowing justice, though it were for his injustice' sake; And where his brother put a wrath upon him by his art, He takes it, for his honour's sake, as sprung out of his heart, And rather would have anger seem his fault than cowardice; And thus he answer'd: "Since, with right, you join'd check with advice, And I hear you, give equal ear: It is not any spleen Against the town, as you conceive, that makes me so unseen, But sorrow for it; which to ease, and by discourse digest Within myself, I live so close; and yet, since men might wrest My sad retreat, like you, my wife with her advice inclin'd This my addression to the field; which was mine own free mind, As well as th' instance of her words; for though the foil were mine, Conquest brings forth her wreaths by turns. Stay then this haste of thine But till I arm, and I am made a cónsort for thee straight;— Or go, I'll overtake thy haste." Helen stood at receipt, And took up all great Hector's pow'rs, t' attend her heavy words, By which had Paris no reply. This vent her grief affords: "Brother (if I may call you so, that had been better born A dog, than such a horrid dame, as all men curse and scorn, A mischief-maker, a man-plague) O would to God, the day, That first gave light to me, had been a whirlwind in my way, And borne me to some desert hill, or hid me in the rage Of earth's most far-resounding seas, ere I should thus engage The dear lives of so many friends! Yet since the Gods have been Helpless foreseers of my plagues, they might have likewise seen That he they put in yoke with me, to bear out their award, Had been a man of much more spirit, and, or had noblier dar'd To shield mine honour with this deed, or with his mind had known Much better the upbraids of men, that so he might have shown (More like a man) some sense of grief for both my shame and his. But he is senseless, nor conceives what any manhood is, Nor now, nor ever after will; and therefore hangs, I fear, A plague above him. But come near, good brother; rest you here, Who, of the world of men, stands charg'd with most unrest for me, (Vile wretch) and for my lover's wrong; on whom a destiny So bitter is impos'd by Jove, that all succeeding times Will put, to our unended shames, in all men's mouths our crimes." He answer'd: "Helen, do not seek to make me sit with thee; I must not stay, though well I know thy honour'd love of me. My mind calls forth to aid our friends, in whom my absence breeds Longings to see me; for whose sakes, importune thou to deeds This man by all means, that your care may make his own make hast, And meet me in the open town, that all may see at last He minds his lover. I myself will now go home, and see My household, my dear wife, and son, that little hope of me; For, sister, 'tis without my skill, if I shall evermore Return, and see them, or to earth, her right in me, restore. The Gods may stoop me by the Greeks." This said, he went to see The virtuous princess, his true wife, white-arm'd Andromache. She, with her infant son and maid, was climb'd the tow'r about The sight of him that sought for her, weeping and crying out. Hector, not finding her at home, was going forth; retir'd; Stood in the gate; her woman call'd, and curiously inquir'd Where she was gone; bad tell him true, if she were gone to see His sisters, or his brothers' wives; or whether she should be At temple with the other dames, t' implore Minerva's ruth. Her woman answer'd: Since he ask'd, and urg'd so much the truth, The truth was she was neither gone, to see his brothers' wives, His sisters, nor t' implore the ruth of Pallas on their lives; But she (advertis'd of the bane Troy suffer'd, and how vast Conquest had made herself for Greece) like one distraught, made hast To ample Ilion with her son, and nurse, and all the way Mourn'd, and dissolv'd in tears for him. Then Hector made no stay, But trod her path, and through the streets, magnificently built, All the great city pass'd, and came where, seeing how blood was spilt, Andromache might see him come: who made as he would pass The ports without saluting her, not knowing where she was. She, with his sight, made breathless haste, to meet him; she, whose grace Brought him withal so great a dow'r; she that of all the race Of king Aëtion only liv'd; Aëtion, whose house stood Beneath the mountain Placius, environ'd with the wood Of Theban Hypoplace, being court to the Cilician land. She ran to Hector, and with her, tender of heart and hand, Her son, borne in his nurse's arms; when, like a heav'nly sign, Compact of many golden stars, the princely child did shine, Whom Hector call'd Scamandrius, but whom the town did name Astyanax, because his sire did only prop the same. Hector, though grief bereft his speech, yet smil'd upon his joy. Andromache cried out, mix'd hands, and to the strength of Troy Thus wept forth her affectión: "O noblest in desire! Thy mind, inflam'd with others' good, will set thyself on fire. Nor pitiest thou thy son, nor wife, who must thy widow be, If now thou issue; all the field will only run on thee. Better my shoulders underwent the earth, than thy decease; For then would earth bear joys no more; then comes the black increase Of griefs (like Greeks on Ilion). Alas! What one survives To be my refuge? One black day bereft sev'n brothers' lives, By stern Achilles; by his hand my father breath'd his last, His high-wall'd rich Cilician Thebes [5] sack'd by him, and laid wast; The royal body yet he left unspoil'd; religion charm'd That act of spoil; and all in fire he burn'd him cómplete arm'd; Built over him a royal tomb; and to the monument He left of him, th' Oreades (that are the high descent Of Ægis-bearing Jupiter) another of their own Did add to it, and set it round with elms; by which is shown, In theirs, the barrenness of death; yet might it serve beside To shelter the sad monument from all the ruffinous pride Of storms and tempests, us'd to hurt things or that noble kind, The short life yet my mother liv'd he sav'd, and serv'd his mind With all the riches of the realm; which not enough esteem'd He kept her pris'ner; whom small time, but much more wealth, redeem'd, And she, in sylvan Hypoplace, Cilicia rul'd again, But soon was over-rul'd by death; Diana's chaste disdain Gave her a lance, and took her life. Yet, all these gone from me, Thou amply render'st all; thy life makes still my father be, My mother, brothers; and besides thou art my husband too, Most lov'd, most worthy. Pity them, dear love, and do not go, For thou gone, all these go again; pity our common joy, Lest, of a father's patronage, the bulwark of all Troy, Thou leav'st him a poor widow's charge. Stay, stay then, in this tow'r, And call up to the wild fig-tree all thy retiréd pow'r; For there the wall is easiest scal'd, and fittest for surprise, And there, th' Ajaces, Idomen, th' Atrides, Diomed, thrice Have both survey'd and made attempt; I know not if induc'd By some wise augury, or the fact was naturally infus'd Into their wits, or courages." To this, great Hector said: "Be well assur'd, wife, all these things in my kind cares are weigh'd. But what a shame, and fear, it is to think how Troy would scorn (Both in her husbands, and her wives, whom long-train'd gowns adorn) That I should cowardly fly off! The spirit I first did breath Did never teach me that; much less, since the contempt of death Was settled in me, and my mind knew what a worthy was, Whose office is to lead in fight, and give no danger pass Without improvement. In this fire must Hector's trial shine; Here must his country, father, friends, be, in him, made divine. And such a stormy day shall come (in mind and soul I know) When sacred Troy shall shed her tow'rs, for tears of overthrow; When Priam, all his birth and pow'r, shall in those tears be drown'd. But neither Troy's posterity so much my soul doth wound, Priam, nor Hecuba herself, nor all my brothers' woes, (Who though so many, and so good, must all be food for foes) As thy sad state; when some rude Greek shall lead thee weeping hence, These free days clouded, and a night of captive violence Loading thy temples, out of which thine eyes must never see, But spin the Greek wives' webs of task, and their fetch water be To Argos, from Messeides, or clear Hyperia's spring; [6] Which howsoever thou abhorr'st, Fate's such a shrewish thing She will be mistress; whose curs'd hands, when they shall crush out cries From thy oppressions (being beheld by other enemies) Thus they will nourish thy extremes: 'This dame was Hector's wife, A man that, at the wars of Troy, did breathe the worthiest life Of all their army.' This again will rub thy fruitful wounds, To miss the man that to thy bands could give such narrow bounds. But that day shall not wound mine eyes; the solid heap of night Shall interpose, and stop mine ears against thy plaints, and plight." This said, he reach'd to take his son; who, of his arms afraid, And then the horse-hair plume, with which he was so overlaid, Nodded so horribly, he cling'd back to his nurse, and cried. Laughter affected his great sire, who doff'd, and laid aside His fearful helm, that on the earth cast round about it light; Then took and kiss'd his loving son, and (balancing his weight In dancing him) these loving vows to living Jove he us'd And all the other bench of Gods: "O you that have infus'd Soul to this infant, now set down this blessing on his star;— Let his renown be clear as mine; equal his strength in war; And make his reign so strong in Troy, that years to come may yield His facts this fame, when, rich in spoils, he leaves the conquer'd field Sown with his slaughters: 'These high deeds exceed his father's worth.' And let this echo'd praise supply the comforts to come forth Of his kind mother with my life." This said, th' heroic sire Gave him his mother; whose fair eyes fresh streams of love's salt fire Billow'd on her soft cheeks, to hear the last of Hector's speech, In which his vows compris'd the sum of all he did beseech In her wish'd comfort. So she took into her od'rous breast Her husband's gift; who, mov'd to see her heart so much oppress'd, He dried her tears, and thus desir'd: "Afflict me not, dear wife, With these vain griefs. He doth not live, that can disjoin my life And this firm bosom, but my fate; and fate, whose wings can fly? Noble, ignoble, fate controls. Once born, the best must die, Go home, and set thy housewif'ry on these extremes of thought; And drive war from them with thy maids; keep them from doing nought. These will be nothing; leave the cares of war to men, and me In whom, of all the Ilion race, they take their high'st degree." On went his helm; his princess home, half cold with kindly fears; When ev'ry fear turn'd back her looks, and ev'ry look shed tears. Foe-slaught'ring Hector's house soon reach'd, her many women there Wept all to see her: in his life great Hector's fun'rals were; Never look'd any eye of theirs to see their lord safe home, 'Scap'd from the gripes and pow'rs of Greece. And now was Paris come From his high tow'rs; who made no stay, when once he had put on His richest armour, but flew forth; the flints he trod upon Sparkled with lustre of his arms; his long-ebb'd spirits now flow'd The higher for their lower ebb. And as a fair steed, proud [7] With full-giv'n mangers, long tied up, and now, his head stall broke, He breaks from stable, runs the field, and with an ample stroke Measures the centre, neighs, and lifts aloft his wanton head, About his shoulders shakes his crest, and where he hath been fed, Or in some calm flood wash'd, or, stung with his high plight, he flies Amongst his females, strength put forth, his beauty beautifies, And, like life's mirror, bears his gait; so Paris from the tow'r Of lofty Pergamus came forth; he show'd a sun-like pow'r In carriage of his goodly parts, address'd now to the strife; And found his noble brother near the place he left his wife. Him thus respected he salutes: "Right worthy, I have fear That your so serious haste to field, my stay hath made forbear, And that I come not as you wish." He answer'd: "Honour'd man, Be confident, for not myself, nor any others, can Reprove in thee the work of fight, at least, not any such As is an equal judge of things; for thou hast strength as much As serves to execute a mind very important, but Thy strength too readily flies off, enough will is not put To thy ability. My heart is in my mind's strife sad, When Troy (out of her much distress, she and her friends have had By thy procurement) doth deprave thy noblesse in mine ears. But come, hereafter we shall calm these hard conceits of theirs, When, from their ports the foe expuls'd, high Jove to them hath giv'n Wish'd peace, and us free sacrifice to all the Powers of heav'n." THE END OF THE SIXTH BOOK.

[1] This Virgil imitates.

[2] Bellerophontis literæ. Ad Eras. This long speech many critics tax as untimely, being, as they take it, in the heat of fight; Hier. Vidas, a late observer, being eagerest against Homer. Whose ignorance in this I cannot but note, and prove to you; for, besides the authority and office of a poet, to vary and quicken his poem with these episodes, sometimes beyond the leisure of their actions, the critic notes not how far his forerunner prevents his worst as far; and sets down his speech at the sudden and strange turning of the Trojan field, set on a little before by Hector; and that so fiercely, it made an admiring stand among the Grecians, and therein gave fit time for these great captains to utter their admirations, the whole field in that part being to stand like their commanders. And then how full of decorum this gallant show and speech was to sound understandings, I leave only to such, and let our critics go cavil.

[3] Φρένας ἐξέλετο Ζεύς, Mentem ademit Jup., the text hath it; which only I alter of all Homer's original, since Plutarch against the Stoics excuses this supposed folly in Glaucus. Spondanus likewise encouraging my alterations, which I use for the loved and simple nobility of the free exchange in Glaucus, contrary to others that, for the supposed folly in Glaucus, turned his change into a proverb, χρύσεα χαλχείων, golden for brazen.

[4] Hector dissembles the cowardice he finds in Paris turning it, as if he chid him for his anger at the Trojans for hating him, being conquered by Menelaus, when it is for his effeminacy. Which is all paraphrastical in my translation.

[5] Thebes, a most rich city of Cilicia.

[6] The names of two fountains: of which one in Thessaly, the other near Argos, or, according to others, in Peloponnesus or Lacedæmon.

[7] His simile, high and expressive; which Virgil almost word for word hath translated, Æn. xi. (v. 492). THE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS [1] THE ARGUMENT

Hector, by Helenus' advice, doth seek Advent'rous combat on the boldest Greek, Nine Greeks stand up, acceptants ev'ry one, But lot selects strong Ajax Telamon. Both, with high honour, stand th' important fight, Till heralds part them by approached night. Lastly, they grave the dead. The Greeks erect A mighty wall, their navy to protect; Which angers Neptune. Jove, by hapless signs, In depth of night, succeeding woes divines. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Eta, Priam's strongest son Combats with Ajax Telamon.

This said, brave Hector through the Troy's bane-bringing knight; Made issue to th' insatiate field, resolv'd to fervent fight. And as the Weather-wielder sends to seamen prosp'rous gales, When with their sallow polish'd oars, long lifted from their falls, Their wearied arms, dissolv'd with toil, can scarce strike one stroke more; Like those sweet winds appear'd these lords, to Trojans tir'd before. Then fell they to the works of death. By Paris’ valour fell King Arëithous' hapless son, that did in Arna dwell, Menesthius, whose renownéd sire a club did ever bear, And of Phylomedusa gat, that had her eyes so clear, This slaughter'd issue. Hector's dart strook Eionëus dead; Beneath his good steel casque it pierc'd, above his gorget-stead. Glaucus, Hippolochus's son, that led the Lycian crew, Iphinous-Dexiades with sudden jav'lin slew, As he was mounting to his horse; his shoulders took the spear, And ere he sate, in tumbling, down, his powers dissolvéd were. When gray-ey'd Pallas had perceiv'd the Greeks so fall in fight, From high Olympus' top she stoop'd, and did on Ilion light. Apollo, to encounter her, to Pergamus did fly, From whence he, looking to the field, wish'd Trojans' victory. At Jove's broad beech these Godheads met; and first Jove's son objects; "Why, burning in contention thus, do thy extreme affects Conduct thee from our peaceful hill? Is it to oversway The doubtful victory of fight, and give the Greeks the day? Thou never pitiest perishing Troy. Yet now let me persuade, That this day no more mortal wounds may either side invade. Hereafter, till the end of Troy, they shall apply the fight, Since your immortal wills resolve to overturn it quite." Pallas replied: "It likes me well; for this came I from heav'n; But to make either armies cease, what order shall be giv'n?" He said: "We will direct the spirit, that burns in Hector's breast, To challenge any Greek to wounds, with single pow'rs impress'd; Which Greeks, admiring, will accept, and make some one stand out So stout a challenge to receive, with a defence as stout." It is confirm'd; and Helenus (king Priam's lovéd seed) By augury discern'd th' event that these two pow'rs decreed, And greeting Hector ask'd him this: "Wilt thou be once advis'd? I am thy brother, and thy life with mine is ev'nly prized. Command the rest of Troy and Greece; to cease this public fight, And, what Greek bears the greatest mind, to single strokes excite. I promise thee that yet thy soul shall not descend to fates; So heard I thy survival cast, by the celestial States." Hector with glad allowance gave his brother's counsel ear, And, fronting both the hosts, advanc'd just in the midst his spear. The Trojans instantly surcease; the Greeks Atrides stay'd. The God that bears the silver bow, and war's triumphant Maid, On Jove's beech like two vultures sat, pleas'd to behold both parts Flow in to hear, so sternly arm'd with huge shields, helms, and darts. And such fresh horror as you see, driv'n through the wrinkled waves By rising Zephyr, under whom the sea grows black, and raves; Such did the hasty gath'ring troops' of both hosts make to hear; Whose tumult settled, 'twixt them both, thus spake the challenger: "Hear, Trojans, and ye well-arm'd Greeks, what my strong mind, diffus'd Through all my spirits, commands me speak: Saturnius hath not us'd His promis'd favour for our truce, but, studying both our ills, Will never cease, till Mars, by you, his rav'nous stomach fills. With ruin'd Troy, or we consume your mighty sea-borne fleet. Since then the gen'ral peers of Greece in reach of one voice meet, Amongst you all, whose breast includes the most impulsive mind, Let him stand forth as combatant, by all the rest design'd. Before whom thus I call high Jove, to witness of our strife:— If he with home-thrust iron can reach th' exposure of my life, Spoiling my arms, let him at will convey them to his tent, But let my body be return'd, that Troy's two-sex'd descent May waste it in the fun'ral pile. If I can slaughter him, Apollo honouring me so much, I'll spoil his conquer'd limb, And bear his arms to Ilion, where in Apollo's shrine I'll hang them, as my trophies due; his body I'll resign To be disposed by his friends in flamy funerals, And honour'd with erected tomb, where Hellespontus falls Into Ægæum, and doth reach ev'n to your naval road, That, when our beings in the earth shall hide their period, Survivors, sailing the black sea, may thus his name renew: 'This is his monument whose blood long since did fates imbrue, Whom, passing far in fortitude illustrate Hector slew.' This shall posterity report, and my fame never die." This said, dumb silence seiz'd them all; they shaméd to deny, And fear'd to undertake. At last did Menelaus speak, Check'd their remissness, and so sigh'd, as if his heart would break: "Ah me! But only threat'ning Greeks, not worthy Grecian names! [2] This more and more, not to be borne, makes grow our huge defames, If Hector's honourable proof be entertain'd by none. But you are earth and water all, which, symboliz'd in one, Have fram'd your faint unfi'ry spirits; ye sit without your hearts, Grossly inglorious; but myself will use acceptive darts, And arm against him, though you think I arm 'gainst too much odds; But conquest's garlands hang aloft, amongst th' Immortal Gods." He arm'd, and gladly would have fought; but Menelaus, then, By Hector's far more strength, thy soul had fled th' abodes of men, Had not the kings of Greece stood up, and thy attempt restrain'd; And ev'n the king of men himself, that in such compass reign'd, Who took him by the bold right hand, and sternly pluck'd him back: "Mad brother, 'tis no work for thee, thou seek'st thy wilful wrack! Contain, though it despite thee much, nor for this strife engage Thy person with a man more strong, and whom all fear t' enrage; Yea whom Æacides himself, in men-renowning war, Makes doubt t' encounter, whose huge strength surpasseth thine by far. Sit thou then by thy regiment; some other Greek will rise (Though he be dreadless, and no war will his desires suffice, That makes this challenge to our strength) our valours to avow; To whom, if he can 'scape with life, he will be glad to bow." This drew his brother from his will, who yielded, knowing it true, And his glad soldiers took his arms; when Nestor did pursue The same reproof he set on foot, and thus supplied his turn: "What huge indignity is this! How will our country mourn! Old Peleus that good king will weep, that worthy counsellor, That trumpet of the Myrmidons, who much did ask me for All men of name that went to Troy; with joy he did inquire Their valour and their towardness, and I made him admire; But, that ye all fear Hector now, if his grave ears shall hear, How will he lift his hands to heav'n, and pray that death may bear His grieved soul into the deep! O would to heav'n's great King, [3] Minerva, and the God of light, that now my youthful spring Did flourish in my willing veins, as when at Phæa's tow'rs About the streams of Jardanus, my gather'd Pylean pow'rs, And dart-employ'd Arcadians, fought, near raging Celadon! Amongst whom, first of all, stood forth great Ereuthalion, Who th' arms of Arëithoús wore, brave Arëithoús, And, since he still fought with a club, surnam'd Clavigerus, All men, and fair-girt ladies both, for honour call'd him so. He fought not with a keep-off spear, or with a far-shot bow, But, with a massy club of iron, he broke through arméd bands. And yet Lycurgus was his death, but not with force of hands; With sleight (encount'ring in a lane, where his club wanted sway) He thrust him through his spacious waist; who fell, and upwards lay, In death not bowing his face to earth; his arms he did despoil, Which iron Mars bestow'd on him; and those, in Mars's toil, Lycurgus ever after wore; but when he agéd grew, Enforc'd to keep his peaceful house, their use he did renew On mighty Ereuthalion's limbs, his soldier, lovéd well; And, with these arms he challeng'd all, that did in arms excel; All shook, and stood dismay'd, none durst his adverse champion make. Yet this same forward mind of mine, of choice, would undertake To fight with all his confidence; though youngest enemy Of all the army we conduct, yet I fought with him, I, Minerva made me so renown'd, and that most tall strong peer I slew; his big bulk lay on earth, extended here and there, As it were covetous to spread the centre ev'rywhere. O that my youth were now as fresh, and all my pow'rs as sound, Soon should bold Hector be impugn'd! Yet you that most are crown'd With fortitude of all our host, ev'n you methinks are slow, Not free, and set on fire with lust, t' encounter such a foe." With this, nine royal princes rose. Atrides for the first; Then Diomed; th' Ajaces then, that did th' encounter thirst; King Idomen and his consórts; Mars-like Meriones; Evemon's son, Eurypylus: and Andræmonides, Whom all the Grecians Thoas call'd, sprung of Andræmon's blood; And wise Ulysses; ev'ry one, propos'd for combat, stood. Again Gerenius Nestor spake: "Let lots be drawn by all; His hand shall help the well-arm'd Greeks, on whom the lot doth fall, And to his wish shall he be help'd, if he escape with life The harmful danger-breathing fit of his advent'rous strife." Each mark'd his lot, and cast it into Agamemnon's casque. The soldiers pray'd, held up their hands, and this of Jove did ask, With eyes advanc'd to heav'n: "O Jove, so lead the herald's hand, That Ajax, or great Tydeus' son, may our wish'd champion stand, Or else the king himself that rules the rich Mycenian land." This said, old Nestor mix'd the lots. The foremost lot survey'd With Ajax Telamon was sign'd, as all the soldiers pray'd; One of the heralds drew it forth, who brought and show'd it round, Beginning at the right hand first, to all the most renown'd. None knowing it, ev'ry man denied; but when he forth did pass To him which mark'd and cast it in; which famous Ajax was, He stretch'd his hand, and into it the herald put the lot, Who, viewing it, th' inscription knew; the duke deniéd not, But joyfully acknowledg'd it, and threw it at his feet, And said: "O friends, the lot is mine, which to my soul is sweet; For now I hope my fame shall rise, in noble Hector's fall. But, whilst I arm myself, do you on great Saturnius call, But silently, or to yourselves, that not a Trojan hear; Or openly, if you think good, since none alive we fear. None with a will, if I will not, can my bold pow'rs affright, At least for plain fierce swing of strength, or want of skill in fight; For I will well prove that my birth; and breed, in Salamine Wasas not all consecrate to meat, or mere effects of wine." This said, the well-giv'n soldiers pray'd; up went to heav'n their eyne: "O Jove, that Ida dost protect, most happy, most divine, Send victory to Ajax' side; fame; grace his goodly limb; Or (if thy love bless Hector's life, and thou hast care of him.) Bestow on both like pow'r, like fame." This said, in bright arms, shone The good strong Ajax; who, when all his war attire was on, March'd like the hugely-figur'd Mars, when angry Jupiter With strength, on people proud of strength, sends him forth to infer Wreakful contention, and comes on with presence full of fear; So th' Achive rampire, Telamon, did 'twixt the hosts appear; Smil'd; yet of terrible aspéct; on earth, with ample pace, He boldly stalk'd, and shook aloft his dart with deadly grace. It did the Grecians good to see; but heartquakes shook the joints Of all the Trojans, Hector's self felt thoughts, with horrid points, Tempt his bold bosom; but he now must make no counterflight, Nor, with his honour, now refuse, that had provok'd the fight. Ajax came near; and, like a tow'r, his shield his bosom barr'd, The right side brass, and sev'n ox-hides within it quilted hard; [4] Old Tychius, the best currier; that did in Hyla dwell, Did frame it for exceeding proof, and wrought it wondrous well. With this stood he to Hector close, and with this brave began: "Now, Hector, thou shalt clearly know, thus meeting man to man, What other leaders arm our host, besides great Thetis' son, Who with his hardy lion's heart hath armies overrun; But he lies at our crook'd-stern'd fleet, a rival with our king In height of spirit; yet to Troy he many knights did bring, Coequal with Æacides, all able to sustain All thy bold challenge can import. Begin then, words are vain," The helm-grac'd Hector answer'd him: "Renownéd Telamon, Prince of the soldiers came from Greece, assay not me, like one Young and immartial, with great words, as to an Amazon dame; I have the habit of all fights, and know the bloody frame Of ev'ry slaughter; I well know the ready right hand charge, I know the left, and ev'ry sway of my secureful targe; I triumph in the cruelty of fixéd combat fight, And manage horse to all designs; I think then with good right I may be confident as far as this my challenge goes, Without being taxéd' with a vaunt, borne out with empty shows. But, being a soldier so renown'd, I will not work on thee With least advantage of that skill I know doth strengthen me, And so, with privity of sleight, win that for which I strive, But at thy best, ev'n open strength, if my endeavours thrive." Thus sent he his long jav'lin forth. It strook his foe's huge shield Near to the upper skirt of brass, which was the eighth it held. Six folds th' untamed dart strook through, and in the sev'nth tough hide The point was check'd. Then Ajax threw; his angry lance did glide Quite through his bright orbicular targe, his curace, shirt of mail, And did his manly stomach's mouth with dang'rous taint assail; But, in the bowing of himself, black death too short did strike. Then both, to pluck their jav'lins forth, encounter'd, lion-like, Whose bloody violence is, increas'd by that raw food they eat, Or boars whose strength wild nourishment doth make so wondrous great. Again Priamides did wound in midst his shield of brass, Yet pierc'd not through the upper plate, the head reflected was. But Ajax, following his lance, smote through his target quite, And stay'd bold Hector rushing in; the lance held way outright, And hurt his neck; out gush'd the blood. Yet Hector ceas'd not so, But in his strong hand took a flint, as he did backwards go, Black, sharp, and big, laid in the field; the sev'nfold targe it smit Full on the boss, and round about the brass did ring with it. But Ajax a far greater stone lift up, and (wreathing round, With all his body laid to it) he sent it forth to wound, And gave unmeasur'd force to it; the round stone broke within His rundled target; his lov'd knees to languish did begin; And he lean'd, stretch'd out on his shield; but Phœbus rais'd him straight. Then had they laid on wounds with swords, in use of closer fight, Unless the heralds (messengers of Gods and godlike men) The one of Troy, the other Greece, had held betwixt them then Imperial sceptres; when the one, Idæus, grave and wise, Said to them: "Now no more, my sons; the Sov'reign of the skies Doth love you both; both soldiers are, all witness with good right; But now night lays her mace on earth; 'tis good t' obey the night." "Idæus," Telamon replied, "to Hector speak, not me; He that call'd all our Achive peers to station-fight, 'twas he; If he first cease, I gladly yield." Great Hector then began: "Ajax, since Jove, to thy big form, made thee so strong a man, And gave thee skill to use thy strength, so much, that for thy spear Thou art most excellent of Greece, now let us fight forbear. Hereafter we shall war again, till Jove our herald be, And grace with conquest which he will. Heav'n yields to night, and we. Go thou and comfort all thy fleet, all friends and men of thine, As I in Troy my favourers, who in the fane divine Have offer'd orisons for me; and come, let us impart Some ensigns of our strife, to show each other's suppled heart, That men of Troy and Greece may say, Thus their high quarrel ends. Those that, encount'ring, were such foes, are now, being sep'rate, friends," He gave a sword, whose handle was with silver studs through driv'n, [5] Scabbard and all, with hangers rich. By Telamon was giv'n A fair well-glosséd purple waist. Thus Hector went to Troy, And after him a multitude, fill'd with his safety's joy, Despairing he could ever 'scape the puissant fortitude And unimpeachéd Ajax' hands. The Greeks like joy renew'd For their reputed victory, and brought him to the king; Who to the great Saturnides preferr'd an offering, An ox that fed on five fair springs; they flay'd and quarter'd him, [6] And then, in pieces cut, on spits they roasted ev'ry limb; Which neatly dress'd, they drew it off. Work done, they fell to feast; All had enough; but Telamon, the king fed past the rest With good large pieces of the chine. Thus thirst and hunger stay'd, Nestor, whose counsels late were best, vows new, and first he said: "Atrides, and my other lords, a sort of Greeks are dead, Whose black blood, near Scamander's stream, inhuman Mars hath shed; Their souls to hell descended are. It fits thee then, our king, To make our soldiers cease from war; and, by the day's first spring, Let us ourselves, assembled all, the bodies bear to fire, With mules and oxen near our fleet, that, when we home retire, Each man may carry to the sons, of fathers slaughter'd here, Their honour'd bones. One tomb for all, for ever, let us rear, Circling the pile without the field; at which we will erect Walls, and a rav'lin, that may safe our fleet and us protect. And in them let us fashion gates, solid, and barr'd about, Through which our horse, and chariots, may well get in and out. Without all, let us dig a dike, so deep it may avail Our forces 'gainst the charge of horse, and foot, that come t' assail. And thus th' attempts, that I see swell, in Troy's proud heart, shall fail." The kings do his advice approve. So Troy doth court convent At Priam's gate, in th' Ilion tow'r, fearful and turbulent. Amongst all, wise Antenor spake: "Trojans, and Dardan friends, And peers assistants, give good ear to what my care commends To your consents, for all our good. Resolve, let us restore The Argive Helen, with her wealth, to him she had before. We now defend but broken faiths. If, therefore, ye refuse, No good event can I expect of all the wars, we use." He ceas'd; and Alexander spake; husband to the Argive queen: "Antenor, to mine ears thy words harsh and ungracious been. Thou canst use better if thou wilt: but, if these truly fit Thy serious thoughts, the Gods with age have reft thy graver wit, To warlike Trojans I will speak: I clearly do deny To yield my wife, but all her wealth I render willingly, Whatever I from Argos brought, and vow to make it more, Which I have ready in my house, if peace I may restore." Priam, surnam'd Dardanides, godlike; in counsels grave; In his son's favour well-advis'd, this resolution gave: "My royal friends of ev'ry state, there is sufficient done, For this late council we have call'd, in th' offer of my son. Now then let all take needful food, then let the watch be set, And ev'ry court of guard held strong; so, when the morn doth wet The high-rais'd battlements of Troy, Idæus shall be sent To th' Argive fleet, and Atreus' sons, t' unfold my son's intent, From whose fact our contention springs; and, if they will, obtain Respite from heat of fight, till fire consume our soldiers slain; And after, our most fatal war let us importune still, Till Jove the conquest have dispos'd to his unconquer'd will." All heard, and did obey the king; and, in their quarters, all, That were to set the watch that night, did to their suppers fall. Idæus in the morning went, and th' Achive peers did find In council at Atrides' ship; his audience was assign'd; And, in the midst of all the kings, the vocal herald said: "Atrides! My renownéd king, and other kings, his aid, Propose by me, in their commands, the offers Paris makes, From whose joy all our woes proceed. He princely undertakes That all the wealth he brought from Greece (would he had died before!) He will, with other added wealth, for your amends restore But famous Menelaus' wife he still means to enjoy, Though he be urg'd the contrary, by all the peers of Troy. And this besides I have in charge, that, if it please you all, They wish both sides may cease from war, that rites of funeral May on their bodies be perform'd, that ill, the fields lie slain; And after, to the will of Fate, renew the fight again." All silence held at first; at last Tydides made reply: "Let no man take the wealth, or dame; for now a child's weak eye May see the imminent black end of Priam's empery." This sentence, quick and briefly giv'n, the Greeks did all admire. Then said, the king: "Herald, thou hear'st the voice entire Of all our peers, to answer thee, for that of Priam's son. But, for our burning of the dead, by all means I am won To satisfy thy king therein, without the slend'rest gain Made of their spoiléd carcasses; but freely, being slain, They shall be all consum'd with fire. To which I cite High thund'ring Jove; that is the king of Juno's delight." With this, he held his sceptre up, to all the sky-thron'd Pow'rs; And grave Idæus did return to sacred Ilion's tow'rs, Where Ilians, and Dardanians, did still their counsels ply, Expecting his return. He came, and told his legacy. All, whirlwind-like, assembled then, some bodies to transport, Some to hew trees. On th' other part, the Argives did exhort Their soldiers to the same affairs. Then, did the new fir'd sun Smite the broad fields, ascending heav'n, and th' ocean smooth did run; When Greece and Troy mix'd in such peace, you scarce could either know. Then wash'd they off their blood and dust, and did warm tears bestow Upon the slaughter'd, and in cars convey'd them from the field. Priam commanded none should mourn, but in still silence yield Their honour'd carcasses to fire, and only grieve in heart. All burn'd; to Troy Troy's friends retire, to fleet the Grecian part. Yet doubtful night obscur'd the earth, the day did not appear, When round about the fun'ral pile, the Grecians gather'd were. The pile they circled with a tomb, and by it rais'd a wall, High tow'rs, to guard the fleet and them; and in the midst of all They built strong gates, through which the horse and chariots passage had; Without the rampire a broad dike, long and profound, they made, On which they pallisadoes pitch'd; and thus the Grecians wrought. Their huge works in so little time were to perfection brought, That all Gods, by the Lightner set, the frame thereof admir'd; 'Mongst whom the Earthquake-making God, this of their king inquir'd: "Father of Gods, will any man, of all earth's grassy sphere, Ask any of the Gods' consents to any actions there, If thou wilt see the shag-hair'd Greeks, with headstrong labours frame So huge a work, and not to us due off'rings first enflame? As far as white Aurora's dews are sprinkled through the air, Fame will renown the hands of Greece, for this divine affair; Men will forget the sacred work, the Sun and I did raise For king Laomedon (bright Troy) and this will bear the praise." Jove was extremely mov'd with him, and said: "What words are these, Thou mighty Shaker of the earth, thou Lord of all the seas? Some other God, of far less pow'r, might hold conceits, dismay'd With this rare Grecian stratagem, and thou rest well apaid; [7] For it will glorify thy name, as far as light extends; Since, when these Greeks shall see again their native soil and friends, The bulwark batter'd, thou mayst quite devour it with thy waves, And cover, with thy fruitless sands, this fatal shore of graves; That, what their fi'ry industries have so divinely wrought In raising it, in razing it thy pow'r will prove it nought." Thus spake the Gods among themselves. Set was the fervent sun; And now the great work of the Greeks was absolutely done. Then slew they oxen in their tents, and strength with food reviv'd, When out of Lemnos a great fleet of od'rous wine arrived, Sent by Eunëus, Jason's son, born of Hypsipyle. The fleet contain'd a thousand tun, which must transported be To Atreus' sons, as he gave charge, whose merchandise it was. The Greeks bought wine for shining steel, and some for sounding brass, Some for ox-hides, for oxen some, and some for prisoners. A sumptuous banquet was prepar'd; and all that night the peers And fair-hair'd Greeks consum'd in feast. So Trojans, and their aid. And all the night Jove thunder'd loud; pale fear all thoughts dismay'd. While they were gluttonous in earth, Jove wrought their banes in heav'n. They pour'd full cups upon the ground, and were to off'rings driv'n Instead of quaffings; and to drink, none durst attempt, before In solemn sacrifice they did almighty Jove adore. Then to their rests they all repair'd; bold zeal their fear bereav'd; And sudden sleep's refreshing gift, securely they receiv'd. THE END OF THE SEVENTH BOOK.

[1] These next four books have not my last hand; and because the rest (for a time) will be sufficient to employ your censures, suspend them of these. Spare not the other.

[2] O verè Phrygiæ, neque enim Phryges; saith his imitator.

[3] O si præteritos referat mihi Jupiter annos Qualis eram, etc.

[4] Hine illud: Dominus clypei septemplicis Ajax.

[5] Hector gives Ajax a sword; Ajax, Hector a girdle. Both which gifts were afterwards cause of both their deaths.

[6] Virgil imit.

[7] The fortification that in the twelfth book is razed. THE EIGHTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

When Jove to all the Gods had giv'n command, That none to either host should helpful stand, To Ida he descends; and sees from thence Juno and Pallas haste the Greeks' defence; Whose purpose, his command, by Iris given, Doth intervent. Then came the silent even, When Hector charg'd fires should consume the night, Lest Greeks in darkness took suspected flight. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Theta, Gods a Council have. Troy's conquest. Glorious Hector's brave.

The cheerful Lady of the light, deck'd in her saffron robe, Dispers'd her beams through ev'ry part of this enflow'red globe, When thund'ring Jove a Court of Gods assembled by his will In top of all the topful heights, that crown th' Olympian hill. He spake, and all the Gods gave ear: "Hear how I stand inclin'd, That God nor Goddess may attempt t' infringe my sov'reign mind, But all give suffrage that with speed I may these discords end. What God soever I shall find endeavour to defend Or Troy or Greece, with wounds to heav'n he, sham'd, shall reascend; Or, taking with him his offence, I'll cast him down as deep As Tartarus, the brood of night, where Barathrum doth steep [1] Torment, in his profoundest sinks, where is the floor of brass, And gates of iron; the place, for depth, as far doth hell surpass, As heav'n, for height, exceeds the earth; then shall he know from thence How much my pow'r, past all the Gods, hath sov'reign eminence. Endanger it the whiles and see. Let down our golden chain, And at it let all Deities their utmost strengths constrain To draw me to the earth from heav'n; you never shall prevail, Though, with your most contention, ye dare my state assail, But when my will shall be dispos'd, to draw you all to me, Ev'n with the earth itself, and seas, ye shall enforced be; Then will I to Olympus' top our virtuous engine bind, And by it ev'rything shall hang, by my command inclin'd. So much I am supreme to Gods, to men supreme as much." The Gods sat silent, and admir'd, his dreadful speech was such. At last his blue-ey'd daughter spake: "O great Saturnides! O father, O heav'n's highest king, well know we the excess Of thy great pow'r, compar'd with all; yet the bold Greeks' estate We needs must mourn, since they must fall beneath so hard a fate; For, if thy grave command enjoin, we will abstain from fight. But to afford them such advice, as may relieve their plight, We will, with thy consent, be bold; that all may not sustain The fearful burthen of thy wrath, and with their shames be slain." He smil'd, and said: "Be confident, thou art belov'd of me; I speak not this with serious thoughts, but will be kind to thee." This said, his brass-hoof'd wingéd horse he did to chariot bind, Whose crests were fring'd with manes of gold; and golden garments shin'd On his rich shoulders; in his hand he took a golden scourge, Divinely fashion'd, and with blows their willing speed did urge Mid way betwixt the earth and heav'n. To Ida: then he came, Abounding in delicious springs, and nurse of beasts untame, Where, on the mountain Gargarus, men did a fane erect To his high name, and altars sweet; and there his horse he check'd, Dissolv'd them from his chariot, and in a cloud of jet He cover'd them, and on the top took his triumphant seat, Beholding Priam's famous town, and all the fleet of Greece. The Greeks took breakfast speedily, and arm'd at ev'ry piece. So Trojans; who though fewer far, yet all to fight took arms, Dire need enforc'd them to avert their wives' and children's harms. All gates flew open; all the host did issue, foot and horse, In mighty tumult; straight one place adjoin'd each adverse force. Then shields with shields met, darts with darts, strength against strength oppos'd; The boss-pik'd targets were thrust on, and thunder'd as they clos'd In mighty tumult; groan for groan, and breath for breath did breathe, Of men then slain, and to be slain; earth flow'd with fruits of death. While the fair morning's beauty held, and day increas'd in height, Their jav'lins mutually made death transport an equal freight, But when the hot meridian point, bright Phœbus did ascend, Then Jove his golden balances did equally extend, And, of long-rest-conferring death, put in two bitter fates For Troy and Greece; he held the midst; the day of final dates Fell on the Greeks; the Greeks' hard lot sunk to the flow'ry ground, The Trojans' leapt as high as heav'n. Then did the claps resound Of his fierce thunder; lightning leapt amongst each Grecian troop; The sight amaz'd them; pallid fear made boldest stomachs stoop, Then Idomen durst not abide, Atrides went his way, And both th' Ajaces; Nestor yet, against his will did stay, That grave protector of the Greeks, for Paris with a dart Enrag'd one of his chariot horse; he smote the upper part Of all his skull, ev'n where the hair, that made his foretop, sprung. The hurt was deadly, and the pain so sore the courser stung, (Pierc'd to the brain) he stamp'd and plung'd. One on another bears, Entangled round about the beam; then Nestor cut the gears With his new-drawn authentic sword. Meanwhile the fi'ry horse Of Hector brake into the press, with their bold ruler's force; Then good old Nestor had been slain, had Diomed not espy'd, Who to Ulysses, as he fled, importunately cried: "Thou that in counsels dost abound, O Laertiades, Why fly'st thou? Why thus, coward-like, shunn'st thou the honour'd prease? Take heed thy back take not a dart. Stay, let us both intend To drive this cruel enemy, from our dear agéd friend." He spake, but wary Ithacus would find no patient ear, But fled forthright, ev'n to the fleet. Yet, though he single were, Brave Diomed mix'd amongst the fight, and stood before the steeds Of old Neleides, whose estate thus kingly he areeds: "O father, with these youths in fight, thou art unequal plac'd, Thy willing sinews are unknit, grave age pursues thee fast, And thy unruly horse are slow; my chariot therefore use, And try how ready Trojan horse, can fly him that pursues, Pursue the flier, and ev'ry way perform the varied fight; I forc'd them from Anchises' son, well skill'd in cause of flight. Then let my squire lead hence thy horse; mine thou shalt guard, whilst I, By thee advanc'd, assay the fight, that Hector's self may try If my lance dote with the defects, that fail best minds in age, Or finds the palsy in my hands, that doth thy life engage." This noble Nestor did accept, and Diomed's two friends, Eurymedon that valour loves, and Sthenelus, ascends Old Nestor's coach. Of Diomed's horse Nestor the charge sustains, And Tydeus' son took place of fight. Neleides held the reins, And scourg'd the horse, who swiftly ran direct in Hector's face; Whom fierce Tydides bravely charg'd, but, he turn'd from the chace, His jav'lin Eniopeus smit, mighty Thebæus' son, And was great Hector's charioteer; it through his breast did run, Near to his pap; he fell to earth, back flew his frighted horse, His strength and soul were both dissolv'd. Hector had deep remorse Of his mishap; yet left he him, and for another sought; Nor long his steeds did want a guide, for straight good fortune brought Bold Archeptolemus, whose life did from Iphitis spring; He made him take the reins and mount. Then souls were set on wing; Then high exploits were undergone; then Trojans in their walls Had been infolded like meek lambs, had Jove wink'd at their falls, Who hurl'd his horrid thunder forth, and made pale lightnings fly. Into the earth, before the horse that Nestor did apply. A dreadful flash burnt through the air, that savour'd sulphur-like, Which down before the chariot the dazzled horse did strike. The fair reins fell from Nestor's hand, who did in fear entreat Renown'd Tydides into flight to turn his fury's heat: "For know'st thou not," said he, "our aid is not supplied from Jove? This day he will give fame to Troy, which when it fits his love We shall enjoy. Let no man tempt his unresisted will, Though he exceed in gifts of strength; for he exceeds him still." "Father," replied the king, "'tis true; but both my heart and soul Are most extremely griev'd to think how Hector will control My valour with his vaunts in Troy, that I was terror-sick With his approach; which when he boasts, let earth devour me quick." "Ah! warlike Tydeus' son," said he, "what needless words are these? Though Hector should report thee faint, and amorous of thy ease, The Trojans, nor the Trojan wives, would never give him trust, Whose youthful husbands thy free hand hath smother'd so in dust." This said, he turn'd his one-hoof'd horse to flight, and troop did take, When Hector and his men, with shouts, did greedy púrsuit make, And pour'd on darts that made air sigh. Then Hector did exclaim: "O Tydeus' son, the kings of Greece do most renown thy name With highest place, feasts, and full cups; who now will do thee shame; Thou shalt be like a woman us'd, and they will say: 'Depart, Immartial minion, since to stand Hector thou hadst no heart.' Nor canst thou scale our turrets' tops, nor lead the wives to fleet Of valiant men; that wife-like fear'st my adverse charge to meet." This two ways mov'd him,—still to fly, or turn his horse and fight. Thrice thrust he forward to assault, and ev'ry time the fright Of Jove's fell thunder drave him back, which he propos'd for sign (To show the change of victory) Trojans should victors shine. Then Hector comforted his men: "All my advent'rous friends, Be men, and, of your famous strength, think of the honour'd ends. I know benevolent Jupiter, did by his beck profess Conquest and high renown to me, and to the Greeks distress. O fools, to raise such silly forts, not worth the least account, Nor able to resist our force! With ease our horse may mount, Quite over all their hollow dike. But, when their fleet I reach, Let Memory to all the world a famous bonfire teach, For I will all their ships inflame, with whose infestive smoke, Fear-shrunk, and hidden near their keels, the conquer'd Greeks shall choke." Then cherish'd he his famous horse: "O Xanthus, now," said he, "And thou Podargus, Æthon too, and Lampus, dear to me, Make me some worthy recompense, for so much choice of meat, Giv'n you by fair Andromache; bread of the purest wheat, And with it, for your drink, mix'd wine, to make ye wishéd cheer, Still serving you before myself, her husband young and dear. Pursue, and use your swiftest speed, that we may take for prise The shield of old Neleides, which fame lifts to the skies, Ev'n to the handles telling it to be of massy gold. And from the shoulders let us take, of Diomed the bold, The royal curace Vulcan wrought, with art so exquisite, These if we make our sacred spoil, I doubt not, but this night, Ev'n to their navy to enforce the Greeks unturnéd flight." This Juno took in high disdain, and made Olympus shake As she but stirr'd within her throne, and thus to Neptune spake: "O Neptune, what a spite is this! Thou God so huge in pow'r, Afflicts it not thy honour'd heart, to see rude spoil devour These Greeks that have in Helice, and Aege, offer'd thee So many and such wealthy gifts? Let them the victors be. If we, that are the aids of Greece, would beat home these of Troy, And hinder broad-ey'd Jove's proud will, it would abate his joy." He, angry, told her she was rash, and he would not be one Of all the rest, should: strive with Jove, whose pow'r was match'd by none. Whiles they conferr'd thus, all the space the trench contain'd before (From that part of the fort that flank'd the navy-anchoring shore) Was filled with horse and targeteers, who there for refuge came, By Mars-swift Hector's pow'r engaged; Jove gave his strength the fame; And he with spoilful fire had burn'd the fleet, if Juno's grace Had not inspir'd the king himself, to run from place to place, And stir up ev'ry soldier's pow'r, to some illustrious deed. First visiting their leaders' tents, his ample purple weed He wore, to show all who he was, and did his station take At wise Ulysses' sable barks, that did the battle make Of all the fleet; from whence his speech might with more ease be driv'n To Ajax' and Achilles' ships, to whose chief charge were giv'n The vantguard and the rearguard both, both for their force of hand, And trusty bosoms. There arriv'd, thus urg'd he to withstand Th' insulting Trojans: "O what shame, ye empty-hearted lords, Is this to your admiréd forms! Where are your glorious words, In Lemnos vaunting you the best of all the Grecian host? 'We are the strongest men,' ye said, 'we will command the most, Eating most flesh of high-horn'd beeves, and drinking cups full crown'd, And ev'ry man a hundred foes, two hundred, will confound; Now all our strength, dar'd to our worst; one Hector cannot tame,' Who presently with horrid fire, will all our fleet inflame. O Father Jove, hath ever yet thy most unsuffer'd hand Afflicted, with such spoil of souls, the king of any land, And taken so much fame from him? when I did never fail, (Since under most unhappy stars; this fleet was under sail) Thy glorious altars, I protest, but, above all the Gods, Have burnt fat thighs of beeves to thee, and pray'd to raze th' abodes Of rape-defending Ilions. Yet grant, almighty Jove, One favour;—that we may at least with life from hence remove, Not under such inglorious hands, the hands of death employ; And, where Troy should be stoop'd by Greece, let Greece fall under Troy." To this ev'n weeping king did Jove remorseful audience give, And shook great heav'n to him, for sign his men and he should live. Then quickly cast he off his hawk, the eagle prince of air, That perfects his unspotted vows; who seiz'd in her repair A sucking hind calf, which she truss'd in her enforcive seres, And by Jove's altar let it fall, amongst th' amazéd peers, Where the religious Achive kings, with sacrifice did please The author of all oracles, divine Saturnides. Now, when they knew the bird of Jove, they turn'd courageous head. When none, though many kings put on; could make his vaunt, he led Tydides to renew'd assault, or issu'd first the dike, Or first did fight; but, far the first, stone dead his lance did strike Arm'd Agelaus, by descent surnam'd Phradmonides; He turn'd his ready horse to flight, and Diomed's lance did seize His back betwixt his shoulder-blades, and look'd out at his breast; He fell, and his arms rang his fall. Th' Atrides next address'd Themselves to fight; th' Ajaces next, with vehement strength endued; Idomenëus and his friend, stout Merion, next pursued; And after these Eurypylus, Evemon's honour'd race; The ninth, with backward-wreathéd bow, had little Teucer place, He still fought under Ajax' shield, who sometimes held it by, And then he look'd his object out, and let his arrow fly, And, whomsoever in the press he wounded; him he slew, Then under Ajax' sev'n-fold shield, he presently withdrew. He far'd like an unhappy child, that doth to mother run For succour, when he knows full well, he some shrewd turn hath done. What Trojans then were to their deaths, by Teucer's shafts impress'd? Hapless Orsilochus was first, Ormenus, Ophelest, Dæter, and hardy Chromius, and Lycophon divine, And Amopaon that did spring from Polyæmon's line, And Menalippus; all, on heaps, he tumbled to the ground. The king rejoic'd to see his shafts the Phrygian ranks confound, Who straight came near, and spake to him: "O Teucer, lovely man, Strike still so sure, and be a grace to ev'ry Grecian, And to thy father Telamon, who took thee kindly home (Although not by his wife his son) and gave thee foster room, Ev'n from thy childhood; then to him, though far from hence remov'd, Make good fame reach; and to thyself, I vow what shall be prov'd: If he that dreadful Ægis bears, and Pallas, grant to me Th' expugnance of well-builded Troy; I first will honour thee Next to myself with some rich gift, and put it in thy hand: A three-foot vessel, that, for grace, in sacred fanes doth stand; Or two horse and a chariot; or else a lovely dame That may ascend on bed with thee, and amplify thy name." Teucer right nobly answer'd him: "Why, most illustrate king, I being thus forward of myself, dost thou, adjoin a sting? Without which, all the pow'r I have, I cease not to employ, For, from the place where we repuls'd the Trojans towards Troy, I all the purple field have strew'd, with, one or other slain. Eight shafts I shot, with long steel heads, of which not one in vain, All were in youthful bodies fix'd, well skill'd in war's constraint; Yet this wild dog; with all my aim, I have no pow'r to taint." This said, another arrow forth, from his stiff string he sent, At Hector, whom he long'd to wound; but still amiss it went. His shaft smit fair Gorgythion, of Priam's princely race, Who in Æpina was brought forth, a famous town in Thrace, By Castianira, that, for form, was like celestial breed; And, as a crimson poppy flow'r, surchargéd with his seed, And vernal humours falling thick, declines his heavy brow, So, of one side, his helmet's weight his fainting head did bow. Yet Teucer would, another shaft at Hector's life dispose, So fain he such a mark would hit, but still beside it goes; Apollo did avert the shaft; but Hector's charioteer, Bold Archeptolemus, he smit, as he was rushing near To make the fight; to earth he fell, his swift horse back did fly, And there were both his strength and soul exil'd eternally. Huge grief, for Hector's slaughter'd friend, pinch'd-in his mighty mind, Yet was he forc'd to leave him there, and his void place resign'd To his sad brother, that was by, Cebriones; whose ear Receiving Hector's charge, he straight the weighty reins did bear; And Hector from his shining coach, with horrid voice, leap'd on, To wreak his friend on Teucer's hand; and up he took a stone, With which he at the archer ran; who from his quiver drew A sharp-pil'd shaft, and nock'd it sure; but in great Hector flew With such fell speed, that; in his draught, he his right shoulder strook Where,'twixt his neck and breast, the joint his native closure took. The wound was wondrous full of death, his, string in sunder flees, His numméd hand fell strengthless down, and he upon his knees. Ajax neglected not to aid his brother thus depress'd, But came and saft him with his shield; and two more friends, address'd To be his aid, took him to fleet, Mecisteus, Echius' son, And gay Alastor. Teucer sigh'd, for all his service done. Then did Olympius, with fresh strength, the Trojan pow'rs revive, Who, to their trenches once again, the troubled Greeks did drive. Hector brought terror with his strength, and ever fought before. As when some highly stomach'd hound, that hunts a sylvan boar, Or kingly lion, loves the haunch, and pincheth oft behind, Bold of his feet, and still observes the game to turn inclin'd, Not utterly dissolv'd in flight; so Hector did pursue, And whosoever was the last, he ever did subdue, They fled, but, when they had their dike, and palisadoes, pass'd, (A number of them put to sword) at ships they stay'd at last. Then mutual exhortations flew, then, all with hands and eyes Advanc'd to, all the Gods, their plagues wrung from them open cries. Hector, with his four rich-man'd horse, assaulting always rode, The eyes of Gorgon burnt in him, and war's vermilion God. The Goddess that all Goddesses, for snowy arms, out-shin'd, Thus spake to Pallas, to the Greeks with gracious ruth inclin'd: "O Pallas, what a grief is this! Is all our succour past To these our perishing Grecian friends? At least withheld at last, Ev'n now, when one man's violence must make them perish all, In satisfaction of a fate so full of funeral? Hector Priamides now raves, no more to be endur'd. That hath already on the Greeks so many harms inur'd." The azure Goddess answer'd her: "This man had surely found His fortitude and life dissolv'd, ev'n on his father's ground, By Grecian valour, if my sire, infested with ill moods, Did not so dote on these of Troy, too jealous of their bloods, And ever an unjust repulse stands to my willing pow'rs, Little rememb'ring what I did, in all the desp'rate hours Of his affected Hercules; I ever rescu'd him, In labours of Eurystheüs, untouch'd in life or limb, When he, heav'n knows, with drownéd eyes look'd up for help to heav'n, Which ever, at command of Jove, was by my suppliance giv'n, But had my wisdom reach'd so far, to, know of this event, When to the solid-ported depths of hell his son was sent, To hale out hateful Pluto's dog from darksome Erebus, He had not 'scap'd the streams of Styx, so deep and dangerous. Yet Jove hates me, and shows his love in doing Thetis' will, That kiss'd his knees, and strok'd his chin, pray'd, and importun'd till, That he would honour with his aid her city-razing son, Displeas'd Achilles; and for him our friends are thus undone. But time shall come again, when he, to do his friends some aid, Will call me his Glaucopides, his sweet and blue-eyed Maid. Then harness thou thy horse for me, that his bright palace gates I soon may enter, arming me, to order these debates; And I will try if Priam's son will still maintain his cheer, When in the crimson paths of war, I dreadfully appear; For some proud Trojans shall be sure to nourish dogs and fowls, And pave the shore with fat and flesh, depriv'd of lives and souls." Juno prepar'd her horse, whose manes ribands of gold enlac'd. Pallas her party-colour'd robe on her bright shoulders cast, Divinely wrought with her own hands, in th' entry of her sire. Then put she on her ample breast her under-arming tire, And on it her celestial arms. The chariot straight she takes, With her huge heavy violent lance, with which she slaughter makes Of armies fatal to her wrath. Saturnia whipp'd horse, And heav'n-gates, guarded by the Hours, op'd by their proper force. Through which they flew. Whom when Jove saw (set near the Idalian springs) Highly, displeas'd, he Iris call'd, that hath the golden wings, And said: "Fly, Iris, turn them back, let them not come at me, Our meetings, sev'rally dispos'd, will nothing gracious be. Beneath their o'erthrown chariot I'll shiver their proud steeds, Hurl down themselves, their waggon break, and, for their stubborn deeds, In ten whole years they shall not heal the wounds I will impress With horrid thunder; that my maid may know when to address Arms 'gainst her father. For my wife, she doth not so offend. 'Tis but her use to interrupt whatever I intend." Iris, with this, left Ida's hills, and up t' Olympus flew, Met near heav'n-gates the Goddesses, and thus their haste withdrew: "What course intend you? Why are you wrapp'd with your fancies' storm? Jove likes not ye should aid the Greeks, but threats, and will perform, To crush in pieces your swift horse beneath their glorious yokes, Hurl down yourselves, your chariot break, and, those impoison'd strokes His wounding thunder shall imprint in your celestial parts, In ten full springs ye shall not cure; that She that tames proud hearts (Thyself, Minerva) may be taught to know for what, and when, Thou dost against thy father fight; for sometimes childeren May with discretion plant themselves against their fathers' wills, But not, where humours only rule, in works beyond their skills. For Juno; she offends him not, nor vexeth him so much, For 'tis her use to cross his will, her impudence is such, The habit of offence in this she only doth contract, And so grieves or incenseth less, though ne'er the less her fact. But thou most griev'st him, doggéd dame, whom he rebukes in time, Lest silence should pervert thy will, and pride too highly climb In thy bold bosom, desp'rate girl, if seriously thou dare Lift thy unwieldy lance 'gainst Jove, as thy pretences are." She left them, and Saturnia said: "Ah me! Thou seed of Jove, By my advice we will no more unfit convention move With Jupiter, for mortal men; of whom, let this man die, And that man live, whoever he pursues with destiny; And let him, plotting all events, dispose of either host, As he thinks fittest for them both, and may become us most." Thus turn'd she back, and to the Hours her rich-man'd horse resign'd, Who them t' immortal mangers bound; the chariot they inclin'd Beneath the crystal walls of heav'n; and they in golden thrones Consorted other Deities, replete with passións, Jove, in his bright-wheel'd chariot, his fi'ry horse now, beats Up to Olympus, and aspir'd the Gods' eternal seats. Great Neptune loos'd his horse, his car upon the altar plac'd, And heav'nly-linen coverings did round about it cast. The Far-seer us'd his throne of gold. The vast Olympus shook Beneath his feet. His wife, and maid, apart places took, Nor any word afforded him. He knew their thoughts, and said: "Why do you thus torment yourselves? You need not sit dismay'd With the long labours you have us'd in your victorious fight, Destroying Trojans, 'gainst whose lives you heap such high despite. Ye should have held your glorious course; for, be assur'd, as far As all my pow'rs, by all means urg'd, could have sustain'd the war, Not all the host of Deities should have retir'd my hand From vow'd inflictions on the Greeks, much less you two withstand. But you, before you saw the fight, much less the slaughter there, Had all your goodly lineaments possess'd with shaking fear, And never had your chariot borne their charge to heav'n again, But thunder should have smit you both, had you one Trojan slain." Both Goddesses let fall their chins upon their ivory breasts, Set next to Jove, contriving still afflicted Troy's unrests. Pallas for anger could not speak; Saturnia, contrary, Could not for anger hold her peace, but made this bold reply: "Not-to-be-suff'red Jupiter, what need'st thou still enforce Thy matchless pow'r? We know it well; but we must yield remorse To them that yield us sacrifice. Nor need'st thou thus deride Our kind obedience, nor our griefs, but bear our pow'rs applied To just protection of the Greeks, that anger tomb not all In Troy's foul gulf of perjury, and let them stand should fall." "Grieve not," said Jove, "at all done yet; for, if thy fair eyes please This next red morning they shall see the great Saturnides Bring more destruction to the Greeks; and Hector shall not cease, Till he have rouséd from the fleet swift-foot Æacides, In that day, when before their ships, for his Patroclus slain, The Greeks in great distress shall fight; for so the Fates ordain. I weigh not thy displeaséd spleen, though to th' extremest bounds Of earth and seas it carry thee, where endless night confounds Japet, and my dejected Sire, who sit so far beneath, They never see the flying sun, nor hear the winds that breath, Near to profoundest Tartarus. Nor, thither if thou went, Would I take pity of thy moods, since none more impudent." To this she nothing did reply. And now Sol's glorious light Fell to the sea, and to the land drew up the drowsy night. The Trojans griev'd at Phœbus' fall, which all the Greeks desir'd, And sable night, so often wish'd, to earth's firm throne aspir'd. Hector (intending to consult) near to the gulfy flood, Far from the fleet, led to a place, pure and exempt from blood, The Trojans' forces. From their horse all lighted, and did hear Th' oration Jove-lov'd Hector made; who held a goodly spear, Elev'n full cubits long, the head was brass, and did reflect A wanton light before him still, it round about was deck'd With strong hoops of new-burnish'd gold. On this he lean'd, and said: "Hear me, my worthy friends of Troy, and you our honour'd aid. A little since, I had conceit we should have made retreat, By light of the inflaméd fleet, with all the Greeks' escheat, But darkness hath prevented us; and saft, with special grace, These Achives and their shore-hal'd fleet. Let us then render place To sacred Night, our suppers dress, and from our chariot free Our fair-man'd horse, and meat them well. Then let there convoy'd be, From forth the city presently, oxen and well-fed sheep, Sweet wine, and bread; and fell much wood, that all night we may keep Plenty of fires, ev'n till the light bring forth the lovely morn, And let their brightness glaze the skies, that night may not suborn The Greeks' escape, if they for flight the sea's broad back would take; At least they may not part with ease, but, as retreat they make, Each man may bear a wound with him, to cure when he comes home, Made with a shaft or sharp'ned spear; and others fear to come, With charge of lamentable war, 'gainst soldiers bred in Troy. Then let our heralds through the town their offices employ To warn the youth, yet short of war, and time-white fathers, past, That in our god-built tow'rs they see strong courts of guard be plac'd, About the walls; and let out dames, yet flourishing in years, That, having beauties to keep pure, are most inclin'd to fears (Since darkness in distressful times more dreadful is than light) Make lofty fires in ev'ry house; and thus, the dang'rous night, Held with strong watch, if th' enemy have ambuscadoes laid Near to our walls (and therefore seem in flight the more dismay'd, Intending a surprise, while we are all without the town) They ev'ry way shall be impugn'd, to, ev'ry man's renown. Perform all this, brave Trojan friends. What now I have to say Is all express'd; the cheerful morn shall other things display. It is my glory (putting trust in Jove, and other Gods) That I shall now expulse these dogs Fates sent to our abodes, Who bring ostents of destiny, and black their threat'ning fleet. But this night let us hold strong guards; to-morrow we will meet (With fierce-made war) before their ships, and I'll make known to all If strong Tydides from their ships can drive me to their wall, Or I can pierce him with my sword, and force his bloody spoil. The wishéd morn shall show his pow'r, if he can shun his foil I running on him with my lance. I think; when day ascends, He shall lie wounded with the first, and by him many friends. O that I were as sure to live immortal, and sustain No frailties with increasing years, but evermore remain Ador'd like Pallas, or the Sun, as all doubts die in me That heav'n's next light shall be the last the Greeks shall ever see!" This speech all Trojans did applaud; who from their traces los'd Their sweating horse, which sev'rally with headstalls they repos'd, And fast'ned by their chariots; when others brought from town Fat sheep and oxen, instantly, bread, wine; and hewéd down Huge store of wood. The winds transferr'd into the friendly sky Their supper's savour; to the which they sat delightfully, And spent all night in open field; fires round about them shin'd. As when about the silver moon, when air is free from wind, And stars shine clear, to whose sweet beams, high prospects, and the brows Of all steep hills and pinnacles, thrust up themselves for shows, And ev'n the lowly valleys joy to glitter in their sight, When the unmeasur'd firmament bursts to disclose her light, And all the signs in heav'n are seen, that glad the shepherd's heart; So many fires disclos'd their beams, made by the Trojan part, Before the face of Ilion, and her bright turrets show'd. A thousand courts of guard kept fires, and ev'ry guard allow'd Fifty stout men, by whom their horse ate oats and hard white corn, And all did wishfully expect the silver-thronéd morn. THE END OF THE EIGHTH BOOK.

[1] Virgil maketh this likewise his place, adding, Bis patet in præceps tantum, tenditque sub umbras, etc. THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

To Agamemnon, urging hopeless flight, Stand Diomed, and Nestor, opposite. By Nestor's counsel, legates are dismiss'd To Thetis' son; who still denies t' assist. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Iota sings the Ambassy, And great Achilles' stern reply.

So held the Trojans sleepless guard; the Greeks to flight were giv'n, The feeble consort of cold fear, strangely infus'd from heav'n; Grief, not to be endur'd, did wound all Greeks of greatest worth. And as two lateral-sited winds, the west wind and the north, Meet at the Thracian sea's black breast, join in a sudden blore, Tumble together the dark waves, and pour upon the shore A mighty deal of froth and weed, with which men manure ground; So Jove, and Troy did drive the Greeks, and all their minds confound. But Agamemnon most of all was tortur'd at his heart, Who to the voiceful heralds went, and bade them cite, apart, Each Grecian leader sev'rally, not openly proclaim. In which he labour'd with the first; and all together came. They sadly sate. The king arose, and pour'd out tears as fast As from a lofty rock a spring doth his black waters cast, And, deeply sighing, thus bespake the Achives: "O my friends, Princes, and leaders of the Greeks, heav'n's adverse King extends His wrath, with too much detriment, to my so just design, Since he hath often promis'd me, and bound it with the sign Of his bent forehead, that this Troy our vengeful hands should race, And safe return; yet, now engag'd, he plagues us with disgrace, When all our trust to him hath drawn so much blood from our friends. My glory, nor my brother's wreak, were the proposéd ends, For which he drew you to these toils, but your whole countries' shame, Which had been huge to bear the rape of so divine a dame, Made in despite of our revenge. And yet not that had mov'd Our pow'rs to these designs, if Jove had not our drifts approv'd; Which since we see he did for blood, 'tis desp'rate fight in us To strive with him; then let us fly; 'tis flight he urgeth thus." Long time still silence held them all; at last did Diomed rise: "Atrides, I am first must cross thy indiscreet advice, [1] As may become me, being a king, in this our martial court. Be not displeas'd then; for thyself didst broadly misreport In open field my fortitude, and call'd me faint and weak, Yet I was silent, knowing the time, loth any rites to break That appertain'd thy public rule, yet all the Greeks knew well, Of ev'ry age, thou didst me wrong. As thou then didst refell My valour first of all the host, as of a man dismay'd; So now, with fit occasion giv'n, I first blame thee afraid. Inconstant Saturn's son hath giv'n inconstant spirits to thee, And, with a sceptre over all, an eminent degree; But with a sceptre's sov'reign grace, the chief pow'r, fortitude, (To bridle thee) he thought not best thy breast should be endu'd. Unhappy king, think'st thou the Greeks are such a silly sort, And so excessive impotent, as thy weak words import? If thy mind move thee to be gone, the way is open, go; Mycenian ships enow ride near, that brought thee to this woe; The rest of Greece will stay, nor stir till Troy be overcome With full eversion; or if not, but (doters of their home) Will put on wings to fly with thee. Myself and Sthenelus Will fight till (trusting favouring Jove) we bring home Troy with us." This all applauded, and admir'd the spirit of Diomed; When Nestor, rising from the rest, his speech thus seconded: "Tydides, thou art, questionless, our strongest Greek in war, And gravest in thy counsels too, of all that equal are In place with thee, and stand on strength; nor is there any one Can blame, or contradict thy speech; and yet thou hast not gone So far, but we must further go. Thou'rt young, and well mightst be My youngest son, though still I yield thy words had high degree Of wisdom in them to our king, since well they did become Their right in question, and refute inglorious going home. But I (well known thy senior far) will speak, and handle all Yet to propose, which none shall check; no, not our general. A hater of society, unjust, and wild, is he That loves intestine war, being stuff'd with manless cruelty. And therefore in persuading peace, and home-flight, we the less May blame our gen'ral, as one loth to wrap in more distress His lovéd soldiers. But because they bravely are resolv'd To cast lives after toils, before they part in shame involv'd, Provide we for our honour'd stay; obey black night, and fall Now to our suppers; then appoint our guards without the wall, And in the bottom of the dike; which guard I wish may stand Of our brave youth. And, Atreus' son, since thou art in command Before our other kings, be first in thy command's effect. It well becomes thee; since 'tis both what all thy peers expect, And in the royal right of things is no impair to thee. Nor shall it stand with less than right, that they invited be To supper by thee; all thy tents are amply stor'd with wine, Brought daily in Greek ships from Thrace; and to this grace of thine All necessaries thou hast fit, and store of men to wait; And, many meeting there, thou may'st hear ev'ry man's conceit, And take the best. It much concerns all Greeks to use advice Of gravest nature, since so near our ships our enemies Have lighted such a sort of fires, with which what man is joy'd? Look, how all bear themselves this night; so live, or be destroy'd." All heard, and follow'd his advice. There was appointed then Sev'n captains of the watch, who forth did march with all their men. The first was famous Thrasymed, adviceful Nestor's son; Ascalaphus; and Ialmen; and mighty Merion; Alphareus; and Deipyrus; and lovely Lycomed, Old Creon's joy. These sev'n bold lords an hundred soldiers led, In ev'ry sever'd company, and ev'ry man his pike, Some placéd on the rampire's top, and some amidst the dike. All fires made, and their suppers took. Atrides to his tent Invited all the peers of Greece, and food sufficient Appos'd before them, and the peers appos'd their hands to it. Hunger and thirst being quickly quench'd, to counsel still they sit. And first spake Nestor, who they thought of late advis'd so well, A father grave, and rightly wise, who thus his tale did tell: "Most high Atrides, since in thee I have intent to end, From thee will I begin my speech, to whom Jove doth commend The empire of so many men, and puts into thy hand A sceptre, and establish'd laws, that thou mayst well command, And counsel all men under thee. It therefore doth behove Thyself to speak most, since of all thy speeches most will move; And yet to hear, as well as speak; and then perform as well A free just counsel; in thee still must stick what others tell. For me, what in my judgment stands the most convenient I will advise, and am assur'd advice more competent Shall not be giv'n; the gen'ral proof, that hath before been made Of what I speak, confirms me still, and now may well persuade, Because I could not then, yet ought, when thou, most royal king, Ev'n from the tent, Achilles' love didst violently bring, Against my counsel, urging thee by all means to relent; But you, obeying your high mind, would venture the event, Dishonouring our ablest Greek, a man th' Immortals grace. Again yet let's deliberate, to make him now embrace Affection to our gen'ral good, and bring his force to field; Both which kind words and pleasing gifts must make his virtues yield." "O father," answeréd the king, "my wrongs thou tell'st me right. Mine own offence mine own tongue grants. One man must stand in fight For our whole army; him I wrong'd; him Jove loves from his heart, He shows it in thus honouring him; who, living thus apart, Proves us but number, for his want makes all our weakness seen. Yet after my confess'd offence, soothing my hum'rous spleen, I'll sweeten his affects again with presents infinite, Which, to prove my firm intent, I'll openly recite: Sev'n sacred tripods free from fire; ten talents of fine gold; Twenty bright cauldrons; twelve young horse, well-shap'd, and well-controll'd, And victors too, for they have won the prize at many a race, That man should not be poor that had but what their wingéd pace Hath added to my treasury, nor feel sweet gold's defect. Sev'n Lesbian ladies he shall have, that were the most select, And in their needles rarely skill'd, whom, when he took the town Of famous Lesbos, I did choose; who won the chief renown For beauty from their whole fair sex; amongst whom I'll resign Fair Brisis, and I deeply swear (for any fact of mine That may discourage her receipt) she is untouch'd, and rests As he resign'd her. To these gifts (if Jove to our requests Vouchsafe performance, and afford the work, for which we wait, Of winning Troy) with brass and gold he shall his navy freight; And, ent'ring when we be at spoil, that princely hand of his Shall choose him twenty Trojan dames, excepting Tyndaris, The fairest Pergamus enfolds; and, if we make retreat To Argos, call'd of all the world the Navel, or chief seat, He shall become my son-in-law, and I will honour him Ev'n as Orestes, my sole son, that cloth in honours swim. Three daughters in my well-built court unmarried are, and fair; Laodice, Chrysothemis that hath the golden hair, And Iphianassa; of all three the worthiest let him take All-jointureless to Peleus' court; I will her jointure make, And that so great as never yet did any maid prefer, Sev'n cities right magnificent, I will bestow on her; Enope, and Cardamyle, Mira for herbs renown'd, The fair Æpea, Pedasus that doth with grapes abound, Anthæa girded with green meads, Phera surnam'd Divine; All whose bright turrets on the sea, in sandy Pylos, shine. Th' inhabitants in flocks and herds are wondrous confluent, Who like a God will honour him, and him with gifts present, And to his throne will contribute what tribute he will rate. All this I gladly will perform, to pacify his hate. Let him be mild and tractable; 'tis for the God of ghosts To be unrul'd, implacable, and seek the blood of hosts, Whom therefore men do much abhor; then let him yield to me, I am his greater, being a king, and more in years than he "Brave king," said Nestor, "these rich gifts must make him needs relent, Choose then fit legates instantly to greet him at his tent, But stay; admit my choice of them, and let them straight be gone. Jove-lovéd Phœnix shall be chief, then Ajax Telamon, And prince Ulysses; and on them let these two heralds wait, Grave Odius and Eurybates, Come, lords, take water straight, Make pure your hand, and with sweet words appease Achilles' mind, Which we will pray the king of Gods may gently make inclin'd." All lik'd his speech; and on their hands the heralds water shed, The youths crown'd cups of sacred wine to all distributed. But having sacrific'd, and drunk to ev'ry man's content, With many notes by Nestor giv'n, the legates forward went. With courtship in fit gestures us'd he did prepare them well, But most Ulysses, for his grace did not so much excel. Such rites beseem ambassadors; and Nestor urgéd these, That their most honours might reflect enrag'd Æacides. They went along the shore, and pray'd the God, that earth doth bind In brackish chains, they might not fail, but bow his mighty mind. The quarter of the Myrmidons they reach'd, and found him set Delighted with his solemn harp, which curiously was fret With works conceited, through the verge; the bawdrick that embrac'd His lofty neck was silver twist; this, when his hand laid waste Aëtion's city, he did choose as his especial prise, And, loving sacred music well, made it his exercise. To it he sung the glorious deeds of great heroës dead, And his true mind, that practice fail'd, sweet contemplation fed. With him alone, and opposite, all silent sat his friend, Attentive, and beholding him, who now his song did end. Th' ambassadors did forwards press, renown'd Ulysses led, And stood in view. Their sudden sight his admiration bred, Who with his harp and all arose; so did Menœtius' son When he beheld them. Their receipt Achilles thus begun: "Health to my lords! Right welcome men, assure yourselves you be, Though some necessity, I know, doth make you visit me, Incens'd with just cause 'gainst the Greeks." This said, a sev'ral seat With purple cushions he set forth, and did their ease intreat, And said: "Now, friend, our greatest bowl, with wine unmix'd and neat, Appose these lords, and of the depth let every man make proof, These are my best esteeméd friends, and underneath my roof." Patroclus did his dear friend's will; and he that did desire To cheer the lords, come faint from fight, set on a blazing fire A great brass pot, and into it a chine of mutton put, And fat goat's flesh. Automedon held, while he pieces cut, To roast and boil, right cunningly; then of a well-fed swine A huge fat shoulder he cuts out, and spits it wondrous fine. His good friend made a goodly fire; of which the force once past, He laid the spit low, near the coals, to make it brown at last, Then sprinkled it with sacred salt, and took it from the racks. This roasted and on dresser set, his friend Patroclus takes Bread in fair baskets; which set on, Achilles brought the meat, And to divinest Ithacus took his opposéd seat Upon the bench. Then did he will his friend to sacrifice, Who cast sweet incense in the fire to all the Deities. Thus fell they to their ready food. Hunger and thirst allay'd, Ajax to Phœnix made a sign, as if too long they stay'd Before they told their legacy. Ulysses saw him wink, And, filling the great bowl with wine, did to Achilles drink: "Health to Achilles! But our plights stand not in need of meat, Who late supp'd at Atrides' tent, though for thy love we eat Of many things, whereof a part would make a cómplete feast. Nor can we joy in these kind rites, that have our hearts oppress'd, O prince, with fear of utter spoil. 'Tis made a question now, If we can save our fleet or not, unless thyself endow Thy pow'rs with wonted fortitude. Now Troy and her consórts, Bold of thy want, have pitch'd their tents close to our fleet and forts, And made a firmament of fires; and now no more, they say, Will they be prison'd in their walls, but force their violent way Ev'n to our ships; and Jove himself hath with his lightnings show'd Their bold adventures happy signs; and Hector grows so proud Of his huge strength, borne out by Jove, that fearfully he raves, Presuming neither men nor Gods can interrupt his braves. Wild rage invades him, and he prays that soon the sacred Morn Would light his fury; boasting then our streamers shall be torn, And all our naval ornaments fall by his conqu'ring stroke, Our ships shall burn, and we ourselves lie stifled in the smoke. And I am seriously afraid, Heav'n will perform his threats, And that 'tis fatal to us all, far from our native seats, To perish in victorious Troy. But rise, though it be late, Deliver the afflicted Greeks from Troy's tumultuous hate; It will hereafter be thy grief, when no strength can suffice To remedy th' effected threats of our calamities. Consider these affairs in time, while thou mayst use thy pow'r. And have the grace to turn from Greece fate's unrecover'd hour. O friend, thou know'st thy royal sire forewarn'd what should be done, That day he sent thee from his court to honour Atreus' son: 'My son,' said he, 'the victory let Jove and Pallas use At their high pleasures, but do thou no honour'd means refuse That may advance her. In fit bounds contain thy mighty mind, Nor let the knowledge of thy strength be factiously inclin'd, Contriving mischiefs. Be to fame and gen'ral good profess'd. The more will all sorts honour thee. Benignity is best.' Thus charg'd thy sire, which thou forgett'st. Yet now those thoughts appease, That torture thy great spirit with wrath; which if thou wilt surcease, The king will merit it with gifts; and, if thou wilt give ear, I'll tell how much he offers thee yet thou sitt'st angry here: Sev'n tripods that no fire must touch; twice-ten pans, fit for flame; Ten talents of fine gold; twelve horse that ever overcame, And brought huge prises from the field, with swiftness of their feet, That man should bear no poor account, nor want gold's quick'ning sweet, That had but what he won with them; sev'n worthiest Lesbian dames, Renown'd for skill in housewif'ry, and bear the sov'reign fames For beauty from their gen'ral sex, which, at thy overthrow Of well-built Lesbos, he did choose; and these he will bestow, And with these her he took from thee, whom, by his state, since then, He swears he touch'd not, as fair dames use to be touch'd by men. All these are ready for thee now. And, if at length we take, By helps of Gods, this wealthy town, thy ships shall burthen make Of gold and brass at thy desires, when we the spoil divide; And twenty beauteous Trojan dames thou shalt select beside, Next Helen, the most beautiful; and, when return'd we be To Argos, be his son-in-law, for he will honour thee Like his Orestes, his sole son, maintained in height of bliss. Three daughters beautify his court, the fair Chrysothemis, Laodice, and Iphianesse; of all the fairest take To Peleus' thy grave father's court, and never jointure make; He will the jointure make himself, so great, as never sire Gave to his daughter's nuptials. Sev'n cities left entire; Cardamyle, and Enope, and Hira full of flow'rs, Anthæa for sweet meadows prais'd, and Phera deck'd with tow'rs, The bright Epea, Pedasus that doth God Bacchus please; All, on the sandy Pylos' soil, are seated near the seas; Th' inhabitants in droves and flocks exceeding wealthy be, Who, like a God, with worthy gifts will gladly honour thee, And tribute of especial rate to thy high sceptre pay. All this he freely will perform, thy anger to allay. But if thy hate to him be more than his gifts may repress, Yet pity all the other Greeks, in such extreme distress, Who with religion honour thee; and to their desp'rate ill Thou shalt triumphant glory bring; and Hector thou may'st kill, When pride makes him encounter thee, fill'd with a baneful sprite, Who vaunts our whole fleet brought not one, equal to him in fight." Swift-foot Æacides replied: "Divine Laertes' son, 'Tis requisite I should be short, and show what place hath won Thy serious speech, affirming nought but what you shall approve Establish'd in my settled heart, that in the rest I move No murmur nor exceptión; for, like hell mouth I loath, Who holds not in his words and thoughts one indistinguish'd troth. What fits the freeness of my mind, my speech shall make display'd. Nor Atreus' son, nor all the Greeks, shall win me to their aid, Their suit is wretchedly enforc'd, to free their own despairs, And my life never shall be hir'd with thankless desp'rate pray'rs; For never had I benefit, that ever foil'd the foe; Ev'n share hath he that keeps his tent, and he to field doth go, With equal honour cowards die, and men most valiant, The much performer, and the man that can of nothing vaunt. No overplus I ever found, when, with my mind's most strife To do them good, to dang'rous fight I have expos'd my life. But ev'n as to unfeather'd birds the careful dam brings meat, Which when she hath bestow'd, herself hath nothing left to eat; So, when my broken sleeps have drawn the nights t' extremest length, And ended many bloody days with still-employéd strength, To guard their weakness, and preserve their wives' contents infract, I have been robb'd before their eyes: Twelve cities I have sack'd Assail'd by sea, elev'n by land, while this siege held at Troy; And of all these, what was most dear, and most might crown the joy Of Agamemnon, he enjoy'd, who here behind remain'd: Which when he took, a few he gave, and many things retain'd, Other to optimates and kings he gave, who hold them fast, Yet mine he forceth; only I sit with my loss disgrac'd. But so he gain a lovely dame, to be his bed's delight, It is enough; for what cause else do Greeks and Trojans fight? Why brought he hither such an host? Was it not for a dame? For fair-hair'd Helen? And doth love alone the hearts inflame Of the Atrides to their wives, of all the men that move? Ev'ry discreet and honest mind cares for his private love, As much as they; as I myself lov'd Brisis as my life, Although my captive, and had will to take her for my wife. Whom since he forc'd, preventing me, in vain he shall prolong Hopes to appease me that know well the deepness of my wrong. But, good Ulysses, with thyself, and all you other kings, Let him take stomach to repel Troy's fi'ry threatenings. Much hath he done without my help, built him a goodly fort, Cut a dike by it, pitch'd with pales, broad and of deep import; And cannot all these helps repress this kill-man Hector's fright? When I was arm'd among the Greeks, he would not offer fight Without the shadow of his walls; but to the Scæan ports, Or to the holy beach of Jove, come back'd with his consorts; Where once he stood my charge alone, and hardly made retreat, And to make new proof of our pow'rs, the doubt is not so great. To-morrow then, with sacrifice perform'd t' imperial Jove And all the Gods, I'll launch my fleet, and all my men remove; Which (if thou wilt use so thy sight, or think'st it worth respect) In forehead of the morn, thine eyes shall see, with sails erect Amidst the fishy Hellespont, help'd with laborious oars. And, if the Sea-god send free sail, the fruitful Phthian shores Within three days we shall attain, where I have store of prise Left, when with prejudice I came to these indignities. There have I gold as well as here, and store of ruddy brass, Dames slender, elegantly girt, and steel as bright as glass. These will I take as I retire, as shares I firmly save, Though Agamemnon be so base to take the gifts he gave. Tell him all this, and openly, I on your honours charge, That others may take shame to hear his lusts command so large, And, if there yet remain a man he hopeth to deceive (Being dyed in endless impudence) that man may learn to leave His trust and empire. But alas, though, like a wolf he be, Shameless and rude, he durst not take my prise, and look on me. I never will partake his works, nor counsels, as before, He once deceiv'd and injur'd me, and he shall never more Tye my affections with his words. Enough is the increase Of one success in his deceits; which let him joy in peace, And bear it to a wretched end. Wise Jove hath reft his brain To bring him plagues, and these his gifts I, as my foes, disdain. Ev'n in the numbness of calm death I will revengeful be, Though ten or twenty times so much he would bestow on me, All he hath here, or any where, or Orchomen contains, To which men bring their wealth for strength, or all the store remains In circuit of Egyptian Thebes, where much hid treasure lies, Whose walls contain an hundred ports, of so admir'd a size Two hundred soldiers may a-front with horse and chariots pass. Nor, would he amplify all this like sand, or dust, or grass, Should he reclaim me, till this wreak pay'd me for all the pains That with his contumely burn'd, like poison, in my veins. Nor shall his daughter be my wife, although she might contend With golden Venus for her form, or if she did transcend Blue-ey'd Minerva for her works; let him a Greek select Fit for her, and a greater king. For if the Gods protect My safety to my father's court, he shall choose me a wife. Many fair Achive princesses of unimpeachéd life In Helle and in Phthia live, whose sires do cities hold, Of whom I can have whom I will. And, more an hundred fold My true mind in my country likes to take a lawful wife Than in another nation; and there delight my life With those goods that my father got, much rather than die here. Not all the wealth of well-built Troy, possess'd when peace was there, All that Apollo's marble fane in stony Pythos holds, I value equal with the life that my free breast enfolds. Sheep, oxen, tripods, crest-deck'd horse, though lost, may come again, But when the white guard of our teeth no longer can contain Our human soul, away it flies, and, once gone, never more To her frail mansion any man can her lost pow'rs restore. And therefore since my mother-queen, fam'd for her silver feet, Told me two fates about my death in my direction meet: The one, that, if I here remain t' assist our victory, My safe return shall never live, my fame shall never die; If my return obtain success, much of my fame decays, But death shall linger his approach, and I live many days, This being reveal'd, 'twere foolish pride, t' abridge my life for praise. Then with myself, I will advise, others to hoise their sail, For, 'gainst the height of Ilion, you never shall prevail, Jove with his hand protecteth it, and makes the soldiers bold. This tell the kings in ev'ry part, for so grave legates should, That they may better counsels use, to save their fleet and friends By their own valours; since this course, drown'd in my anger, ends. Phœnix may in my tent repose, and in the morn steer course For Phthia, if he think it good; if not, I'll use no force." All wonder'd at his stern reply; and Phœnix, full of fears His words would be more weak than just, supplied their wants with tears. "If thy return incline thee thus, Peleus' renownéd joy, And thou wilt let our ships be burn'd with harmful fire of Troy, Since thou art angry, O my son, how shall I after be Alone in these extremes of death, relinquishéd by thee? I, whom thy royal father sent as ord'rer of thy force, When to Atrides from his court he left thee for this course, Yet young, and when in skill of arms thou didst not so abound, Nor hadst the habit of discourse, that makes men so renown'd. In all which I was set by him, t' instruct thee as my son, That thou might'st speak, when speech was fit, and do, when deeds were done, Not sit as dumb, for want of words, idle, for skill to move, I would not then be left by thee, dear son, begot in love, No, not if God would promise me, to raze the prints of time Carv'd in my bosom and my brows, and grace me with the prime Of manly youth, as when at first I left sweet Helle's shore Deck'd with fair dames, and fled the grudge my angry father bore; Who was the fair Amyntor call'd, surnam'd Ormenides, And for a fair-hair'd harlot's sake, that his affects could please, Contemn'd my mother, his true wife, who ceaseless urgéd me To use his harlot Clytia, and still would clasp my knee To do her will, that so my sire might turn his love to hate Of that lewd dame, converting it to comfort her estate. At last I was content to prove to do my mother good, And reconcile my father's love; who straight suspicious stood, Pursuing me with many a curse, and to the Furies pray'd No dame might love, nor bring me seed. The Deities obey'd That govern hell; infernal Jove, and stern Persephone. Then durst I in no longer date with my stern father be. Yet did my friends, and near allies, inclose me with desires Not to depart; kill'd sheep, boars, beeves; roast them at solemn fires; And from my father's tuns we drunk exceeding store of wine. Nine nights they guarded me by turns, their fires did ceaseless shine, One in the porch of his strong hall, and in the portal one, Before my chamber; but when day beneath the tenth night shone, I brake my chamber's thick-fram'd doors, and through the hall's guard pass'd, Unseen of any man or maid. Through Greece then, rich and vast, I fled to Phthia, nurse of sheep, and came to Peleus' court; Who entertain'd me heartily, and in as gracious sort As any sire his only son, born when his strength is spent, And bless'd with great possessions to leave to his descent. He made me rich, and to my charge did much command commend. I dwelt in th' utmost region rich Phthia doth extend, And govern'd the Dolopians, and made thee what thou art, O thou that like the Gods art fram'd. Since, dearest to my heart, I us'd thee so, thou lov'dst none else; nor anywhere wouldst eat, Till I had crown'd my knee with thee, and carv'd thee tend'rest meat, And giv'n thee wine so much, for love, that, in thy infancy (Which still discretion must protect, and a continual eye) My bosom lovingly sustain'd the wine thine could not bear. Then, now my strength needs thine as much, be mine to thee as dear, Much have I suffer'd for thy love, much labour'd, wishéd much, Thinking, since I must have no heir (the Gods' decrees are such) I would adopt thyself my heir. To thee my heart did give What any sire could give his son. In thee I hop'd to live. O mitigate thy mighty spirits. It fits not one that moves The hearts of all, to live unmov'd, and succour hates for loves. The Gods themselves are flexible; whose virtues, honours, pow'rs, Are more than thine, yet they will bend their breasts as we bend ours. Perfumes, benign devotions, savours of off'rings burn'd, And holy rites, the engines are with which their hearts are turn'd, By men that pray to them, whose faith their sins have falsified. For Pray'rs are daughters of great Jove, lame, wrinkled, ruddy-ey'd, And ever following injury, who, strong and sound of feet, Flies through the world, afflicting men. Believing Prayers yet, To all that love that Seed of Jove, the certain blessing get To have Jove hear, and help them too; but if he shall refuse, And stand inflexible to them, they fly to Jove, and use Their pow'rs against him, that the wrongs he doth to them may fall On his own head, and pay those pains whose cure he fails to call. Then, great Achilles, honour thou this sacred Seed of Jove, And yield to them, since other men of greatest minds they move. If Agamemnon would not give the self-same gifts he vows, But offer other afterwards, and in his still-bent brows Entomb his honour and his word, I would not thus exhort, With wrath appeas'd, thy aid to Greece, though plagu'd in heaviest sort; But much he presently will give, and after yield the rest. T' assure which he hath sent to thee the men thou lovest best, And most renown'd of all the host, that they might soften thee. Then let not both their pains and pray'rs lost and despiséd be, Before which none could reprehend the tumult of thy heart, But now to rest inexpiate were much too rude a part. Of ancient worthies we have heard, when they were more displeas'd, To their high fames, with gifts and pray'rs they have been still appeas'd. For instance, I remember well a fact perform'd of old, Which to you all, my friends, I'll tell: The Curets wars did hold With the well-fought Ætolians, where mutual lives had end About the city Calydon. Th' Ætolians did defend Their flourishing country, which to spoil the Curets did contend. Diana with-the-golden-throne, with Oeneus much incens'd, Since with his plenteous land's first fruits she was not reverenc'd, (Yet other Gods, with hecatombs, had feasts, and she alone, Great Jove's bright daughter, left unserv'd, or by oblivion, Or undue knowledge of her dues) much hurt in heart she swore; And she, enrag'd, excited much, she sent a sylvan boar From their green groves, with wounding tusks; who usually did spoil King Oeneus' fields, his lofty woods laid prostrate on the soil, Rent by the roots trees fresh, adorn'd with fragrant apple flow'rs. Which Meleager (Oeneus' son) slew, with assembl'd pow'rs Of hunters, and of fiercest hounds, from many cities brought; For such he was that with few lives his death could not be bought, Heaps of dead humans, by his rage, the fun'ral piles applied. Yet, slain at last, the Goddess stirr'd about his head, and hide, A wondrous tumult, and a war betwixt the Curets wrought And brave Ætolians. All the while fierce Meleager fought, Ill-far'd the Curets; near the walls none durst advance his crest, Though they were many. But when wrath inflam'd his haughty breast (Which oft the firm mind of the wise with passion doth infest) Since 'twixt his mother-queen and him arose a deadly strife, He left the court, and privately liv'd with his lawful wife, Fair Cleopatra, female birth of bright Marpessa's pain, And of Ideus; who of all terrestrial men did reign, At that time, king of fortitude, and for Marpessa's sake, 'Gainst wanton Phœbus, king of flames; his bow in hand did take, Since he had ravish'd her, his joy; whom her friends after gave The surname of Alcyone, because they could not save Their daughter from Alcyone's fate. In Cleopatra's arms Lay Meleager, feeding on his anger, for the harms His mother pray'd might fall on him; who, for her brother slain By Meleager, griev'd, and pray'd the Gods to wreak her pain With all the horror could be pour'd upon her furious birth. Still knock'd she with her impious hands the many-feeding earth, To urge stern Pluto and his Queen t' incline their vengeful ears, Fell on her knees, and all her breast dew'd with her fi'ry tears, To make them massacre her son, whose wrath enrag'd her thus. Erinnys, wand'ring through the air, heard, out of Erebus, Pray'rs fit for her unpleaséd mind. Yet Meleager lay Obscur'd in fury. Then the bruit of the tumultuous fray Rung through the turrets as they scal'd; then came th' Ætolian peers To Meleager with low suits, to rise and free their fears; Then sent they the chief priests of Gods, with offer'd gifts t' atone His diff'ring fury, bade him choose, in sweet-soil'd Calydon, Of the most fat and yieldy soil, what with an hundred steers Might in a hundred days be plough'd, half that rich vintage bears, And half of naked earth to plough; yet yielded not his ire. Then to his lofty chamber-door, ascends his royal sire With ruthful plaints, shook the strong bars; then came his sisters' cries; His mother then; and all intreat;—yet still more stiff he lies;— His friends, most rev'rend, most esteem'd; yet none impression took, Till the high turrets where he lay, and his strong chamber, shook With the invading enemy, who now forced dreadful way Along the city. Then his wife, in pitifil dismay, Besought him, weeping; telling him the miseries sustain'd By all the citizens, whose town the enemy had gain'd; Men slaughter'd; children bondslaves made; sweet ladies forc'd with lust; Fires climbing tow'rs, and turning them to heaps of fruitless dust. These dangers soften'd his steel heart. Up the stout prince arose, Indu'd his body with rich arms, and freed th' Ætolian's woes, His smother'd anger giving air; which gifts did not assuage, But his own peril. And because he did not disengage Their lives for gifts, their gifts he lost. But for my sake, dear friend, Be not thou bent to see our plights to these extremes descend, Ere thou assist us; be not so by thy ill angel turn'd From thine own honour. It were shame to see our navy burn'd, And then come with thy timeless aid. For offer'd presents, come, And all the Greeks will honour thee, as of celestial room. But if without these gifts thou fight, forc'd by thy private woe, Thou wilt be nothing so renown'd, though thou repel the foe." Achilles answer'd the last part of this oration thus: "Phœnix, renown'd and reverend, the honours urg'd on us We need not, Jove doth honour me, and to my safety sees, And will, whiles I retain a spirit, or can command my knees. Then do not thou with tears and woes impassion my affects, Becoming gracious to my foe. Nor fits it the respects Of thy vow'd love to honour him that hath dishonour'd me, Lest such loose kindness lose his heart that yet is firm to thee. It were thy praise to hurt with me the hurter of my state, Since half my honour and my realm thou mayst participate. Let these lords then return th' event, and do thou here repose, And, when dark sleep breaks with the day, our counsels shall disclose The course of our return or stay." This said, he with his eye Made to his friend a covert sign, to hasten instantly A good soft bed, that the old prince, soon as the peers were gone, Might take his rest; when, soldier-like, brave Ajax Telamon Spake to Ulysses, as with thought Achilles was not worth The high direction of his speech, that stood so sternly forth Unmov'd with th' other orators, and spake, not to appease Pelides' wrath, but to depart. His arguments were these: "High-issu'd Laertiades, let us insist no more On his persuasion. I perceive the world would end before Our speeches end in this affair. We must with utmost haste Return his answer, though but bad. The peers are elsewhere plac'd, And will not rise till we return. Great Thetis' son hath stor'd Proud wrath within him, as his wealth, and will not be implor'd, Rude that he is, nor his friends' love respects, do what they can, Wherein past all, we honour'd him. O unremorseful man! Another for his brother slain, another for his son, Accepts of satisfaction; and he the deed hath done Lives in belov'd society long after his amends, To which his foe's high heart, for gifts, with patience condescends; But thee a wild and cruel spirit the Gods for plague have giv'n, And for one girl, of whose fair sex we come to offer sev'n, The most exempt for excellence, and many a better prise. Then put a sweet mind in thy breast, respect thy own allies, Though others make thee not remiss. A multitude we are, Sprung of thy royal family, and our supremest care Is to be most familiar, and hold most love with thee Of all the Greeks, how great an host soever here there be." He answer'd: "Noble Telamon, prince of our soldiers here, Out of thy heart I know thou speak'st, and as thou hold'st me dear; But still as often as I think, how rudely I was us'd, And, like a stranger, for all rites, fit for our good, refus'd My heart doth swell against the man, that durst be so profane To violate his sacred place; not for my private bane, But since wrack'd virtue's gen'ral laws he shameless did infringe; For whose sake I will loose the reins, and give mine anger swinge, Without my wisdom's least impeach. He is a fool, and base, That pities vice-plagu'd minds, when pain, not love of right, gives place. And therefore tell your king, my lords, my just wrath will not care For all his cares, before my tents and navy chargéd are By warlike Hector, making way through flocks of Grecian lives, Enlighten'd by their naval fire; but when his rage arrives About my tent, and sable bark, I doubt not but to shield Them and myself, and make him fly the there strong-bounded field." This said, each one but kiss'd the cup, and to the ships retir'd; Ulysses first. Patroclus then the men and maids requir'd To make grave Phœnix' bed with speed, and see he nothing lacks. They straight obey'd, and thereon laid the subtile fruit of flax, And warm sheep-fells for covering; and there the old man slept, Attending till the golden Morn her usual station kept. Achilles lay in th' inner room of his tent richly wrought, And that fair lady by his side, that he from Lesbos brought, Bright Diomeda, Phorbas' seed. Patroclus did embrace The beauteous Iphis, giv'n to him, when his bold friend did race The lofty Scyrus that was kept in Enyeius' hold. Now at the tent of Atreus' son, each man with cups of gold Receiv'd th' ambassadors return'd. All cluster'd near to know What news they brought; which first the king would have Ulysses show: "Say, most praiseworthy Ithacus, the Grecians' great renown, Will he defend us? Or not yet will his proud stomach down?" Ulysses made reply: "Not yet will he appeaséd be, But grows more wrathful, prizing light thy offer'd gifts and thee, And wills thee to consult with us, and take some other course To save our army and our fleet, and says, 'with all his force, The morn shall light him on his way to Phthia's wishéd soil, For never shall high-seated Troy be sack'd with all our toil, Jove holds his hand 'twixt us and it, the soldiers gather heart.' Thus he replies, which Ajax here can equally impart, And both these heralds. Phœnix stays, for so was his desire, To go with him, if he thought good; if not, he might retire." All wonder'd he should be so stern; at last bold Diomed spake: "Would God, Atrides, thy request were yet to undertake, And all thy gifts unoffer'd him! He's proud enough beside, But this ambassage thou hast sent will make him burst with pride. But let us suffer him to stay, or go, at his desire, Fight when his stomach serves him best, or when Jove shall inspire. Meanwhile, our watch being strongly held, let us a little rest After our food; strength lives by both, and virtue is their guest. Then when the rosy-finger'd Morn holds out her silver light, Bring forth thy host, encourage all, and be thou first in fight." The kings admir'd the fortitude, that so divinely mov'd The skilful horseman Diomed, and his advice approv'd. Then with their nightly sacrifice each took his sev'ral tent, Where all receiv'd the sov'reign gifts soft Somnus did present. THE END OF THE NINTH BOOK.

[1] Diomed takes fit time to answer his wrong done by Agamemnon in the fourth book. THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Th' Atrides, watching, wake the other peers, And (in the fort, consulting of their fears) Two kings they send, most stout, and honour'd most, For royal scouts, into the Trojan host; Who meeting Dolon, Hector's bribéd spy, Take him, and learn how all the quarters lie. He told them, in the Thracian regiment Of rich king Rhesus, and his royal tent, Striving for safety; but they end his strife, And rid poor Dolon of a dang'rous life, Then with digressive wiles they use their force On Rhesus' life, and take his snowy horse. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Kappa the night exploits applies: Rhesus' and Dolons tragedies.

The other princes at their ships soft-finger'd sleep did bind, But not the Gen'ral; Somnus' silks bound not his labouring mind That turn'd, and return'd, many thoughts. And as quick lightnings fly, [l] From well-deck'd Juno's sovereign, out of the thicken'd sky, Preparing some exceeding rain, or hail, the fruit of cold, Or down-like snow that suddenly makes all the fields look old, Or opes the gulfy mouth of war with his ensulphur'd hand, In dazzling flashes pour'd from clouds, on any punish'd land; So from Atrides' troubled heart, through his dark sorrows, flew Redoubled sighs; his entrails shook, as often as his view Admir'd the multitude of fires, that gilt the Phrygian shade, And heard the sounds of fifes, and shawms, and tumults soldiers made. But when he saw his fleet and host kneel to his care and love, He rent his hair up by the roots as sacrifice to Jove, Burnt in his fi'ry sighs, still breath'd out of his royal heart, And first thought good to Nestor's care his sorrows to impart, To try if royal diligence, with his approv'd advice, Might fashion counsels to prevent their threaten'd miseries. So up he rose, attir'd himself, and to his strong feet tied Rich shoes, and cast upon his back a ruddy lion's hide, So ample it his ankles reach'd, then took his royal spear. Like him was Menelaus pierc'd with an industrious fear, Nor sat sweet slumber on his eyes, lest bitter fates should quite The Greeks' high favours, that for him resolv'd such endless fight. And first a freckled panther's hide hid his broad back athwart; His head his brazen helm did arm; his able hand his dart; Then made he all his haste to raise his brother's head as rare, That he who most excell'd in rule might help t' effect his care. He found him, at his ship's crook'd stern, adorning him with arms; Who joy'd to see his brother's spirits awak'd without alarms, Well weighing th' importance of the time. And first the younger spake: "Why, brother, are ye arming thus? Is it to undertake The sending of some vent'rous Greek, t' explore the foe's intent? Alas! I greatly fear, not one will give that work consent, Expos'd alone to all the fears that flow in gloomy night. He that doth this must know death well, in which ends ev'ry fright." "Brother," said he, "in these affairs we both must use advice, Jove is against us, and accepts great Hector's sacrifice. For I have never seen, nor heard, in one day, and by one, So many high attempts well urg'd, as Hector's pow'r hath done Against the hapless sons of Greece: being chiefly dear to Jove, And without cause, being neither fruit of any Goddess' love, Nor helpful God; and yet I fear the deepness of his hand, Ere it be ras'd out of our thoughts, will many years withstand. But, brother, hie thee to thy ships, and Idomen's disease With warlike Ajax; I will haste to grave Neleides, Exhorting him to rise, and give the sacred watch command, For they will specially embrace incitement at his hand, And now his son their captain is, and Idomen's good friend, Bold Merion, to whose discharge we did that charge commend.” "Command'st thou then," his brother ask'd, "that I shall tarry here Attending thy resolv'd approach, or else the message bear, And quickly make return to thee?" He answer'd: "Rather stay, Lest otherwise we fail to meet, for many a diff'rent way Lies through our labyrinthian host. Speak ever as you go, Command strong watch, from sire to son urge all t' observe the foe, Familiarly, and with their praise, exciting ev'ry eye, Not with unseason'd violence of proud authority. We must our patience exercise, and work ourselves with them, Jove in our births combin'd such care to either's diadem." Thus he dismiss'd him, knowing well his charge before he went. Himself to Nestor, whom he found in bed within his tent, By him his damask curets hung, his shield, a pair of darts, His shining casque, his arming waist; in these he led the hearts Of his apt soldiers to sharp war, not yielding to his years. He quickly started from his bed, when to his watchful ears Untimely feet told some approach; he took his lance in hand, And spake to him: "Ho, what art thou that walk'st at midnight? Stand. Is any wanting at the guards? Or lack'st thou any peer? Speak, come not silent towards me; say, what intend'st thou here?" He answer'd: "O Neleides, grave honour of our host, 'Tis Agamemnon thou mayst know, whom Jove afflicteth most Of all the wretched men that live, and will, whilst any breath Gives motion to my toiléd limbs, and pears me up from death. I walk the round thus, since sweet sleep cannot inclose mine eyes, Nor shut those organs care breaks ope for our calamities. My fear is vehement for the Greeks; my heart, the fount of heat, With his extreme affects made cold, without my breast doth beat; And therefore are my sinews strook with trembling; ev'ry part Of what my friends may feel hath act in my disperséd heart. But, if thou think'st of any course may to our good redound, (Since neither thou thyself canst sleep) come, walk with me the round; In way whereof we may confer, and look to ev'ry guard, Lest watching long, and weariness with labouring so hard, Drown their oppresséd memories of what they have in charge. The liberty we give the foe, alas, is over large, Their camp is almost mix'd with ours, and we have forth no spies To learn their drifts; who may perchance this night intend surprise." Grave Nestor answer'd: "Worthy king, let good hearts bear our ill. Jove is not bound to perfect all this busy Hector's will; But I am confidently giv'n, his thoughts are much dismay'd With fear, lest our distress incite Achilles to our aid, And therefore will not tempt his fate, nor ours, with further pride. But I will gladly follow thee, and stir up more beside; Tydides, famous for his lance; Ulysses; Telamon; And bold Phylëus' valiant heir. Or else, if anyone Would haste to call king Idomen, and Ajax, since their sail Lie so remov'd, with much good speed, it might our haste avail. But, though he be our honour'd friend, thy brother I will blame, Not fearing if I anger thee. It is his utter shame He should commit all pains to thee, that should himself employ, Past all our princes, in the care, and cure, of our annoy, And be so far from needing spurs to these his due respects, He should apply our spirits himself, with pray'rs and urg'd affects. Necessity (a law to laws, and not to be endur'd) Makes proof of all his faculties, not sound if not inur'd." "Good father," said the king, "sometimes you know I have desir'd You would improve his negligence, too oft to ease retir'd. Nor is it for defect of spirit, or compass of his brain, But with observing my estate, he thinks, he should abstain Till I commanded, knowing my place; unwilling to assume, For being my brother, anything might prove he did presume. But now he rose before me far, and came t' avoid delays, And I have sent him for the men yourself desir'd to raise. Come, we shall find them at the guards we plac'd before the fort, For thither my direction was they should with speed resort." "Why now," said Nestor, "none will grudge, nor his just rule withstand. Examples make excitements strong, and sweeten a command." Thus put he on his arming truss, fair shoes upon his feet, About him a mandilion, that did with buttons meet, Of purple, large, and full of folds, curl'd with a warmful nap, A garment that 'gainst cold in nights did soldiers use to wrap; Then took he his strong lance in hand, made sharp with proved steel, And went along the Grecian fleet. First at Ulysses' keel He call'd, to break the silken fumes that did his senses bind. The voice through th' organs of his ears straight rung about his mind. Forth came Ulysses, asking him: "Why stir ye thus so late? Sustain we such enforcive cause?" He answered, "Our estate Doth force this perturbation; vouchsafe it, worthy friend, And come, let us excite one more, to counsel of some end To our extremes, by fight, or flight." He back, and took his shield, And both took course to Diomed. They found him laid in field, Far from his tent; his armour by; about him was dispread A ring of soldiers, ev'ry man his shield beneath his head; His spear fix'd by him as he slept, the great end in the ground, The point, that bristled the dark earth, cast a reflection round Like palid lightnings thrown from Jove; thus this heroë lay, And under him a big ox-hide; his royal head had stay On arras hangings, rolléd up; whereon he slept so fast, That Nestor stirr'd him with his foot, and chid to see him cast In such deep sleep in such deep woes, and ask'd him why he spent All night in sleep, or did not hear the Trojans near his tent, Their camp drawn close upon their dike, small space 'twixt foes and foes? He, starting up, said, "Strange old man, that never tak'st repose, Thou art too patient of our toil. Have we not men more young, To be employ'd from king to king? Thine age hath too much wrong." "Said like a king," replied the sire, "for I have sons renown'd, And there are many other men, might go this toilsome round; But, you must see, imperious Need hath all at her command. Now on the eager razor's edge, for life or death, we stand [2] Then go (thou art the younger man) and if thou love my ease, Call swift-foot Ajax up thyself, and young Phyleides." This said, he on his shoulders cast a yellow lion's hide, Big, and reach'd earth; then took his spear, and Nestor's will applied, Rais'd the heroes, brought them both. All met; the round they went, And found not any captain there asleep or negligent, But waking, and in arms, gave ear to ev'ry lowest sound. And as keen dogs keep sheep in cotes, or folds of hurdles bound, And grin at ev'ry breach of air, envious of all that moves, Still list'ning when the rav'nous beast stalks through the hilly groves, Then men and dogs stand on their guards, and mighty tumults make, Sleep wanting weight to close one wink; so did the captains wake, That kept the watch the whole sad night, all with intentive ear Converted to the enemies' tents, that they might timely hear If they were stirring to surprise; which Nestor joy'd to see. "Why so, dear sons, maintain your watch, sleep not a wink," said he, "Rather than make your fames the scorn of Trojan perjury." This said, he foremost passed the dike, the others seconded, Ev'n all the kings that had been call'd to council from the bed, And with them went Meriones, and Nestor's famous son; For both were call'd by all the kings to consultation. Beyond the dike they choos'd a place, near as they could from blood, Where yet appear'd the falls of some, and whence, the crimson flood Of Grecian lives being pour'd on earth by Hector's furious chace, He made retreat, when night repour'd grim darkness in his face. There sat they down, and Nestor spake: "O friends, remains not one That will rely on his bold mind, and view the camp, alone, Of the proud Trojans, to approve if any straggling mate He can surprise near th' utmost tents, or learn the brief estate Of their intentions for the time, and mix like one of them With their outguards, expiscating if the renown'd extreme They force on us will serve their turns, with glory to retire, Or still encamp thus far from Troy? This may he well inquire, And make a brave retreat untouch'd; and this would win him fame Of all men canopied with heav'n, and ev'ry man of name, In all this host shall honour him with an enriching meed, A black ewe and her sucking lamb (rewards that now exceed All other best possessions, in all men's choice requests) And still be bidden by our kings to kind and royal feasts." All rev'renc'd one another's worth; and none would silence break, Lest worst should take best place of speech; at last did Diomed speak: "Nestor, thou ask'st if no man here have heart so well inclin'd To work this stratagem on Troy? Yes, I have such a mind. Yet, if some other prince would join, more probable will be The strengthen'd hope of our exploit. Two may together see (One going before another still) sly danger ev'ry way; One spirit upon another works, and takes with firmer stay The benefit of all his pow'rs; for though one knew his course, Yet might he well distrust himself, which the other might enforce." This offer ev'ry man assum'd, all would with Diomed go; The two Ajaces, Merion, and Menelaus too; But Nestor's son enforc'd it much; and hardy Ithacus, Who had to ev'ry vent'rous deed a mind as venturous. Amongst all these thus spake the king: "Tydides, most belov'd, Choose thy associate worthily; a man the most approv'd For use and strength in these extremes. Many thou seest stand forth; But choose not thou by height of place, but by regard of worth, Lest with thy nice respect of right to any man's degree, Thou wrong'st thy venture, choosing one least fit to join with thee, Although perhaps a greater king." This spake he with suspect That Diomed, for honour's sake, his brother would select. Then said Tydides: "Since thou giv'st my judgment leave to choose, How can it so much truth forget Ulysses to refuse, That bears a mind so most exempt, and vig'rous in th' effect Of all high labours, and a man Pallas doth most respect? We shall return through burning fire, if I with him combine, He sets strength in so true a course, with counsels so divine." Ulysses, loth to be esteem'd a lover of his praise, With such exceptions humbled him as did him higher raise, And said: "Tydides, praise me not more than free truth will bear, Nor yet impair me; they are Greeks that give judicial ear. But come, the morning hastes, the stars are forward in their course, Two parts of night are past, the third is left t' employ our force." Now borrow'd they for haste some arms. Bold Thrasymedes lent Advent'rous Diomed his sword (his own was at his tent), His shield, and helm tough and well-tann'd, without or plume or crest, And call'd a murrion, archers' heads it uséd to invest. Meriones lent Ithacus his quiver and his bow, His helmet fashion'd of a hide; the workman did bestow Much labour in it, quilting it with bow-strings, and, without With snowy tusks of white-mouth'd boars 'twas arméd round about Right cunningly, and in the midst an arming cap was plac'd, That with the fix'd ends of the tusks his head might not be ras'd. This, long since, by Autolycus was brought from Eleon, When he laid waste Amyntor's house, that was Ormenus' son: In Scandia, to Cytherius, surnam'd Amphidamas, Autolycus did give this helm; he, when he feasted was By honour'd Molus, gave it him, as present of a guest; Molus to his son Merion did make it his bequest. With this Ulysses arm'd his head; and thus they, both address'd, Took leave of all the other kings. To them a glad ostent, As they were ent'ring on their way, Minerva did present, A hernshaw consecrate to her, which they could ill discern Through sable night, but, by her clange, they knew it was a hern. Ulysses joy'd, and thus invok'd: "Hear me, great Seed of Jove, That ever dost my labours grace with presence of thy love, And all my motions dost attend! Still love me, sacred Dame, Especially in this exploit, and so protect our fame We both may safely make retreat, and thriftily employ Our boldness in some great affair baneful to them of Troy." Then pray'd illustrate Diomed: "Vouchsafe me likewise ear, O thou unconquer'd Queen of arms! Be with thy favours near, As, to my royal father's steps, thou went'st a bounteous guide, When th' Achives and the peers of Thebes he would have pacified, Sent as the Greeks' ambassador, and left them at the flood Of great Æsopus; whose retreat thou mad'st to swim in blood Of his enambush'd enemies; and, if thou so protect My bold endeavours, to thy name an heifer most select, That never yet was tam'd with yoke, broad-fronted, one year old, I'll burn in zealous sacrifice, and set the horns in gold." The Goddess heard; and both the kings their dreadless passage bore Through slaughter, slaughter'd carcassed, arms, and discolour'd gore, Nor Hector let his princes sleep, but all to council call'd, And ask'd, "What one is here will vow, and keep it unappall'd, To have a gift fit for his deed, a chariot and two horse, That pass for speed the rest of Greece? What one dares take this course, For his renown, besides his gifts, to mix amongst the foe, And learn if still they hold their guards, or with this overthrow Determine flight, as being too weak to hold us longer war?" All silent stood; at last stood forth one Dolon, that did dare This dang'rous work, Eumedes' heir, a herald much renown'd. This Dolon did in gold and brass exceedingly abound, But in his form was quite deform'd, yet passing swift to run; Amongst five sisters, he was left Eumedes' only son. And he told Hector, his free heart would undertake t' explore The Greeks' intentions, "but," said he, "thou shalt be sworn before, By this thy sceptre, that the horse of great Æacides, And his strong chariot bound with brass, thou wilt (before all these) Resign me as my valour's prise; and so I rest unmov'd To be thy spy, and not return before I have approv'd (By vent'ring to Atrides' ship, where their consults are held) If they resolve still to resist, or fly as quite expell'd." He put his sceptre in his hand, and call'd the thunder's God, Saturnia's husband, to his oath, those horse should not be rode By any other man than he, but he for ever joy (To his renown) their services, for his good done to Troy. Thus swore he, and forswore himself, yet made base Dolon bold; Who on his shoulders hung his bow, and did about him fold A white wolf's hide, and with a helm of weasels' skins did arm His weasel's head, then took his dart, and never turn'd to harm The Greeks with their related drifts; but being past the troops Of horse and foot, he promptly runs, and as he runs he stoops To undermine Achilles' horse. Ulysses straight did see, And said to Diomed: "This man makes footing towards thee, Out of the tents. I know not well, if he be us'd as spy Bent to our fleet, or come to rob the slaughter'd enemy. But let us suffer him to come a little further on, And then pursue him. If it chance, that we be overgone By his more swiftness, urge him still to run upon our fleet, And (lest he 'scape us to the town) still let thy jav'lin meet With all his offers of retreat." Thus stepp'd they from the plain Amongst the slaughter'd carcasses. Dolon came on amain, Suspecting nothing; but once past, as far as mules outdraw Oxen at plough, being both put on, neither admitted law, To plough a deep-soil'd furrow forth, so far was Dolon past. Then they pursu'd, which he perceiv'd, and stay'd his speedless haste, Subtly supposing Hector sent to countermand his spy; But, in a jav'lin's throw or less, he knew them enemy. Then laid he on his nimble knees, and they pursu'd like wind. As when a brace of greyhounds are laid in with hare and hind, Close-mouth'd and skill'd to make the best of their industrious course, Serve either's turn, and, set on hard, lose neither ground nor force; So constantly did Tydeus' son, and his town-razing peer, Pursue this spy, still turning him, as he was winding near His covert, till he almost mix'd with their out-courts of guard. Then Pallas prompted Diomed, lest his due worth's reward Should be impair'd if any man did vaunt he first did sheath His sword in him, and he be call'd but second in his death. Then spake he, threat'ning with his lance: "Or stay, or this comes on, And long thou canst not run before thou be by death outgone." This said, he threw his jav'lin forth; which missed as Diomed would, Above his right arm making way, the pile stuck in the mould. He stay'd and trembled, and his teeth did chatter in his head. They came in blowing, seiz'd him fast; he, weeping, offeréd A wealthy ransom for his life, and told them he had brass, Much gold, and iron, that fit for use in many labours was, From whose rich heaps his father would a wondrous portion give, If, at the great Achaian fleet, he heard his son did live. Ulysses bad him cheer his heart. "Think not of death," said he, "But tell us true, why runn'st thou forth, when others sleeping be? Is it to spoil the carcasses? Or art thou choicely sent T' explore our drifts? Or of thyself seek'st thou some wish'd event?" He trembling answer'd: "Much reward did Hector's oath propose, And urg'd me, much against my will, t' endeavour to disclose If you determin'd still to stay, or bent your course for flight, As all dismay'd with your late foil, and wearied with the fight. For which exploit, Pelides' horse and chariot he did swear, I only ever should enjoy." Ulysses smil'd to hear So base a swain have any hope so high a prise t' aspire, And said, his labours did affect a great and precious hire, And that the horse Pelides rein'd no mortal hand could use But he himself, whose matchless life a Goddess did produce. "But tell us, and report but truth, where left'st thou Hector now? Where are his arms? His famous horse? On whom doth he bestow The watch's charge? Where sleep the kings? Intend they still to lie Thus near encamp'd, or turn suffic'd with their late victory?" "All this," said he, "I'll tell most true. At Ilus' monument Hector with all our princes sits, t' advise of this event; Who choose that place remov'd to shun the rude confuséd sounds The common soldiers throw about. But, for our watch, and rounds, Whereof, brave lord, thou mak'st demand, none orderly we keep. The Trojans, that have roofs to save, only abandon sleep, And privately without command each other they exhort To make prevention of the worst; and in this slender sort Is watch and guard maintain'd with us. Th' auxiliary bands Sleep soundly, and commit their cares into the Trojans' hands, For they have neither wives with them, nor children to protect; The less they need to care, the more they succour dull neglect." "But tell me," said wise Ithacus, "are all these foreign pow'rs Appointed quarters by themselves, or else commix'd with yours?" "And this," said Dolon, "too, my lords, I'll seriously unfold. The Pæons with the crookéd bows, and Cares, quarters hold Next to the sea, the Leleges, and Caucons, join'd with them, And brave Pelasgians. Thymber's mead, remov'd more from the stream, Is quarter to the Lycians, the lofty Mysian force, The Phrygians and Meonians, that fight with arméd horse. But what need these particulars? If ye intend surprise Of any in our Trojan camps, the Thracian quarter lies Utmost of all, and uncommix'd with Trojan regiments, That keep the voluntary watch. New pitch'd are all their tents. King Rhesus, Eioneus' son, commands them, who hath steeds More white than snow, huge, and well-shap'd, their fi'ry pace exceeds The winds in swiftness; these I saw; his chariot is with gold And pallid silver richly fram'd, and wondrous to behold; His great and golden armour is not fit a man should wear, But for immortal shoulders fram'd. Come then, and quickly bear Your happy prisn'er to your fleet; or leave him here fast bound, Till your well-urg'd and rich return prove my relation sound." Tydides dreadfully replied: "Think not of passage thus, Though of right acceptable news thou hast advértis'd us, Our hands are holds more strict than so; and should we set the free For offer'd ransom, for this 'scape thou still wouldst scouting be About our ships, or do us scathe in plain opposéd arms, But, if I take thy life, no way can we repent thy harms." With this, as Dolon reach'd his hand to use a suppliant's part, And stroke the beard of Diomed, he strook his neck athwart With his forc'd sword, and both the nerves he did in sunder wound, And suddenly his head, deceiv'd, fell speaking on the ground. His weasel's helm they took, his bow, his wolf's skin, and his lance, Which to Minerva Ithacus did zealously advance, With lifted arm into the air; and to her thus he spake: "Goddess, triumph in thine own spoils; to thee we first will make Our invocations, of all pow'rs thron'd on th' Olympian hill; Now to the Thracians, and their horse, and beds, conduct us still." With this, he hung them up aloft upon a tamrick bough As eyeful trophies, and the sprigs that did about it grow He proinéd from the leafy arms, to make it easier view'd When they should hastily retire, and be perhaps pursu'd, Forth went they through black blood and arms, and presently aspir'd The guardless Thracian regiment, fast bound with sleep, and tir'd; Their arms lay by, and triple ranks they, as they slept, did keep, As they should watch and guard their king, who, in a fatal sleep, Lay in the midst; their chariot horse, as they coach-fellows were, Fed by them; and the famous steeds, that did their gen'ral bear, Stood next him, to the hinder part of his rich chariot tied. Ulysses saw them first, and said, "Tydides, I have spied The horse that Dolon, whom we slew, assur'd us we should see. Now use thy strength; now idle arms are most unfit for thee; Prise thou the horse; or kill the guard, and leave the horse to me." Minerva, with the azure eyes, breath'd strength into her king, Who filled the tent with mixéd death. The souls, he set on wing, Issu'd in groans, and made air swell into her stormy flood. Horror and slaughter had one pow'r, the earth did blush with blood. As when a hungry lion flies, with purpose to devour, On flocks unkept, and on their lives doth freely use his pow'r; So Tydeus' son assail'd the foe; twelve souls before him flew; Ulysses waited on his sword, and ever as he slew, He drew them by their strengthless heels out of the horses' sight. That, when he was to lead them forth, they should not with affright Boggle, nor snore, in treading on the bloody carcasses; For being new come, they were unus'd to such stern sights as these. Through four ranks now did Diomed the king himself attain, Who, snoring in his sweetest sleep, was like his soldiers slain. An ill dream by Minerva sent that night stood by his head, Which was Oenides' royal, unconquer'd Diomed. Meanwhile Ulysses loos'd his horse, took all their reins in hand, And led them forth; but Tydeus' son did in contention stand With his great mind to do some deed of more audacity; If he should take the chariot, where his rich arms did lie, And draw it by the beam away, or bear it on his back, Or if, of more dull Thracian lives, he should their bosoms sack. In this contention with himself, Minerva did suggest And bade him think of his retreat; lest from their tempted rest Some other God should stir the foe, and send him back dismay'd. He knew the voice, took horse, and fled. The Trojan's heav'nly aid, Apollo with the silver how, stood no blind sentinel To their secure and drowsy host, but did discover well Minerva following Diomed; and, angry with his act, The mighty host of Ilion he enter'd, and awak'd The cousin-german of the king, a counsellor of Thrace, Hippocoon; who when he rose, and saw the desert place, Where Rhesus' horse did use to stand, and th' other dismal harms, Men struggling with the pangs of death, he shriek'd out thick alarms, Call'd "Rhesus! Rhesus!" but in vain; then still, "Arm! Arm!" he cried. The noise and tumult was extreme on every startled side Of Troy's huge host; from whence in throngs all gather'd, and admir'd Who could perform such harmful facts, and yet be safe retir'd, Now, coming where they slew the scout, Ulysses stay'd the steeds, Tydides lighted, and the spoils, hung on the tamrick reeds, He took and gave to Ithacus, and up he got again. Then flew they joyful to their fleet. Nestor did first attain The sounds the horse-hoofs strook through air, and said: "My royal peers! Do I but dote, or say I true? Methinks about mine ears The sounds of running horses beat. O would to God they were Our friends thus soon return'd with spoils! But I have hearty fear, Lest this high tumult of the foe doth their distress intend." He scarce had spoke, when they were come. Both did from horse descend. All, with embraces and sweet words, to heav'n their worth did raise. Then Nestor spake: "Great Ithacus, ev'n heap'd with Grecian praise, How have you made these horse your prise? Pierc'd you the dang'rous host, Where such gems stand? Or did some God your high attempts accost, And honour'd you with this reward? Why, they be like the rays The sun effuseth. I have mix'd with Trojans all my days; And now, I hope you will not say, I always lie aboard, Though an old soldier I confess; yet did all Troy afford Never the like to any sense that ever I possess'd. But some good God, no doubt, hath met, and your high valours bless'd, For He that shadows heav'n with clouds loves both as his delights, And She that supples earth with blood cannot forbear your sights." Ulysses answer'd: "Honour'd sire, the willing Gods can give Horse much more worth than these men yield, since in more pow'r they live. These horse are of the Thracian breed; their king, Tydides slew, And twelve of his most trusted guard; and of that meaner crew A scout for thirteenth man we kill'd, whom Hector sent to spy The whole estate of our designs, if bent to fight or fly." Thus, follow'd with whole troops of friends, they with applauses pass'd The spacious dike, and in the tent of Diomed they plac'd The horse without contention, as his deserving's meed, Which, with his other horse set up, on yellow wheat did feed. Poor Dolon's spoils Ulysses had; who shrin'd them on his stern, As trophies vow'd to her that sent the good-aboding hern. Then enter'd they the mere main sea, to cleanse their honour'd sweat From off their feet, their thighs and necks; and, when their vehement heat Was calm'd, and their swoln hearts refresh'd, more curious baths they us'd, Where od'rous and dissolving oils, they through their limbs diffus'd. Then, taking breakfast, a big bowl, fill'd with the purest wine, They offer'd to the Maiden Queen, that hath the azure eyne. THE END OF THE TENTH BOOK.

[1] These are the lightnings before snow, etc. that Scaliger's Criticus so unworthily taxeth; citing the place falsely, as in the third book's annotations, etc.

[2] ᾽Επὶ ξυρου̑ ἵσταται ἀκμη̑ς. This went into a proverb, used by Theocritus, in Dioscuris, out of Homer. THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Atrides and his other peers of name Lead forth their men; whom Eris oath enflame. Hector (by Iris' charge) takes deedless breath, Whiles Agamemnon plies the work of death, Who with the first bears his imperial head. Himself, Ulysses, and King Diomed, Eurypylus, and Æsculapius' son, (Enforc'd with wounds) the furious skirmish shun. Which martial sight when great Achilles views, A little his desire of fight renews; And forth he sends his friend, to bring him word From old Neleides, what wounded lord He in his chariot from the skirmish brought; Which was Machaon. Nestor then besought He would persuade his friend to wreak their harms, Or come himself, deck'd in his dreadful arms. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Lambda presents the General, In fight the worthiest man of all,

Aurora out of restful bed did from bright Tithon rise, To bring each deathless Essence light, and use to mortal eyes; When Jove sent Eris to the Greeks, sustaining in her hand Stern signs of her designs for war. She took her horrid stand Upon Ulysses' huge black bark, that did at anchor ride Amidst the fleet, from whence her sounds might ring on ev'ry side, Both to the tents of Telamon, and th' author of their smarts, Who held, for fortitude and force, the navy's utmost parts. The red-ey'd Goddess, seated there, thunder'd the Orthian song, High, and with horror, through the ears of all the Grecian throng, Her verse with spirits invincible did all their breasts inspire, Blew out all darkness from their limbs, and set their hearts on fire; And presently was bitter war more sweet a thousand times, Than any choice in hollow keels to greet their native climes. Atrides summon'd all to arms, to arms himself dispos'd, First on his legs he put bright greaves, with silver buttons clos'd; Then with rich curace arm'd his breast, which Cinyras bestow'd To gratify his royal guest; for ev'n to Cyprus flowed Th' unbounded fame of those designs the Greeks propos'd for Troy, And therefore gave he him those arms, and wish'd his purpose joy. Ten rows of azure mix'd with black, twelve golden like the sun, Twice-ten of tin, in beaten paths, did through this armour run. Three serpents to the gorget crept, that like three rainbows shin'd, Such as by Jove are fix'd in clouds, when wonders are divin'd. About his shoulders hung his sword, whereof the hollow hilt Was fashion'd all with shining bars, exceeding richly gilt; The scabbard was of silver plate, with golden hangers grac'd. Then he took up his weighty shield, that round about him cast Defensive shadows; ten bright zones of gold-affecting brass Were driv'n about it; and of tin, as full of gloss as glass, Swell'd twenty bosses out of it; in centre of them all One of black metal had engrav'n, full of extreme appall, An ugly Gorgon, compasséd with Terror and with Fear. At it a silver bawdrick hung, with which he us'd to bear, Wound on his arm, his ample shield; and in it there was wov'n An azure dragon, curl'd in folds, from whose one neck was clov'n Three heads contorted in an orb. Then plac'd he on his head His four-plum'd casque; and in his hands two darts he managéd, Arm'd with bright steel that blaz'd to heav'n. Then Juno, and the Maid That conquers empires, trumpets serv'd to summon out their aid In honour of the General, and on a sable cloud, To bring them furious to the field, sat thund'ring out aloud. Then all enjoin'd their charioteers, to rank their chariot horse Close to the dike. Forth march'd the foot, whose front they did r'enforce With some horse troops. The battle then was all of charioteers, Lin'd with light horse. But Jupiter disturb'd this form with fears, And from air's upper region bid bloody vapours rain, For sad ostent much noble life should ere their times be slain. The Trojan host at Ilus' tomb was in battalia led By Hector and Polydamas, and old Anchises' seed Who god-like was esteem'd in Troy, by grave Antenor's race Divine Agenor, Polybus, unmarried Acamas Proportion'd like the States of heav'n. In front of all the field, Troy's great Priamides did bear his all-ways-equal shield, Still plying th' ord'ring of his pow'r. And as amids the sky We sometimes see an ominous star blaze clear and dreadfully, Then run his golden head in clouds, and straight appear again; So Hector otherwhiles did grace the vaunt-guard, shining plain, Then in the rear-guard hid himself, and labour'd ev'rywhere To order and encourage all; his armour was so clear, And he applied each place so fast, that, like a lightning thrown Out of the shield of Jupiter, in ev'ry eye he shone. And as upon a rich man's crop of barley or of wheat, Oppos'd for swiftness at their work, a sort of reaper's sweat, Bear down the furrows speedily, and thick their handfuls fall; So at the joining of the hosts ran slaughter through them all, None stoop'd to any fainting thought of foul inglorious flight, But equal bore they up their heads, and far'd like wolves in fight. Stern Eris, with such weeping sights, rejoic'd to feed her eyes, Who only show'd herself in field, of all the Deities; The other in Olympus' tops sat silent, and repined That Jove to do the Trojans grace should bear so fix'd a mind. He car'd not, but, enthron'd apart, triumphant sat in sway Of his free pow'r, and from his seat took pleasure to display The city so adorn'd with tow'rs, the sea with vessels fill'd, The splendour of refulgent arms, the killer and the kill'd. As long as bright Aurora rul'd, and sacred day increas'd, So long their darts made mutual wounds, and neither had the best; But when, in hill-environ'd vales, the timber-feller takes A sharp set stomach to his meat, and dinner ready makes, His sinews fainting, and his spirits become surcharg'd and dull, Time of accustom'd ease arriv'd, his hands with labour full, Then by their valours Greeks brake through the Trojan ranks, and cheer'd Their gen'ral squadrons through the host; then first of all appear'd The person of the king himself; and then the Trojans lost Bianor by his royal charge, a leader in the host. Who being slain, his charioteer, Oïleus, did alight, And stood in skirmish with the king; the king did deadly smite His forehead with his eager lance, and through his helm it ran, Enforcing passage to his brain, quite through the harden'd pan, His brain mix'd with his clotter'd blood, his body strew'd the ground. There left he them, and presently he other objects found; Isus and Antiphus, two sons King Priam did beget, One lawful, th' other wantonly. Both in one chariot met Their royal foe; the baser born, Isus, was charioteer, And famous Antiphus did fight; both which king Peleus' heir, Whilome in Ida keeping flocks, did deprehend and bind With pliant osiers, and, for price, them to their sire resign'd. Atrides, with his well-aim'd lance, smote Isus on the breast Above the nipple; and his sword a mortal wound impress'd Beneath the ear of Antiphus; down from their horse they fell. The king had seen the youths before, and now did know them well, Rememb'ring them the prisoners of swift Æacides, Who brought them to the sable fleet from Ida's foody leas. And as a lion having found the furrow of a hind, Where she hath calv'd two little twins, at will and ease doth grind Their joints snatch'd in his solid jaws, and crusheth into mist Their tender lives; their dam, though near, not able to resist, But shook with vehement fear herself, flies through the oaken chace From that fell savage, drown'd in sweat, and seeks some covert place; So when with most unmatched strength the Grecian Gen'ral bent 'Gainst these two princes, none durst aid their native king's descent, But fled themselves before the Greeks. And where these two were slain, Pisander and Hippolochus (not able to restrain Their headstrong horse, the silken reins being from their hands let fall) Were brought by their unruly guides before the General. Antimachus begat them both, Antimachus that took Rich gifts, and gold, of Helen's love, and would by no means brook Just restitution should be made of Menelaus' wealth, Bereft him, with his ravish'd queen, by Alexander's stealth. Atrides, lion-like, did charge his sons, who on their knees Fell from their chariot, and besought regard to their degrees, Who, being Antimachus's sons, their father would afford A worthy ransom for their lives, who in his house did hoard Much hidden treasure, brass, and gold, and steel, wrought wondrous choice. Thus wept they, using smoothing terms, and heard this rugged voice Breath'd from the unrelenting king: "If you be of the breed Of stout Antimachus, that stay'd the honourable deed The other peers of Ilion in council had decreed, To render Helen and her wealth; and would have basely slain My brother and wise Ithacus, ambassadors t' attain The most due motion; now receive wreak for his shameful part." This said, in poor Pisander's breast he fix'd his wreakful dart, Who upward spread th' oppresséd earth; his brother crouch'd for dread, And, as he lay, the angry king cut off his arms and head, And let him like a football lie for ev'ry man to spurn. Then to th' extremest heat of fight he did his valour turn, And led a multitude of Greeks, where foot did foot subdue, Horse slaughter'd horse, Need feather'd flight, the batter'd centre flew In clouds of dust about their ears, raised from the horses' hooves, That beat a thunder out of earth as horrible as Jove's. The king, persuading speedy chace, gave his persuasions way With his own valour, slaught'ring still. As in a stormy day In thick-set woods a rav'nous fire wraps in his fierce repair The shaken trees, and by the roots doth toss them into air; Ev'n so beneath Atrides' sword flew up Troy's flying heels, Their horse drew empty chariots, and sought their thund'ring wheels Some fresh directors through the field, where least the púrsuit drives. Thick fell the Trojans, much more sweet to vultures than their wives. Then Jove drew Hector from the darts, from dust, from death and blood, And from the tumult. Still the king firm to the púrsuit stood, Till at old Ilus' monument, in midst of all the field, They reach'd the wild fig-tree, and long'd to make their town their shield. Yet there they rested not; the king still cried, 'Pursue! Pursue!' And all his unreprovéd hands did blood and dust imbrue. But when they came to Scæa's ports, and to the beech of Jove, There made they stand; there ev'ry eye, fixed on each other, strove Who should outlook his mate amaz'd; through all the field they fled. And as a lion, when the night becomes most deaf and dead, Invades ox-herds, affrighting all, that he of one may wreak His dreadful hunger, and his neck he first of all doth break, Then laps his blood and entrails up; so Agamemnon plied The manage of the Trojan chace, and still the last man died, The other fled, a number fell by his imperial hand, Some grovelling downwards from their horse, some upwards strew'd the sand. High was the fury of his lance. But, having beat them close Beneath their walls, the both worlds' Sire did now again repose On fountain-flowing Ida's tops, being newly slid from heav'n, And held a lightning in his hand; from thence this charge was giv'n To Iris with the golden wings: "Thaumantia, fly," said he, "And tell Troy's Hector, that as long as he enrag'd shall see The soldier-loving Atreus' son amongst the foremost fight, Depopulating troops of men, so long he must excite Some other to resist the foe, and he no arms advance; But when he wounded takes his horse, attain'd with shaft or lance, Then will I fill his arm with death, ev'n till he reach the fleet, And peaceful night treads busy day beneath her sacred feet." The wind-foot swift Thaumantia obey'd, and us'd her wings To famous Ilion, from the mount enchas'd with silver springs, And found in his bright chariot the hardy Trojan knight, To whom she spake the words of Jove, and vanish'd from his sight. He leapt upon the sounding earth, and shook his lengthful dart, And ev'rywhere he breath'd exhorts, and stirr'd up ev'ry heart. A dreadful fight he set on foot. His soldiers straight turn'd head. The Greeks stood firm. In both the hosts, the field was perfected. But Agamemnon, foremost still, did all his side exceed, And would not be the first in name unless the first in deed. Now sing, fair Presidents of verse, that in the heav'ns embow'r, Who first encounter'd with the king, of all the adverse pow'r. Iphidamas, Antenor's son, ample and bigly set, Brought up in pasture-springing Thrace, that doth soft sheep beget, In grave Cisseus' noble house, that was his mother's sire, Fair Theano; and when his breast was heighten'd with the fire Of gaysome youth, his grandsire gave his daughter to his love. Who straight his bridal-chamber left. Fame with affection strove, And made him furnish twelve fair ships, to lend fair Troy his hand. His ships he in Percope left, and came to Troy by land. And now he tried the fame of Greece, encount'ring with the king, Who threw his royal lance and miss'd. Iphidamas did fling, And strook him on the arming waist, beneath his coat of brass, Which forc'd him stay upon his arm, so violent it was, Yet pierc'd it not his well-wrought zone, but when the lazy head Tried hardness with his silver waist, it turn'd again like lead. He follow'd, grasping the ground end, but with a lion's wile That wrests away a hunter's staff, he caught it by the pile, And pluck'd it from the caster's hand, whom with his sword he strook Beneath the ear, and with his wound his timeless death he took. He fell and slept an iron sleep; wretched young man, he died, Far from his newly-married wife, in aid of foreign pride, And saw no pleasure of his love; yet was her jointure great, An hundred oxen gave he her, and vow'd in his retreat Two thousand head of sheep and goats, of which he store did leave. Much gave he of his love's first-fruits, and nothing did receive. When Coon (one that for his form might feast an amorous eye, And elder brother of the slain) beheld this tragedy, Deep sorrow sat upon his eyes, and (standing laterally, And to the Gen'ral undiscern'd) his jav'lin he let fly, That 'twixt his elbow and his wrist transfix'd his armless arm; The bright head shin'd on th' other side. The unexpected harm Impress'd some horror in the king; yet so he ceas'd not fight, But rush'd on Coon with his lance, who made what haste he might, Seizing his slaughter'd brother's foot, to draw him from the field, And call'd the ablest to his aid, when under his round shield The king's brass jav'lin, as he drew, did strike him helpless dead; Who made Iphidamas the block, and cut off Coon's head. Thus under great Atrides' arm Antenor's issue thriv'd, And, to suffice precisest fate, to Pluto's mansion div'd. He with his lance, sword, mighty stones, pour'd his heroic wreak On other squadrons of the foe, whiles yet warm blood did break Through his cleft veins; but when the wound was quite exhaust and crude, The eager anguish did approve his princely fortitude. As when most sharp and bitter pangs distract a labouring dame, Which the divine Ilithyæ, that rule the painful frame Of human child-birth, pour on her; th' Ilithyæ that are The daughters of Saturnia; with whose extreme repair The woman in her travail strives to take the worst it gives, With thought it must be, 'tis love's fruit, the end for which she lives, The mean to make herself new born, what comforts will redound; So Agamemnon did sustain the torment of his wound. Then took he chariot, and to fleet bad haste his charioteer, But first pour'd out his highest voice to purchase ev'ry ear: "Princes and leaders of the Greeks, brave friends, now from our fleet Do you expel this boist'rous sway. Jove will not let me meet Illustrate Hector, nor give leave that I shall end the day In fight against the Ilion pow'r; my wound is in my way." This said, his ready charioteer did scourge his spriteful horse, That freely to the sable fleet perform'd their fi'ry course. To bear their wounded sovereign apart the martial thrust, Sprinkling their pow'rful breasts with foam, and snowing on the dust. When Hector heard of his retreat, thus he for fame contends: "Trojans, Dardanians, Lycians, all my close-fighting friends, Think what it is to be renown'd, be soldiers all of name, Our strongest enemy is gone, Jove vows to do us fame, Then in the Grecian faces drive your one-hoof'd violent steeds, And far above their best be best, and glorify your deeds." Thus as a dog-giv'n hunter sets upon a brace of boars His white-tooth'd hounds, puffs, shouts, breathes terms, and on his emprese pours All his wild art to make them pinch; so Hector urg'd his host To charge the Greeks, and, he himself most bold and active most, He brake into the heat of fight, as when a tempest raves, Stoops from the clouds, and all on heaps doth cuff the purple waves. Who then was first, and last, he kill'd, when Jove did grace his deed? Assæus, and Autonous, Opys, and Clytus' seed Prince Dolops, and the honour'd sire of sweet Euryalus Opheltes, Agelaus next, and strong Hipponous, Orus, Æsymnus, all of name. The common soldiers fell, As when the hollow flood of air in Zephyr's cheeks doth swell, And sparseth all the gather'd clouds white Notus' pow'r did draw, Wraps waves in waves, hurls up the froth beat with a vehement flaw; So were the common soldiers wrack'd in troops by Hector's hand. Then ruin had enforc'd such works as no Greeks could withstand, Then in their fleet they had been hous'd, had not Laertes' son Stirr'd up the spirit of Diomed, with this impression: "Tydides, what do we sustain, forgetting what we are? Stand by me, dearest in my love. 'Twere horrible impair For our two valours to endure a customary flight, To leave our navy still engag'd, and but by fits to fight." He answer'd: "I am bent to stay, and anything sustain; But our delight to prove us men will prove but short and vain, For Jove makes Trojans instruments, and virtually then Wields arms himself. Our cross affairs are not 'twixt men and men." This said, Thymbræus with his lance he tumbled from his horse, Near his left nipple wounding him. Ulysses did enforce Fair Molion, minion to this king that Diomed subdu'd. Both sent they thence till they return'd, who now the king pursu'd And furrow'd through the thicken'd troops. As when two chaséd boars Turn head 'gainst kennels of bold hounds, and race way through their gores; So, turn'd from flight, the forward kings show'd Trojans backward death. Nor fled the Greeks, but by their wills, to get great Hector breath. Then took they horse and chariot from two bold city foes, Merops Percosius' mighty sons. Their father could disclose, Beyond all men, hid auguries, and would not give consent To their egression to these wars, yet wilfully they went, For Fates, that order sable death, enforc'd their tragedies. Tydides slew them with his lance, and made their arms his prise. Hypirochus, and Hippodus, Ulysses reft of light. But Jove, that out of Ida look'd, then equalis'd the fight, A Grecian for a Trojan then paid tribute to the Fates. Yet royal Diomed slew one, ev'n in those even debates, That was of name more than the rest, Pæon's renownéd son, The prince Agastrophus; his lance into his hip did run; His squire detain'd his horse apart, that hinder'd him to fly, Which he repented at his heart, yet did his feet apply His 'scape with all the speed they had alongst the foremost bands, And there his lovéd life dissolv'd. This Hector understands, And rush'd with clamour on the king, right soundly seconded With troops of Trojans. Which perceiv'd by famous Diomed, The deep conceit of Jove's high will stiffen'd his royal hair, Who spake to near-fought Ithacus: "The fate of this affair Is bent to us. Come let us stand, and bound his violence." Thus threw he his long jav'lin forth, which smote his head's defence Full on the top, yet pierc'd no skin; brass took repulse with brass; His helm (with three folds made, and sharp) the gift of Phœbus was. The blow made Hector take the troop, sunk him upon his hand, And strook him blind. The king pursu'd before the foremost band His dart's recov'ry, which he found laid on the purple plain; By which time Hector was reviv'd, and, taking horse again, Was far commix'd within his strength, and fled his darksome grave. He follow'd with his thirsty lance, and this elusive brave: "Once more be thankful to thy heels, proud dog, for thy escape. Mischief sat near thy bosom now; and now another rape Hath thy Apollo made of thee, to whom thou well mayst pray, When through the singing of our darts thou find'st such guarded way. But I shall meet with thee at length, and bring thy latest hour, If with like favour any God be fautour of my pow'r. Meanwhile some other shall repay, what I suspend in thee." This said, he set the wretched soul of Pæon's issue free, Whom his late wound not fully slew. But Priam's amorous birth Against Tydides bent his bow, hid with a hill of earth, Part of the ruinated tomb for honour'd Ilus built, And as the curace of the slain, engrav'n and richly gilt, Tydides from his breast had spoil'd, and from his shoulders raft His target and his solid helm, he shot, and his keen shaft (That never flew from him in vain) did nail unto the ground The king's right foot; the spleenful knight laugh'd sweetly at the wound, Crept from his covert, and triumph'd: "Now art thou maim'd," said he, "And would to God my happy hand had so much honour'd me To have infix'd it in thy breast, as deep as in thy foot, Ev'n to th' expulsure of thy soul! Then blest had been my shoot Of all the Trojans; who had then breath'd from their long unrests. Who fear thee, as the braying goats abhor the king of beasts." Undaunted Diomed replied: "You braver with your bow, You slick-hair'd lover, you that hunt and fleer at wenches so, Durst thou but stand in arms with me, thy silly archery Would give thee little cause to vaunt. As little suffer I In this same tall exploit of thine, perform'd when thou wert hid, As if a woman, or a child that knew not what it did, Had touch'd my foot. A coward's steel hath never any edge. But mine, t' assure it sharp, still lays dead carcasses in pledge; Touch it, it renders lifeless straight, it strikes the fingers' ends Of hapless widows in their cheeks, and children blind of friends. The subject of it makes earth red, and air with sighs inflames, And leaves limbs more embrac'd with birds than with enamour'd dames." Lance-fam'd Ulysses now came in, and stept before the king, Kneel'd opposite, and drew the shaft. The eager pain did sting Through all his body. Straight he took his royal chariot there, And with direction to the fleet did charge his charioteer. Now was Ulysses desolate, fear made no friend remain, He thus spake to his mighty mind: "What doth my state sustain? If I should fly this odds in fear, that thus comes clust'ring on, 'Twere high dishonour; yet 'twere worse, to be surpris'd alone. 'Tis Jove that drives the rest to fight; but that's a faint excuse. Why do I tempt my mind so much? Pale cowards fight refuse. He that affects renown in war must like a rock be fix'd, Wound, or be wounded. Valour's truth puts no respect betwixt." In this contention with himself, in flew the shady bands Of targeteers, who sieg'd him round with mischief-filléd hands. As when a crew of gallants watch the wild muse of a boar, Their dogs put after in full cry, he rusheth on before, Whets, with his lather-making jaws, his crookéd tusks for blood, And, holding firm his usual haunts, breaks through the deepen'd wood, They charging, though his hot approach be never so abhorr'd; So, to assail the Jove-lov'd Greek, the Ilians did accord, And he made through them. First he hurt, upon his shoulder blade, Deiops, a blameless man at arms; then sent to endless shade Thoon and Eunomus; and strook the strong Chersidamas, As from his chariot he leap'd down, beneath his targe of brass; Who fell, and crawl'd upon the earth with his sustaining palms, And left the fight. Nor yet his lance left dealing martial alms, But Socus' brother by both sides, young Carops, did impress. Then princely Socus to his aid made brotherly access, And, coming near, spake in his charge: "O great Laertes' son, Insatiate in sly stratagems, and labours never done, This hour, or thou shalt boast to kill the two Hippasides And prise their arms, or fall thyself in my resolv'd access." This said, he threw quite through his shield his fell and well-driv'n lance, Which held way through his curaces, and on his ribs did glance, Plowing the flesh alongst his sides; but Pallas did repel All inward passage to his life. Ulysses, knowing well The wound undeadly (setting back his foot to form his stand) Thus spake to Socus: "O thou wretch, thy death is in this hand, That stay'st my victory on Troy, and where thy charge was made In doubtful terms (or this or that) this shall thy life invade." This frighted Socus to retreat, and, in his faint reverse, The lance betwixt his shoulders fell, and through his breast did perse, Down fell he sounding, and the king thus play'd with his mis-ease: "O Socus, you that make by birth the two Hippasides, Now may your house and you perceive death can outfly the flyer. Ah wretch! thou canst not 'scape my vows. Old Hippasus thy sire, Nor thy well-honour'd mother's hands, in both which lies thy worth, Shall close thy wretched eyes in death, but vultures dig them forth, And hide them with their darksome wings; but when Ulysses dies, Divinest Greeks shall tomb my corse with all their obsequies." Now from his body and his shield the violent lance he drew, That princely Socus had infix'd; which drawn, a crimson dew Fell from his bosom on the earth; the wound did dare him sore. And when the furious Trojans saw Ulysses' forcéd gore, Encouraging themselves in gross, all his destruction vow'd. Then he retir'd, and summon'd aid. Thrice shouted he aloud, As did denote a man engag'd. Thrice Menelaus' ear Observ'd his aid-suggesting voice, and Ajax being near, He told him of Ulysses' shouts, as if he were enclos'd From all assistance, and advis'd their aids might be dispos'd Against the ring that circled him, lest, charg'd with troops alone, (Though valiant) he might be oppress'd, whom Greece so built upon. He led, and Ajax seconded. They found their Jove-lov'd king Circled with foes. As when a den of bloody lucerns cling About a goodly-palméd hart, hurt with a hunter's bow, Whose 'scape his nimble feet enforce, whilst his warm blood doth flow, And his light knees have pow'r to move; but, master'd of his wound, Emboss'd within a shady hill, the lucerns charge him round, And tear his flesh; when instantly fortune sends in the pow'rs Of some stern lion, with whose sight they fly, and he devours; So charged the Ilians Ithacus, many and mighty men. But then made Menelaus in, and horrid Ajax then, Bearing a target like a tow'r, close was his violent stand, And every way the foe dispers'd, when, by the royal hand, Kind Menelaus led away the hurt Laertes' son, Till his fair squire had brought his horse. Victorious Telamon Still plied the foe, and put to sword a young Priamides, Doryclus, Priam's bastard son; then did his lance impress Pandocus, and strong Pirasus, Lysander and Palertes. As when a torrent from the hills, swoln with Saturnian show'rs, Falls on the fields, bears blasted oaks, and wither'd rosin flow'rs, Loose weeds, and all disperséd filth, into the ocean's force; So matchless Ajax beat the field, and slaughter'd men and horse. Yet had not Hector heard of this, who fought on the left wing Of all the host, near those sweet herbs Scamander's flood doth spring, Where many foreheads trod the ground, and where the skirmish burn'd Near Nestor and king Idomen, where Hector over turn'd The Grecian squadrons, authoring high service with his lance, And skilful manage of his horse. Nor yet the discrepance He made in death betwixt the hosts had made the Greeks retire, If fair-hair'd Helen's second spouse had not repress'd the fire Of bold Machaon's fortitude, who with a three-fork'd head In his right shoulder wounded him. Then had the Grecians dread. Lest, in his strength declin'd, the foe should slaughter their hurt friend. Then Crete's king urg'd Neleides his chariot to ascend, And getting near him, take him in, and bear him to their tents. A surgeon is to be preferr'd, with physic ornaments, Before a multitude; his life gives hurt lives native bounds, With sweet inspersion of fit balms, and perfect search of wounds. Thus spake the royal Idomen. Neleides obey'd, And to his chariot presently the wounded Greek convey'd, The son of Æsculapius, the great physician. To fleet they flew. Cebriones perceiv'd the slaughter done By Ajax on the other troops, and spake to Hector thus: "Whiles we encounter Grecians here, stern Telamonius Is yonder raging, turning up in heaps our horse and men; I know him by his spacious shield. Let us turn chariot then, Where, both of horse and foot, the fight most hotly is propos'd, In mutual slaughters. Hark, their throats from cries are never clos'd." This said, with his shrill scourge he strook the horse, that fast ensu'd Stung with his lashes, tossing shields, and carcasses imbru'd. The chariot tree was drown'd in blood, and th' arches by the seat Disperpled from the horses' hoofs, and from the wheel bands beat. Great Hector long'd to break the ranks, and startle their close fight, Who horribly amaz'd the Greeks, and plied their sudden fright With busy weapons, ever wing'd; his lance, sword, weighty stones. Yet charg'd he other leader's hands, not dreadful Telamon's; With whom he wisely shunn'd foul blows. But Jove (that weighs above All human pow'rs) to Ajax' breast divine repressions drove, And made him shun who shunn'd himself; he ceas'd from fight amaz'd, Cast on his back his sev'n-fold shield, and round about him gaz'd Like one turn'd wild, look'd on himself in his distract retreat, Knee before knee did scarcely move. As when from herds of neat, Whole threaves of boors and mongrels chase a lion skulking near, Loth he should taint the well-prized fat of any stall-fed steer, Consuming all the night in watch, he, greedy of his prey, Oft thrusting on is oft thrust off, so thick the jav'lins play On his bold charges, and so hot the burning fire-brands shine, Which he (though horrible) abhors, about his glowing eyne, And early his great heart retires; so Ajax from the foe, For fear their fleet should be inflam'd, 'gainst his swoln heart did go. As when a dull mill ass comes near a goodly field of corn, Kept from the birds by children's cries, the boys are overborne By his insensible approach, and simply he will eat; About whom many wands are broke, and still the children beat, And still the self-providing ass doth with their weakness bear, Not stirring till his paunch be full, and scarcely then will steer; So the huge son of Telamon amongst the Trojans far'd, Bore show'rs of darts upon his shield, yet scorn'd to fly as scar'd, And so kept softly on his way; nor would he mend his pace For all their violent pursuits, that still did arm the chace With singing lances. But, at last, when their cur-like presumes More urg'd the more forborne, his spirits did rarify their fumes, And he revok'd his active strength, turn'd head, and did repell The horse-troops that were new made in, 'twixt whom the fight grew fell; And by degrees he stole retreat, yet with such puissant stay That none could pass him to the fleet. In both the armies' sway He stood, and from strong hands receiv'd sharp jav'lins on his shield, Where many stuck, thrown on before, many fell short in field, Ere the white body they could reach, and stuck, as telling how They purpos'd to have pierc'd his flesh. His peril piercéd now The eyes of prince Eurypylus, Evemon's famous son, Who came close on, and with his dart strook duke Apisaon, Whose surname was Phausiades, ev'n to the concrete blood That makes the liver; on the earth, out gush'd his vital flood. Eurypylus made in, and eas'd his shoulders of his arms; Which Paris seeing, he drew his bow, and wreak'd in part the harms Of his good friend Phausiades, his arrow he let fly That smote Eurypylus, and brake in his attainted thigh; Then took he troop to shun black death, and to the flyers cried: "Princes, and leaders of the Greeks, stand, and repulse the tide Of this our honour-wracking chace. Ajax is drown'd in darts, I fear past 'scape; turn, honour'd friends, help out his vent'rous parts." Thus spake the wounded Greek; the sound cast on their backs their shields, And rais'd their darts; to whose relief Ajax his person wields. Then stood he firmly with his friends, retiring their retire. And thus both hosts indiff'rent join'd, the fight grew hot as fire. Now had Neleides' sweating steeds brought him, and his hurt friend, Amongst their fleet. Æacides, that wishly did intend, Standing astern his tall-neck'd ship, how deep the skirmish drew Amongst the Greeks, and with what ruth the insecution grew, Saw Nestor bring Machaon hurt, and from within did call His friend Patroclus; who, like Mars in form celestial, Came forth with first sound of his voice, first spring of his decay, And ask'd his princely friend's desire. "Dear friend," said he, "this day I doubt not will enforce the Greeks, to swarm about my knees; I see unsuffer'd need employ'd in their extremities. Go, sweet Patroclus, and inquire of old Neleides Whom he brought wounded from the fight; by his back parts I guess It is Machaon, but his face I could not well descry, They pass'd me in such earnest speed." Patroclus presently Obey'd his friend, and ran to know. They now descended were, And Nestor's squire, Eurymedon, the horses did ungear; Themselves stood near th' extremest shore, to let the gentle air Dry up their sweat; then to the tent where Hecamed the fair Set chairs, and for the wounded prince a potion did prepare. This Hecamed, by war's hard fate, fell to old Nestor's share, When Thetis' son sack'd Tenedos; she was the princely seed Of worthy king Arsinous, and by the Greeks decreed The prise of Nestor, since all men in counsel he surpass'd. First, a fair table she appos'd, of which the feet were grac'd With bluish metal mix'd with black; and on the same she put A brass fruit-dish, in which she serv'd a wholesome onion cut For pittance to the potion, and honey newly wrought, And bread, the fruit of sacred meal. Then to the board she brought A right fair cup with gold studs driv'n, which Nestor did transfer From Pylos; on whose swelling sides four handles fixéd were, And upon ev'ry handle sat a pair of doves of gold, Some billing, and some pecking meat; two gilt feet did uphold The antique body; and withal so weighty was the cup That, being propos'd brimful of wine, one scarce could lift it up, Yet Nestor drunk in it with ease, spite of his years' respect. In this the goddess-like fair dame a potion did confect With good old wine of Pramnius, and scrap'd into the wine Cheese made of goat's milk, and on it spers'd flour exceeding fine. In this sort for the wounded lord the potion she prepar'd, And bad him drink. For company, with him old Nestor shar'd. Thus physically quench'd they thirst, and then their spirits reviv'd With pleasant conference. And now Patroclus, being arriv'd, Made stay at th' entry of the tent. Old Nestor, seeing it, Rose, and receiv'd him by the hand, and fain would have him sit. He set that courtesy aside, excusing it with haste, Since his much-to-be-rev'renced friend sent him to know who past, Wounded with him in chariot, so swiftly through the shore; "Whom now," said he, "I see and know, and now can stay no more; You know, good father, our great friend is apt to take offence, Whose fi'ry temper will inflame sometimes with innocence." He answer'd: "When will Peleus' son some royal pity show On his thus wounded countrymen? Ah! is he yet to know How much affliction tires our host? How our especial aid, Tainted with lances, at their tents are miserably laid? Ulysses, Diomed, our king, Eurypylus, Machaon, All hurt, and all our worthiest friends; yet no compassion Can supple thy friend's friendless breast! Doth he reserve his eye Till our fleet burn, and we ourselves one after other die? Alas, my forces are not now as in my younger life. Oh would to God I had that strength I uséd in the strife Betwixt us and the Elians, for oxen to be driv'n, When Itymonius' lofty soul was by my valour giv'n As sacrifice to destiny, Hypirochus' strong son, That dwelt in Elis, and fought first in our contention! We forag'd, as proclaiméd foes, a wondrous wealthy boot, And he, in rescue of his herds, fell breathless at my foot. All the dorp boors with terror fled. Our prey was rich and great; Twice five and twenty flocks of sheep; as many herds of neat; As many goats, and nasty swine; an hundred fifty mares, All sorrel, most with sucking foals. And these soon-monied wares We drave into Neleius' town, fair Pylos, all by night. My father's heart was glad to see so much good fortune quite The forward mind of his young son, that us'd my youth in deeds, And would not smother it in moods. Now drew the Sun's bright steeds Light from the hills; our heralds now accited all that were Endamag'd by the Elians; our princes did appear; Our boot was parted; many men th' Epeians much did owe, That, being our neighbours, they did spoil; afflictions did so flow On us poor Pylians, though but few. In brake great Hercules To our sad confines of late years, and wholly did suppress Our hapless princes. Twice-six Sons renown'd Neleius bred, Only myself am left of all, the rest subdu'd and dead. And this was it that made so proud the base Epeian bands, On their near neighbours, being oppress'd, to lay injurious hands. A herd of oxen for himself, a mighty flock of sheep, My sire selected, and made choice of shepherds for their keep; And from the gen'ral spoil he cull'd three hundred of the best. The Elians ought him infinite, most plagu'd of all the rest. Four wager-winning horse he lost, and chariots intervented, Being led to an appointed race; the prize that was presented Was a religious three-foot urn; Augeas was the king That did detain them, and dismiss'd their keeper sorrowing For his lov'd charge lost with foul words. Then both for words and deeds My sire being worthily incens'd, thus justly he proceeds To satisfaction, in first choice of all our wealthy prise; And, as he shar'd much, much he left his subjects to suffice, That none might be oppress'd with pow'r, or want his portion due. Thus for the public good we shar'd. Then we to temples drew Our cómplete city, and to heav'n we thankful rites did burn For our rich conquest. The third day ensuing our return The Elians flew on us in heaps; their gen'ral leaders were The two Moliones, two boys, untrainéd in the fear Of horrid war, or use of strength. A certain city shines Upon a lofty prominent, and in th' extreme confines Of sandy Pylos, seated where Alpheus' flood doth run, And call'd Thryessa; this they sieg'd, and gladly would have won, But, having pass'd through all our fields, Minerva as our spy Fell from Olympus in the night, and arm'd us instantly; Nor muster'd she unwilling men, nor unprepar'd for force. My sire yet would not let me arm, but hid away my horse, Esteeming me no soldier yet; yet shin'd I nothing less Amongst our gallants, though on foot; Minerva's mightiness Led me to fight, and made me bear a soldier's worthy name. There is a flood falls into sea, and his crook'd course doth frame Close to Arena, and is call'd bright Minyæus' stream. There made we halt, and there the sun cast many a glorious beam On our bright armours, horse and foot insea'd together there. Then march'd we on. By fi'ry noon we saw the sacred clear Of great Alpheus, where to Jove we did fair sacrifice; And to the azure God, that rules the under-liquid skies, We offer'd up a solemn bull; a bull t' Alpheus' name; And to the blue-ey'd Maid we burn'd a heifer never tame. Now was it night; we supp'd and slept, about the flood, in arms. The foe laid hard siege to our town, and shook it with alarms, But, for prevention of their spleens, a mighty work of war Appear'd behind them; for as soon as Phœbus' fi'ry car Cast night's foul darkness from his wheels (invoking rev'rend Jove, And the unconquer'd Maid his birth) we did th' event approve, And gave them battle. First of all, I slew (the army saw) The mighty soldier Mulius, Augeas' son-in-law, And spoil'd him of his one hoof'd horse; his eldest daughter was Bright Agamede, that for skill in simples did surpass, And knew as many kind of drugs, as earth's broad centre bred. Him charg'd I with my brass-arm'd lance, the dust receiv'd him dead. I, leaping to his chariot, amongst the foremost press'd, And the great-hearted Elians fled frighted, seeing their best And loftiest soldier taken down, the gen'ral of their horse. I follow'd like a black whirlwind, and did for prise enforce Full fifty chariots, ev'ry one furnish'd with two arm'd men, Who ate the earth, slain with my lance. And I had slaughter'd then The two young boys, Moliones, if their world-circling sire, Great Neptune, had not saft their lives, and cover'd their retire With unpierc'd clouds. Then Jove bestow'd a haughty victory Upon us Pylians; for so long we did the chace apply, Slaught'ring and making spoil of arms, till sweet Buprasius' soil, Alesius, and Olenia, were fam'd with our recoil; For there Minerva turn'd our pow'r, and there the last I slew As, when our battle join'd, the first. The Pylians then withdrew To Pylas from Buprasius. Of all th' Immortals then, They most thank'd Jove for victory; Nestor the most of men. Such was I ever, if I were employ'd with other peers, And I had honour of my youth, which dies not in my years. And great Achilles only joys hability of act In his brave prime, and doth not deign t' impart it where 'tis lack'd. No doubt he will extremely mourn, long after that black hour Wherein our ruin shall be brought, and rue his ruthless pow'r, O friend! my memory revives the charge Menœtius gave Thy towardness, when thou sett'st forth, to keep out of the grave Our wounded honour. I myself and wise Ulysses were Within the room, where ev'ry word then spoken we did hear, For we were come to Peleus' court, as we did must'ring pass Through rich Achaia, where thy sire, Menœtius, was, Thyself and great Æacides, when Peleüs the king To thunder-loving Jove did burn an ox for offering, In his court-yard. A cup of gold, crown'd with red wine, he held On th' holy incensory pour'd. You, when the ox was fell'd, Were dressing his divided limbs; we in the portal stood. Achilles seeing us come so near, his honourable blood Was strook with a respective shame, rose, took us by the hands, Brought us both in, and made us sit, and us'd his kind commands For seemly hospitable rites, which quickly were appos'd. Then, after needfulness of food, I first of all disclos'd The royal cause of our repair; mov'd you and your great friend To consort our renown'd designs; both straight did condescend. Your fathers knew it, gave consent, and grave instruction To both your valours. Peleus charg'd his most unequall'd son To govern his victorious strength, and shine past all the rest In honour, as in mere main force. Then were thy partings blest With dear advices from thy sire; 'My lovéd son,' said he, 'Achilles, by his grace of birth, superior is to thee, And for his force more excellent, yet thou more ripe in years; Then with sound counsels, age's fruits, employ his honour'd years, Command and overrule his moods; his nature will obey In any charge discreetly giv'n, that doth his good assay.' "Thus charg'd thy sire, which thou forgett'st. Yet now at last approve, With forcéd reference of these, th' attraction of his love; Who knows if sacred influence may bless thy good intent, And enter with thy gracious words, ev'n to his full consent? The admonition of a friend is sweet and vehement. If any oracle he shun, or if his mother-queen Hath brought him some instinct from Jove, that fortifies his spleen, Let him resign command to thee of all his Myrmidons, And yield by that means some repulse to our confusions, Adorning thee in his bright arms, that his resembled form May haply make thee thought himself, and calm this hostile storm; That so a little we may ease our overchargéd hands, Draw some breath, not expire it all. The foe but faintly stands Beneath his labours; and your charge being fierce, and freshly giv'n, They eas'ly from our tents and fleet may to their walls be driv'n." This mov'd the good Patroclus' mind; who made his utmost haste T' inform his friend; and as the fleet of Ithacus he past, (At which their markets were dispos'd, councils, and martial courts, And where to th' altars of the Gods they made divine resorts) He met renown'd Eurypylus, Evemon's noble son, Halting, his thigh hurt with a shaft, the liquid sweat did run Down from his shoulders and his brows, and from his raging wound Forth flow'd his melancholy blood, yet still his mind was sound. His sight in kind Patroclus' breast to sacred pity turn'd, And (nothing more immartial for true ruth) thus he mourn'd: "Ah wretched progeny of Greece, princes, dejected kings, Was it your fates to nourish beasts, and serve the outcast wings Of savage vultures here in Troy? Tell me, Evemon's fame, Do yet the Greeks withstand his force, whom yet no force can tame? Or are they hopeless thrown to death by his resistless lance?" "Divine Patroclus," he replied, "no more can Greece advance Defensive weapons, but to fleet they headlong must retire, For those that to this hour have held our fleet from hostile fire, And are the bulwarks of our host, lie wounded at their tents, And Troy's unvanquishable pow'r, still as it toils augments. But take me to thy black-stern'd ship, save me, and from my thigh Cut out this arrow, and the blood, that is ingor'd and dry, Wash with warm water from the wound; then gentle salves apply, Which thou know'st best, thy princely friend hath taught thee surgery, Whom, of all Centaurs the most just, Chiron did institute. Thus to thy honourable hands my ease I prosecute, Since our physicians cannot help. Machaon at his tent Needs a physician himself, being leech and patient; And Podalirius, in the field, the sharp conflict sustains." Strong Menœtiades replied: "How shall I ease thy pains? What shall we do, Eurypylus? I am to use all haste, To signify to Thetis' son occurrents that have past, At Nestor's honourable suit. But be that work achiev'd When this is done, I will not leave thy torments unrelieved." This said, athwart his back he cast, beneath his breast, his arm, And nobly help'd him to his tent. His servants, seeing his harm, Dispread ox-hides upon the earth, whereon Machaon lay. Patroclus cut out the sharp shaft, and clearly wash'd away With lukewarm water the black blood; then 'twixt his hands he bruis'd A sharp and mitigatory root; which when he had infus'd Into the green, well-cleansed, wound, the pains he felt before Were well, and instantly allay'd; the wound did bleed no more. THE END OF THE ELEVENTH BOOK. THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

The Trojans at the trench their pow'rs engage, Though greeted by a bird of bad presage. In five parts they divide their pow'r to scale, And Prince Sarpedon forceth down the pale. Great Hector from the ports tears out a stone, And with so dead a strength he sets it gone At those broad gates the Grecians made to guard Their tents and ships, that, broken, and unbarr'd, They yield way to his pow'r; when all contend To reach the ships; which all at last ascend. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Μϒ works the Trojans all the grace, And doth the Grecian fort deface.

Patroclus thus employ'd in cure of hurt Eurypylus, Both hosts are all for other wounds doubly contentious, One always labouring to expel, the other to invade. Nor could the broad dike of the Greeks, or that strong wall they made To guard their fleet, be long unras'd; because it was not rais'd By grave direction of the Gods, nor were their Deities prais'd (When they begun) with hecatombs, that then they might be sure (Their strength being season'd well with heav'n's) it should have force t' endure, And so, the safeguard of their fleet, and all their treasure there, Infallibly had been confirm'd; when, now, their bulwarks were Not only without pow'r of check to their assaulting foe (Ev'n now, as soon as they were built) but apt to overthrow; Such as, in very little time, shall bury all their sight And thought that ever they were made. As long as the despite Of great Æacides held up, and Hector went not down, And that by those two means stood safe king Priam's sacred town, So long their rampire had some use, though now it gave some way; But when Troy's best men suffer'd fate, and many Greeks did pay; Dear for their suff'rance, then the rest home to their country turn'd, The tenth year of their wars at Troy, and Troy was sack'd and burn'd. And then the Gods fell to their fort; then they their pow'rs employ To ruin their work, and left less of that than they of Troy. Neptune and Phœbus tumbled down, from the Idalian hills, An inundation of all floods, that thence the broad sea fills On their huge rampire; in one glut, all these together roar'd, Rhesus, Heptaporus, Rhodius, Scamander the ador'd, Caresus, Simois, Grenicus, Æsepus; of them all Apollo open'd the rough mouths, and made their lusty fall Ravish the dusty champian, where many a helm and shield, And half-god race of men, were strew'd. And, that all these might yield Full tribute to the heav'nly work, Neptune and Phœbus won Jove to unburthen the black wombs of clouds, fill'd by the sun, And pour them into all their streams, that quickly they might send The huge wall swimming to the sea. Nine days their lights did spend To nights in tempests; and when all their utmost depth had made, Jove, Phœbus, Neptune, all came down, and all in state did wade To ruin of that impious fort. Great Neptune went before, Wrought with his trident, and the stones, trunks, roots of trees, he tore Out of the rampire, toss'd them all into the Hellespont, Ev'n all the proud toil of the Greeks, with which they durst confront The to-be shunnéd Deities, and not a stone remain'd Of all their huge foundations, all with the earth were plain'd. Which done, again the Gods turn'd back the silver-flowing floods By that vast channel, through whose vaults they pour'd abroad their broods, And cover'd all the ample shore again with dusty sand. And this the end was of that wall, where now so many a hand Was emptiéd of stones and darts, contending to invade; Where Clamour spent so high a throat; and where he fell blows made The new-built wooden turrets groan. And here the Greeks were pent, Tam'd with the iron whip of Jove, that terrors vehement Shook over them by Hector's hand, who was in ev'ry thought The terror-master of the field, and like a whirlwind fought, As fresh as in his morn's first charge. And as a savage boar, Or lion, hunted long, at last, with hounds' and hunters' store Is compass'd round; they charge him close, and stand (as in a tow'r They had inchas'd him) pouring on of darts an iron show'r; His glorious heart yet nought appall'd, and forcing forth his way, Here overthrows a troop, and there a running ring doth stay His utter passage; when, again, that stay he overthrows, And then the whole field frees his rage; so Hector wearies blows, Runs out his charge upon the fort, and all his force would force To pass the dike; which, being so deep, they could not get their horse To venture on, but trample, snore, and on the very brink To neigh with spirit, yet still stand off. Nor would a human think The passage safe; or, if it were, 'twas less safe for retreat; The dike being ev'rywhere so deep, and, where 'twas least deep, set With stakes exceeding thick, sharp, strong, that horse could never pass, Much less their chariots after them; yet for the foot there was Some hopeful service, which they wish'd. Polydamas then spake: "Hector, and all our friends of Troy, we indiscreetly make Offer of passage with our horse; ye see the stakes, the wall, Impossible for horse to take; nor can men fight at all, The place being strait, and much more apt to let us take our bane Than give the enemy. And yet, if Jove decree the wane Of Grecian glory utterly, and so bereave their hearts That we may freely charge them thus, and then will take our parts, I would with all speed wish th' assault, that ugly shame might shed (Thus far from home) these Grecians' bloods. But, if they once turn head And sally on us from their fleet, when in so deep a dike We shall lie struggling, not a man of all our host is like To live and carry back the news. And therefore be it thus: Here leave we horse kept by our men, and all on foot let us Hold close together, and attend the grace of Hector's guide, And then they shall not bear our charge, our conquest shall be dyed In their lives' purples." This advice pleas'd Hector, for 'twas sound; Who first obey'd it, and full-arm'd betook him to the ground. And then all left their chariots when he was seen to lead, Rushing about him, and gave up each chariot and steed To their directors to be kept, in all procinct of war, There, and on that side of the dike. And thus the rest prepare Their onset: In five regiments they all their pow'r divide, Each regiment allow'd three chiefs. Of all which ev'n the pride Serv'd in great Hector's regiment; for all were set on fire (Their passage beaten through the wall) with hazardous desire That they might once but fight at fleet. With Hector captains were Polydamas, and Cebriones, who was his charioteer; But Hector found that place a worse. Chiefs of the second band Were Paris and Alcathous, Agenor. The command The third strong phalanx had, was giv'n to th' augur Helenus, Deiphobus, that god-like man, and mighty Asius, Ev'n Asius Hyrtacides, that from Arisba rode The huge bay horse, and had his house where river Selleës flow'd. The fourth charge good Æneas led, and with him were combin'd Archelochus, and Acamas, Antenor's dearest kind, And excellent at ev'ry fight. The fifth brave company Sarpedon had to charge, who choos'd, for his command's supply, Asteropseus great in arms, and Glaucus; for both these Were best of all men but himself, but he was fellowless. Thus fitted with their well-wrought shields, down the steep dike they go, And (thirsty of the wall's assault) believe in overthrow, Not doubting but with headlong falls to tumble down the Greeks From their black navy. In which trust, all on; and no man seeks To cross Polydamas' advice with any other course, But Asius Hyrtacides, who (proud of his bay horse) Would not forsake them, nor his man, that was their manager, (Fool that he was) but all to fleet, and little knew how near An ill death sat him, and a sure, and that he never more Must look on lofty Ilion; but looks, and all, before, Put on th' all-cov'ring mist of fate, that then did hang upon The lance of great Deucalides; he fatally rush'd on The left hand way, by which the Greeks, with horse and chariot, Came usually from field to fleet; close to the gates he got, Which both unbarr'd and ope he found, that so the easier might An entry be for any friend that was behind in flight; Yet not much easier for a foe, because there was a guard Maintain'd upon it, past his thought; who still put for it hard, Eagerly shouting; and with him were five more friends of name, That would not leave him, though none else would hunt that way for fame (In their free choice) but he himself. Orestes, Iamenus, And Acamas Asiades, Thoon, Oenomaus, Were those that follow'd Asius. Within the gates they found Two eminently valorous, that from the race renown'd Of the right valiant Lapithes deriv'd their high descent; Fierce Leontëus was the one, like Mars in detriment. [1] The other mighty Polypæt, the great Pirithous' son. These stood within the lofty gates, and nothing more did shun The charge of Asius and his friends, than two high hill-bred oaks, Well-rooted in the binding earth, obey the airy strokes Of wind and weather, standing firm 'gainst ev'ry season's spite. Yet they pour on continued shouts, and bear their shields upright; When in the mean space Polypæt and Leonteus cheer'd Their soldiers to the fleet's defence. But when the rest had heard The Trojans in attempt to scale, clamour and flight did flow Amongst the Grecians; and then, the rest dismay'd, these two Met Asius ent'ring, thrust him back, and fought before their doors. Nor far'd they then like oaks that stood, but as a brace of boars, Couch'd in their own bred hill, that hear a sort of hunter's shout, And hounds in hot trail coming on, then from their dens break out, Traverse their force, and suffer not, in wildness of their way, About them any plant to stand, but thickets off'ring stay Break through, and rend up by the roots, whet gnashes into air, Which Tumult fills with shouts, hounds, horns, and all the hot affair Beats at their bosoms; so their arms rung with assailing blows, And so they stirr'd them in repulse, right well assur'd that those Who were within, and on the wall, would add their parts, who knew They now fought for their tents, fleet, lives, and fame, and therefore threw Stones from the walls and tow'rs, as thick as when a drift wind shakes Black clouds in pieces, and plucks snow, in great and plumy flakes, From their soft bosoms, till the ground be wholly cloth'd in white; So earth was hid with stones and darts, darts from the Trojan fight, Stones from the Greeks, that on the helms and bossy Trojan shields Kept such a rapping, it amaz'd great Asius, who now yields Sighs, beats his thighs, and in a rage his fault to Jove applies: "O Jove," said he, "now clear thou show'st thou art a friend to lies, Pretending, in the flight of Greece, the making of it good, To all their ruins, which I thought could never be withstood; Yet they, as yellow wasps, or bees (that having made their nest [2] The grasping cranny of a hill) when for a hunter's feast Hunters come hot and hungry in, and dig for honey-combs, Then fly upon them, strike and sting, and from their hollow homes Will not be beaten, but defend their labour's fruit, and brood; No more will these be from their port, but either lose their blood (Although but two against all us) or be our pris'ners made." All this, to do his action grace, could not firm Jove persuade, Who for the gen'ral counsel stood, and 'gainst his singular brave, Bestow'd on Hector that day's fame. Yet he and these behave Themselves thus nobly at this port; but how at other ports, And all alongst the stony wall, sole force, 'gainst force and forts, Rag'd in contention 'twixt both hosts, it were no easy thing, Had I the bosom of a God, to tune to life and sing. The Trojans fought not of themselves, a fire from heav'n was thrown That ran amongst them, through the wall, mere added to their own. The Greeks held not their own; weak Grief went with her wither'd hand, And dipp'd it deeply in their spirits, since they could not command Their forces to abide the field, whom harsh Necessity, To save those ships should bring them home, and their good fort's supply, Drave to th' expulsive fight they made; and this might stoop them more Than Need itself could elevate, for ev'n Gods did deplore Their dire estates, and all the Gods that were their aids in war, Who, though they could not clear their plights, yet were their friends thus far, Still to uphold the better sort; for then did Polypæt pass A lance at Damasus, whose helm was made with cheeks of brass, Yet had not proof enough, the pile drave through it and his skull. His brain in blood drown'd, and the man, so late so spiritfull, Fell now quite spiritless to earth. So emptied he the veins Of Pylon, and Ormenus' lives. And then Leonteüs gains The life's end of Hippomachus, Antimachus's son; His lance fell at his girdle-stead, and with his end begun Another end. Leonteüs left him, and through the prease (His keen sword drawn) ran desp'rately upon Antiphates, And lifeless tumbled him to earth. Nor could all these lives quench His fi'ry spirit, that his flame in Menon's blood did drench, And rag'd up ev'n to Iamen's, and young Orestes' life; All heap'd together made their peace in that red field of strife. Whose-fair arms while the victors spoil'd, the youth of Ilion (Of which there serv'd the most and best) still boldly built upon The wisdom of Polydamas, and Hector's matchless strength, And follow'd, fill'd with wondrous spirit, with wish and hope at length, The Greeks' wall won, to fire their fleet. But, having pass'd the dike, And willing now to pass the wall, this prodigy did strike Their hearts with some delib'rate stay: A high-flown eagle soar'd On their troops' left hand, and sustain'd a dragon, all engor'd, In her strong seres, of wondrous size, and yet had no such check In life and spirit but still she fought, and turning back her neck So stung the eagle's gorge, that down she cast her fervent prey Amongst the multitude, and took upon the winds her way, Crying with anguish. When they saw a branded serpent sprawl So full amongst them from above, and from Jove's fowl let fall, They took it an ostent from him, stood frighted, and their cause Polydamas thought just, and spake: "Hector, you know, applause Of humour hath been far from me; nor fits it, or in war, Or in affairs of court, a man employ'd in public care To blanch things further than their truth, or flatter any pow'r; And therefore for that simple course your strength has oft been sour To me in councils; yet again, what shows in my thoughts best, I must discover. Let us cease, and make their flight our rest For this day's honour, and not now attempt the Grecian fleet, For this, I fear, will be th' event, the prodigy doth meet So full with our affair in hand. As this high-flying fowl Upon the left wing of our host, implying our control, Hover'd above us, and did truss within her golden seres A serpent so embru'd and big, which yet, in all her fears, Kept life and fervent spirit to fight, and wrought her own release, Nor did the eagle's eyry feed; so though we thus far prease Upon the Grecians, and perhaps may overrun their wall, Our high minds aiming at their fleet, and that we much appall Their trusséd spirits; yet are they so serpent-like dispos'd That they will fight, though in our seres, and will at length be los'd With all our outcries, and the life of many a Trojan breast Shall with the eagle fly, before we carry to our nest Them, or their navy." Thus expounds the augur this ostent, Whose depth he knows, and these should fear. Hector, with count'nance bent, Thus answer'd him: "Polydamus, your depth in augury I like not, and know passing well thou dost not satisfy Thyself in this opinion; or if thou think'st it true, Thy thoughts the Gods blind, to advise, and urge that as our due, That breaks our duties, and to Jove, whose vow and sign to me Is pass'd directly for our speed; yet light-wing'd birds must be, By thy advice, our oracles, whose feathers little stay My serious actions. What care I, if this, or th' other, way Their wild wings sway them; if the right, on which the sun doth rise, Or, to the left hand, where he sets? 'Tis Jove's high counsel flys With those wings that shall bear up us; Jove's, that both earth and heav'n, Both men and Gods, sustains and rules. One augury is giv'n To order all men, best of all; Fight for thy country's right. But why fear'st thou our further charge? For though the dang'rous fight Strew all men here about the fleet, yet thou need'st never fear To bear their fates; thy wary heart will never trust thee where An enemy's look is; and yet fight, for, if thou dar'st abstain, Or whisper into any ear an abstinence so vain As thou advisest, never fear that any foe shall take Thy life from thee, for 'tis this lance." This said, all forwards make, Himself the first; yet before him exulting Clamour flew, And thunder-loving Jupiter from lofty Ida blew A storm that usher'd their assault, and made them charge like him. It drave directly on the fleet a dust so fierce and dim That it amaz'd the Grecians, but was a grace divine To Hector and his following troops, who wholly did incline To him, being now in grace with Jove, and so put boldly on To raze the rampire; in whose height they fiercely set upon The parapets, and pull'd them down, raz'd ev'ry foremost fight, And all the buttresses of stone, that held their tow'rs upright, They tore away with crows of iron, and hop'd to ruin all. The Greeks yet stood, and still repair'd the fore-fights of their wall With hides of oxen, and from thence, they pour'd down stones in show'rs Upon the underminer's heads. Within the foremost tow'rs Both the Ajaces had command, who answer'd ev'ry part, Th' assaulters, and their soldiers, repress'd, and put in heart; Repairing valour as their wall; spake some fair, some reprov'd, Whoever made not good his place; and thus they all sorts mov'd: "O countrymen, now need in aid would have excess be spent, The excellent must be admir'd, the meanest excellent, The worst do well. In changing war all should not be alike, Nor any idle; which to know fits all, lest Hector strike Your minds with frights, as ears with threats. Forward be all your hands, Urge one another. This doubt down, that now betwixt us stands, Jove will go with us to their walls." To this effect aloud Spake both the princes; and as high, with this, th' expulsion flow'd. And as in winter time, when Jove his cold sharp jav'lins throws Amongst us mortals, and is moved to white earth with his snows, The winds asleep, he freely pours, till highest prominents, Hill tops, low meadows, and the fields that crown with most contents The toils of men, seaports, and shores, are hid, and ev'ry place, But floods, that snow's fair tender flakes, as their own brood, embrace; So both sides cover'd earth with stones, so both for life contend, To show their sharpness; through the wall uproar stood up an end. Nor had great Hector and his friends the rampire overrun, If heav'n's great Counsellor, high Jove, had not inflam'd his son Sarpedon (like the forest's king when he on oxen flies) Against the Grecians; his round targe he to his arm applies, Brass-leav'd without, and all within thick ox-hides quilted hard, The verge nail'd round with rods of gold; and, with two darts prepar'd, He leads his people. As ye see a mountain-lion fare, Long kept from prey, in forcing which, his high mind makes him dare Assault upon the whole full fold, though guarded never so With well-arm'd men, and eager dogs; away he will not go, But venture on, and either snatch a prey, or be a prey; So far'd divine Sarpedon's mind, resolv'd to force his way Through all the fore-fights, and the wall; yet since he did not see Others as great as he in name, as great in mind as he, He spake to Glaucus: [3] "Glaucus, say, why are we honour'd more Than other men of Lycia, in place; with greater store Of meats and cups; with goodlier roofs; delightsome gardens; walks; More lands and better; so much wealth, that court and country talks Of us and our possessions, and ev'ry way we go, Gaze on us as we were their Gods? This where we dwell is so; The shores of Xanthus ring of this; and shall we not exceed As much in merit as in noise? Come, be we great in deed As well as look; shine not in gold, but in the flames of fight; That so our neat-arm'd Lycians may say: 'See, these are right Our kings, our rulers; these deserve to eat and drink the best; These govern not ingloriously; these, thus exceed the rest, Do more than they command to do.' O friend, if keeping back Would keep back age from us, and death, and that we might not wrack In this life's human sea at all, but that deferring now We shunn'd death ever, nor would I half this vain valour show, Nor glorify a folly so, to wish thee to advance; But since we must go, though not here, and that, besides the chance Propos'd now, there are infinite fates of other sort in death, Which, neither to be fled nor 'scaped, a man must sink beneath, Come, try we, if this sort be ours, and either render thus Glory to others, or make them resign the like to us." This motion Glaucus shifted not, but without words obey'd. Foreright went both, a mighty troop of Lycians followéd. Which by Menestheus observ'd, his hair stood up on end, For, at the tow'r where he had charge, he saw Calamity bend Her horrid brows in their approach. He threw his looks about The whole fights near, to see what chief might help the mis'ry out Of his poor soldiers, and beheld where both th' Ajaces fought, And Teucer newly come from fleet; whom it would profit nought To call, since tumult on their helms, shields, and upon the ports, Laid such loud claps; for ev'ry way, defences of all sorts Were adding, as Troy took away; and Clamour flew so high Her wings strook heav'n, and drown'd all voice. The two dukes yet so nigh And at the offer of assault, he to th' Ajaces sent Thoos the herald with this charge: "Run to the regiment Of both th' Ajaces, and call both, for both were better here, Since here will slaughter, instantly, be more enforc'd than there. The Lycian captains this way make, who in the fights of stand Have often show'd much excellence. Yet if laborious hand Be there more needful than I hope, at least afford us some, Let Ajax Telamonius and th' archer Teucer come." The herald hasted, and arriv'd; and both th' Ajaces told, That Peteus' noble son desir'd their little labour would Employ himself in succouring him. Both their supplies were best, Since death assail'd his quarter most; for on it fiercely press'd The well-prov'd mighty Lycian chiefs. Yet if the service there Allow'd not both, he pray'd that one part of his charge would bear, And that was Ajax Telamon, with whom he wish'd would come The archer Teucer. Telamon left instantly his room To strong Lycomedes, and will'd Ajax Oiliades With him to make up his supply, and fill with courages The Grecian hearts till his return; which should he instantly When he had well reliev'd his friend. With this the company Of Teucer he took to his aid; Teucer, that did descend (As Ajax did) from Telamon. With these two did attend Pandion, that bore Teucer's bow. When to Menestheus' tow'r They came, alongst the wall, they found him, and his hearten'd pow'r, Toiling in making strong their fort. The Lycian princes set Black whirlwind-like, with both their pow'rs, upon the parapet. Ajax, and all, resisted them. Clamour amongst them rose. The slaughter Ajax led; who first the last dear sight did close Of strong Epicles, that was friend to Jove's great Lycian son. Amongst the high munition heap, a mighty marble stone Lay highest, near the pinnacle, a stone of such a paise That one of this time's strongest men with both hands could not raise, Yet this did Ajax rouse and throw, and all in sherds did drive Epicles' four-topp'd casque and skull; who (as ye see one dive In some deep river) left his height; life left his bones withal. Teucer shot Glaucus, rushing up yet higher on the wall, Where naked he discern'd his arm, and made him steal retreat From that hot service, lest some Greek, with an insulting threat, Beholding it, might fright the rest. Sarpedon much was griev'd At Glaucus parting, yet fought on, and his great heart reliev'd A little with Alcmaon's blood, surnam'd Thestorides, Whose life he hurl'd out with his lance; which following through the prease He drew from him. Down from the tow'r Alcmaon dead it strook; His fair arms ringing out his death. Then fierce Sarpedon took In his strong hand the battlement, and down he tore it quite, The wall stripp'd naked, and broad way for entry and full fight He made the many. Against him Ajax and Teucer made; Teucer the rich belt on his breast did with a shaft invade; But Jupiter averted death, who would not see his son Die at the tails of th' Achive ships. Ajax did fetch his run, And, with his lance, strook through the targe of that brave Lycian king; Yet kept he it from further pass, nor did it anything Dismay his mind, although his men stood off from that high way His valour made them, which he kept, and hop'd that stormy day Should ever make his glory clear. His men's fault thus he blam'd: "O Lycians, why are your hot spirits so quickly disinflam'd? Suppose me ablest of you all, 'tis hard for me alone To ruin such a wall as this, and make confusion Way to their navy. Lend your hands. What many can dispatch, One cannot think. The noble work of many hath no match." The wise king's just rebuke did strike a rev'rence to his will Through all his soldiers; all stood in, and 'gainst all th' Achives still Made strong their squadrons, insomuch, that to the adverse side, The work show'd mighty, and the wall, when 'twas within descried, No easy service; yet the Greeks could neither free their wall Of these brave Lycians, that held firm the place they first did scale; Nor could the Lycians from their fort the sturdy Grecians drive, Nor reach their fleet. But as two men about the limits strive Of land that toucheth in a field, their measures in their hands, They mete their parts out curiously, and either stiffly stands That so far is his right in law, both hugely set on fire About a passing-little ground; so, greedily aspire Both these foes to their sev'ral ends, and all exhaust their most About the very battlements (for yet no more was lost ). [4] With sword and fire they vex'd for them their targes hugely round, With ox-hides lin'd, and bucklers light; and many a ghastly wound The stern steel gave for that one prise; whereof though some receiv'd Their portions on their naked backs, yet others were bereav'd Of brave lives, face-turn'd, through their shields; tow'rs, bulwarks, ev'rywhere Were freckled with the blood of men. Nor yet the Greeks did bear Base back-turn'd faces; nor their foes would therefore be out-fac'd. But as a spinster poor and just, ye sometimes see, straight-lac'd About the weighing of her web, who, careful, having charge For which she would provide some means, is loth to be too large In giving or in taking weight, but ever with her hand Is doing with the weights and wool, till both in just paise stand; [5] So ev'nly stood it with these foes, till Jove to Hector gave The turning of the scales; who first against the rampire drave, And spake so loud that all might hear: "O stand not at the pale, Brave Trojan friends, but mend your hands; up, and break through the wall, And make a bonfire of their fleet." All heard, and all in heaps Got scaling-ladders, and aloft. In mean space, Hector leaps Upon the port, from whose out-part he tore a massy stone, Thick downwards, upward edg'd; it was so huge an one That two vast yeomen of most strength, such as these times beget, [6] Could not from earth lift to a cart, yet he did brandish it Alone, Saturnius made it light; and swinging it as nought, He came before the planky gates, that all for strength were wrought, And kept the port; two-fold they were, and with two rafters barr'd, High, and strong-lock'd; he rais'd the stone, bent to the hurl so hard, And made it with so main a strength, that all the gates did crack, The rafters left them, and the folds one from another brake, The hinges piecemeal flew, and through the fervent little rock Thunder'd a passage; with his weight th' inwall his breast did knock, And in rush'd Hector, fierce and grim as any stormy night; His brass arms round about his breast reflected terrible light; Each arm held-up held each a dart; his presence call'd up all The dreadful spirits his being held, that to the threaten'd wall None but the Gods might check his way; his eyes were furnaces; And thus he look'd back, call'd in all. All fir'd their courages, And in they flow'd. The Grecians fled, their fleet now and their freight Ask'd all their rescue. Greece went down; Tumult was at his height. THE END OF THE TWELFTH BOOK.

[1] Such maketh Virgil Pandaras and Bitias.

[2] Apta ad rem comparatio.

[3] Sarpedon's speech to Glaucus, neither equalled by any (in this kind) of all that have written.

[4] Admiranda et penè inimitabilis comparatio (saith Spond.); and yet in the explication of it, he thinks all superfluous but three words, ὀλίγῳ ἐνὶ χώρῳ, exiguo in loco, leaving out other words more expressive, with his old rule, uno pede, etc.

[5] A simile superior to the other, in which, comparing mightiest things with meanest, and the meanest illustrating the mightiest, both meeting in one end of this life's preservation and credit, our Homer is beyond comparison and admiration.

[6] Δύ ἀνέρε δήμου, Duo viri plebei. THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Neptune (in pity of the Greeks' hard plight) Like Calchas, both th' Ajaces doth excite, And others, to repel the charging foe. Idomenëus bravely doth bestow His kingly forces, and doth sacrifice Othryonëus to the Destinies, With divers others. Fair Deiphobus, And his prophetic brother Helenus, Are wounded. But the great Priamides. Gath'ring his forces, heartens their address Against the enemy; and then the field A mighty death on either side doth yield. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

The Greeks, with Troy's bold pow'r dismay'd, Are cheer'd by Neptune's secret aid.

Jove helping Hector, and his host, thus close Achive fleet, He let them then their own strengths try, and season there their sweet With ceaseless toils and grievances; for now he turn'd his face, Look'd down, and view'd the far-off land of well-rode men in Thrace, Of the renown'd milk-nourish'd men, the Hippemolgians, Long-liv'd, most just, and innocent, and close-fought Mysians. Nor turn'd he any more to Troy his ever-shining eyes, Because he thought not any one, of all the Deities, When his care left th' indiff'rent field, would aid on either side. But this security in Jove the great Sea-Rector spied, Who sat aloft on th' utmost top of shady Samothrace, And view'd the fight. His chosen seat stood in so brave a place, That Priam's city, th' Achive ships, all Ida, did appear To his full view; who from the sea was therefore seated there. He took much ruth to see the Greeks by Troy sustain such ill, And, mightily incens'd with Jove, stoop'd straight from that steep hill, That shook as he flew off, so hard his parting press'd the height. The woods, and all the great hills near, trembled beneath the weight Of his immortal moving feet. Three steps he only took, Before he far-off Ægas reach'd, but, with the fourth, it shook With his dread entry. In the depth of those seas he did hold His bright and glorious palace, built of never-rusting gold; And there arriv'd, he put in coach his brazen-footed steeds, All golden-maned, and pac'd with wings; and all in golden weeds He cloth'd himself. The golden scourge, most elegantly done, He took, and mounted to his seat; and then the God begun To drive his chariot through the waves. From whirlpits ev'ry way The whales exulted under him, and knew their king; the sea For joy did open; and, his horse so swift and lightly flew, The under axletree of brass no drop of water drew; And thus these deathless coursers brought their king to th' Achive ships. 'Twixt th' Imber cliffs and Tenedos, a certain cavern creeps Into the deep sea's gulfy breast, and there th' Earth-shaker stay'd His forward steeds, took them from coach, and heav'nly fodder laid In reach before them; their brass hoves he girt with gyves of gold, Not to be broken, nor dissolved, to make them firmly hold A fit attendance on their king; who went to th' Achive host, Which, like to tempests or wild flames, the clust'ring Trojans tost, Insatiably valorous, in Hector's like command, High sounding, and resounding, shouts; for hope cheer'd ev'ry hand, To make the Greek fleet now their prise, and all the Greeks destroy. But Neptune, circler of the earth, with fresh heart did employ The Grecian hands. In strength of voice and body he did take Calchas' resemblance, and, of all, th' Ajaces first bespake, Who of themselves were free enough: "Ajaces, you alone Sustain the common good of Greece, in ever putting on The memory of fortitude, and flying shameful flight. Elsewhere the desp'rate hands of Troy could give me no affright, The brave Greeks have withstood their worst; but this our mighty wall Being thus transcended by their pow'r, grave fear doth much appall My careful spirits, lest we feel some fatal mischief here, Where Hector, raging like a flame, doth in his charge appear, And boasts himself the best God's son. Be you conceited so, And fire so, more than human spirits, that God may seem to do In your deeds, and, with such thoughts cheer'd, others to such exhort, And such resistance; these great minds will in as great a sort Strengthen your bodies, and force check to all great Hector's charge, Though ne'er so spirit-like, and though Jove still, past himself, enlarge His sacred actions." Thus he touched, with his fork'd sceptre's point, The breasts of both; fill'd both their spirits, and made up ev'ry joint With pow'r responsive; when, hawk-like, swift, and set sharp to fly, That fiercely stooping from a rock, inaccessible and high, Cuts through a field, and sets a fowl (not being of her kind) Hard, and gets ground still; Neptune so left these two, either's mind Beyond themselves rais'd. Of both which, Oïleus first discern'd The masking Deity, and said: "Ajax, some God hath warn'd Our pow'rs to fight, and save our fleet. He put on him the hue Of th' augur Calchas. By his pace, in leaving us, I knew, Without all question, 'twas a God; the Gods are eas'ly known; And in my tender breast I feel a greater spirit blown, To execute affairs of fight; I find my hands so free To all high motion, and my feet seem feather'd under me," This Telamonius thus receiv'd: "So, to my thoughts, my hands Burn with desire to toss my lance; each foot beneath me stands Bare on bright fire, to use his speed; my heart is rais'd so high That to encounter Hector's self, I long insatiately." While these thus talk'd, as overjoy'd with study for the fight, (Which God had stirr'd up in their spirits) the same God did excite The Greeks that were behind at fleet, refreshing their free hearts And joints, being ev'n dissolv'd with toil; and (seeing the desp'rate parts Play'd by the Trojans past their wall) grief strook them, and their eyes Sweat tears from under their sad lids, their instant destinies Never supposing they could 'scape. But Neptune, stepping in, With ease stirr'd up the able troops, and did at first begin With Teucer, and Peneleüs, th' heroe Leitus, Deipyrus, Meriones, and young Antilochus, All éxpert in the deeds of arms: "O youths of Greece," said he, "What change is this? In your brave fight, I only look'd to see Our fleet's whole safety; and, if you neglect the harmful field, Now shines the day when Greece to Troy must all her honours yield. O grief! So great a miracle, and horrible to sight, As now I see, I never thought could have profan'd the light! The Trojans brave us at our ships, that have been heretofore Like faint and fearful deer in woods, distracted evermore With ev'ry sound, and yet 'scape not, but prove the torn up fare Of lynces, wolves, and lëopards, as never born to war. Nor durst these Trojans at first siege, in any least degree, Expect your strength, or stand one shock of Grecian chivalry; Yet now, far from their walls, they dare fight at our fleet maintain, All by our Gen'ral's cowardice, that doth infect his men Who, still at odds with him, for that will needs themselves neglect, And suffer slaughter in their ships. Suppose there was defect (Beyond all question) in our king, to wrong Æacides, And he, for his particular wreak, from all assistance cease; We must not cease t' assist ourselves. Forgive our Gen'ral then, And quickly too. Apt to forgive are all good-minded men. Yet you, quite void of their good minds, give good, in you quite lost, For ill in others, though ye be the worthiest of your host. As old as I am, I would scorn, to fight with one that flies, Or leaves the fight as you do now. The Gen'ral slothful lies, And you, though slothful too, maintain with him a fight of spleen. Out, out, I hate ye from my heart. Ye rotten-minded men, In this ye add an ill that's worse than all your sloth's dislikes. But as I know to all your hearts my reprehension strikes, So thither let just shame strike too; for while you stand still here A mighty fight swarms at your fleet, great Hector rageth there, Hath burst the long bar and the gates." Thus Neptune rous'd these men, And round about th' Ajaces did their phalanxes maintain Their station firm; whom Mars himself, had he amongst them gone, Could not disparage, nor Jove's Maid that sets men fiercer on; For now the best were chosen out, and they receiv'd th' advance Of Hector and his men so full, that lance was lin'd with lance, Shields thicken'd with opposéd shields, targets to targets nail'd, Helms stuck to helms, and man to man grew, they so close assail'd, Plum'd casques were hang'd in either's plumes, all join'd so close their stands, Their lances stood, thrust out so thick by such all-daring hands, All bent their firm breasts to the point, and made sad fight their joy Of both. Troy all in heaps strook first, and Hector first of Troy. And as a round piece of a rock, which with a winter's flood Is from his top torn, when a show'r, pour'd from a bursten cloud, Hath broke the natural bond it held within the rough steep rock, And, jumping, it flies down the woods, resounding ev'ry shock, And on, uncheck'd, it headlong leaps, till in a plain it stay, And then, though never so impell'd, it stirs not any way; So Hector hereto throated threats, to go to sea in blood, And reach the Grecian ships and tents, without being once withstood. But when he fell into the strengths the Grecians did maintain, And that they fought upon the square, he stood as fetter'd then; And so the adverse sons of Greece laid on with swords and darts, Whose both ends hurt, that they repell'd his worst; and he converts His threats, by all means, to retreats; yet made as he retir'd, Only t' encourage those behind; and thus those men inspir'd: "Trojans! Dardanians! Lycians! All warlike friends, stand close; The Greeks can never bear me long, though tow'r-like they oppose. This lance, be sure, will be their spoil; if ev'n the best of Gods, High thund'ring Juno's husband, stirs my spirit with true abodes," With this all strengths and minds he mov'd; but young Deiphobus, Old Priam's son, amongst them all was chiefly virtuous, He bore before him his round shield, tripp'd lightly through the prease, At all parts cover'd with his shield; and him Meriones Chargrg'd with a glitt'ring dart, that took his bull-hide orby shield, Yet pierc'd it not, but in the top itself did piecemeal yield, Deiphobus thrust forth his targe, and fear'd the broken ends Of strong Meriones's lance, who now turn'd to his friends; The great heroë scorning much by such a chance to part With lance and conquest, forth he went to fetch another dart, Left at his tent. The rest fought on, the clamour heighten'd there Was most unmeasur'd. Teucer first did flesh the massacre, And slew a goodly man at arms, the soldier Imbrius, The son of Mentor, rich in horse; he dwelt at Pedasus Before the sons of Greece sieg'd Troy; from whence he married Medesicaste, one that sprung of Priam's bastard-bed; But when the Greek ships, double-oar'd, arriv'd at Ilion, To Ilion he return'd, and prov'd beyond comparison Amongst the Trojans; he was lodg'd with Priam, who held dear His natural sons no more than him; yet him, beneath the ear, The son of Telamon attain'd, and drew his lance. He fell, As when an ash on some hill's top (itself topp'd wondrous well) The steel hews down, and he presents his young leaves to the soil; So fell he, and his fair arms groan'd, which Teucer long'd to spoil, And in he ran; and Hector in, who sent a shining lance At Teucer, who, beholding it, slipp'd by, and gave it chance On Actor's son, Amphimachus, whose breast it strook; and in Flew Hector, at his sounding fall, with full intent to win The tempting helmet from his head; but Ajax with a dart Reach'd Hector at his rushing in, yet touch'd not any part About his body; it was hid quite through with horrid brass; The boss yet of his targe it took, whose firm stuff stay'd the pass, And he turn'd safe from both the trunks; both which the Grecians bore From off the field. Amphimachus Menestheus did restore, And Stichius, to th' Achaian strength. Th' Ajaces (that were pleas'd Still most with most hot services) on Trojan Imbrius seiz'd. And as from sharply-bitten hounds, a brace of lions force A new-slain goat, and through the woods bear in their jaws the corse Aloft, lift up into the air; so, up into the skies, Bore both th' Ajaces Imbrius, and made his arms their prise. Yet, not content, Oïliades, enrag'd to see there dead His much-belov'd Amphimachus, he hew'd off Imbrius' head; Which, swinging round, bowl-like he toss'd amongst the Trojan prease, And full at Hector's feet it fell. Amphimachus' decease, Being nephew to the God of waves, much vex'd the Deity's mind, And to the ships and tents he march'd, yet more to make inclin'd The Grecians to the Trojan bane. In hasting to which end, Idomenëus met with him, returning from a friend, Whose ham late hurt, his men brought off; and having giv'n command To his physicians for his cure, much fir'd to put his hand To Troy's repulse, he left his tent. Him (like Andremon's son, Prince Thoas, that in Pleuron rul'd, and lofty Calydon, Th' Ætolian pow'rs, and like a God was of his subjects lov'd) Neptune encounter'd, and but thus his forward spirit mov'd: "Idomenëus, prince of Crete! O whither now are fled Those threats in thee, with which the rest the Trojans menacéd?" "O Thoas," he replied, "no one of all our host stands now In any question of reproof, as I am let to know, And why is my intelligence false? We all know how to fight, And, (fear disanimating none) all do our knowledge right. Nor can our harms accuse our sloth, not one from work we miss. The great God only works our ill, whose pleasure now it is That, far from home, in hostile fields, and with inglorious fate, Some Greeks should perish. But do thou, O Thoas, that of late Hast prov'd a soldier, and was wont, where thou hast sloth beheld, To chide it, and exhort to pains, now hate to be repell'd, And set on all men." He replied, "I would to heav'n, that he, Whoever this day doth abstain from battle willingly, May never turn his face from Troy, but here become the prey And scorn of dogs! Come then, take arms, and let our kind assay Join both our forces. Though but two, yet, being both combin'd, The work of many single hands we may perform. We find, That virtue co-augmented thrives in men of little mind, But we have singly match'd the great." Thus said, the God again, With all his conflicts, visited the vent'rous flight of men. The king turn'd to his tent; rich arms put on his breast, and took Two darts in hand, and forth he flew. His haste on made him look Much like a fi'ry meteor, with which Jove's sulph'ry hand Opes heav'n, and hurls about the air bright flashes, showing aland Abodes that ever run before tempest and plagues to men: So, in his swift pace, show'd his arms. He was encounter'd then By his good friend Meriones yet near his tent; to whom Thus spake the pow'r of Idomen: "What reason makes thee come, Thou son of Molus, my most lov'd, thus leaving fight alone? Is't for some wound? The jav'lin's head, still sticking in the bone, Desir'st thou ease of? Bring'st thou news? Or what is it that brings Thy presence hither? Be assur'd, my spirit needs no stings To this hot conflict. Of myself thou seest I come, and loth, For any tent's love, to deserve the hateful taint of sloth." He answer'd: Only for a dart, he that retreat did make, (Were any left him at his tent) for, that he had, he brake On proud Deiphobus's shield. "Is one dart all?" said he, "Take one and twenty, if thou like, for in my tent they be; They stand there shining by the walls. I took them as my prise From those false Trojans I have slain. And this is not the guise Of one that loves his tent, or fights afar off with his foe, But since I love fight, therefore doth my martial star bestow, Besides those darts, helms, targets boss'd, and corslets bright as day." "So I," said Merion, "at my tent, and sable bark, may say, I many Trojan spoils retain, but now not near they be, To serve me for my present use; and therefore ask I thee. Not that I lack a fortitude to store me with my own, For ever in the foremost fights, that render men renown, I fight, when any fight doth stir. And this perhaps may well Be hid to others, but thou know'st, and I to thee appeal." "I know," replied the king, "how much thou weigh'st in ev'ry worth, What need'st thou therefore utter this? If we should now choose forth The worthiest men for ambushes, in all our fleet and host, (For ambushes are services that try men's virtues most, Since there the fearful and the firm will, as they are, appear, The fearful alt'ring still his hue, and rests not anywhere, Nor is his spirit capable of th' ambush constancy, But riseth, changeth still his place, and croucheth curiously On his bent haunches; half his height scarce seen above the ground, For fear to be seen, yet must see; his heart, with many a bound, Off'ring to leap out of his breast, and, ever fearing death, The coldness of it makes him gnash, and half shakes out his teeth; Where men of valour neither fear, nor ever change their looks, From lodging th' ambush till it rise, but, since there must be strokes, Wish to be quickly in their midst) thy strength and hand in these Who should reprove? For if, far off, or fighting in the prease, Thou shouldst be wounded, I am sure the dart that gave the wound Should not be drawn out of thy back, or make thy neck the ground, But meet thy belly, or thy breast, in thrusting further yet When thou art furthest, till the first, and before him, thou get. But on; like children let not us stand bragging thus, but do; Lest some hear, and past measure chide, that we stand still and woo. Go, choose a better dart, and make Mars yield a better chance." This said, Mars-swift Meriones, with haste, a brazen lance Took from his tent, and overtook, most careful of the wars, Idomenëus, And such two, in field, as harmful Mars, And Terror, his belovéd son, that without terror fights, And is of such strength that in war the frighter he affrights, When, out of Thrace, they both take arms against th' Ephyran bands, Or 'gainst the great-soul'd Phlegians, nor favour their own hands, But give the grace to others still; in such sort to the fight, March'd these two managers of men, in armours full of light. And first spake Merion: "On which part, son of Deucalion, Serves thy mind to invade the fight? Is't best to set upon The Trojans, in our battle's aid, the right or left-hand wing, For all parts I suppose employ'd?" To this the Cretan king Thus answer'd: "In our navy's midst are others that assist; The two Ajaces; Teucer too, with shafts the expertest Of all the Grecians, and, though small, is great in fights of stand; And these (though huge he be of strength) will serve to fill the hand Of Hector's self, that Priamist, that studier for blows. It shall be call'd a deed of height for him (even suff'ring throes For knocks still) to outlabour them, and, bett'ring their tough hands, Enflame our fleet. If Jove himself cast not his fire-brands Amongst our navy, that affair no man can bring to field. Great Ajax Telamonius to none alive will yield That yields to death, and whose life takes Ceres' nutritions, That can be cut with any iron, or pash'd with mighty stones; Not to Æacides himself he yields for combats set, Though clear he must give place for pace and free swing of his feet. Since then, the battle (being our place of most care) is made good By his high valour, let our aid see all pow'rs be withstood That charge the left wing, and to that let us direct our course, Where quickly feel we this hot foe, or make him feel our force." This order'd, swift Meriones went, and forewent his king, Till both arriv'd where one enjoin'd. When, in the Greeks' left wing, The Trojans saw the Cretan king, like fire in fortitude, And his attendant, in bright arms so gloriously indu'd, Both cheering the sinister troops, all at the king address'd, And so the skirmish at their sterns on both parts were increas'd, That, as from hollow bustling winds engender'd storms arise, When dust doth chiefly clog the ways which up into the skies The wanton tempest ravisheth, begetting night of day; So came together both the foes, both lusted to assay, And work with quick steel either's death. Man's fierce corruptress, Fight, Set up her bristles in the field with lances long and light, Which thick fell foul on either's face. The splendour of the steel, In new-scour'd curets, radiant casques, and burnish'd shields, did seel Th' assailer's eyes up. He sustain'd a huge spirit, that was glad To see that labour, or in soul that stood not stricken sad. Thus these two disagreeing Gods, old Saturn's mighty sons, Afflicted these heroic men with huge oppressións. Jove honouring Æacides (to let the Greeks still try Their want without him) would bestow, yet still, the victory On Hector, and the Trojan pow'r; yet for Æacides, And honour of his mother-queen, great Goddess of the seas, He would not let proud Ilion see the Grecians quite destroy'd, And therefore from the hoary deep he suffered so employ'd Great Neptune in the Grecian aid; who griev'd for them, and storm'd Extremely at his brother Jove. Yet both one Goddess form'd, And one soil bred, but Jupiter precedence took in birth, And had more knowledge; for which cause, the other came not forth [1] Of his wet kingdom, but with care of not being seen t' excite The Grecian host, and like a man appear'd, and made the fight. So these Gods made men's valours great, but equall'd them with war As harmful as their hearts were good; and stretch'd those chains as far On both sides as their limbs could bear, in which they were involv'd Past breach, or loosing, that their knees might therefore be dissolv'd. Then, though a half-grey man he were, Crete's sov'reign did excite The Greeks to blows, and flew upon the Trojans, ev'n to flight; For he, in sight of all the host, Othryonëus slew, That from Cabesus, with the fame of those wars, thither drew His new-come forces, and requir'd, without respect of dow'r, Cassandra, fair'st of Priam's race; assuring with his pow'r A mighty labour, to expell, in their despite, from Troy The sons of Greece. The king did vow, that done, he should enjoy His goodliest daughter. He (in trust of that fair purchase) fought; And at him threw the Cretan king a lance, that singled out This great assumer, whom it strook just in his navel-stead. His brazen curets helping nought, resign'd him to the dead. Then did the conqueror exclaim, and thus insulted then: "Othryonëus, I will praise, beyond all mortal men, Thy living virtues, if thou wilt now perfect the brave vow Thou mad'st to Priam, for the wife he promis'd to bestow. And where he should have kept his word, there we assure thee here, To give thee for thy princely wife the fairest and most dear Of our great Gen'ral's female race, which from his Argive hall We all will wait upon to Troy, if, with our aids, and all, Thou wilt but raze this well-built town. Come, therefore, follow me, That in our ships we may conclude this royal match with thee. I'll be no jot worse than my word." With that he took his feet, And dragg'd him through the fervent fight; in which did Asius meet The victor, to inflict revenge. He came on foot before His horse, that on his shoulders breath'd; so closely evermore His coachman led them to his lord; who held a huge desire To strike the king, but he strook first, and underneath his chin, At his throat's height, through th' other side, his eager lance drave in; And down he bustled like an oak, a poplar, or a pine, Hewn down for shipwood, and so lay. His fall did so decline The spirit of his charioteer, that, lest he should incense The victor to impair his spoil, he durst not drive from thence His horse and chariot; and so pleas'd, with that respective part, Antilochus, that for his fear he reach'd him with a dart About his belly's midst, and down his sad corse fell beneath The richly builded chariot, there labouring out his breath. The horse Antilochus took off; when, griev'd for this event, Deiphobus drew passing near, and at the victor sent A shining jav'lin; which he saw, and shunn'd, with gath'ring round His body in his all-round shield, at whose top, with a sound, It overflew; yet, seizing there, it did not idly fly from him that wing'd it, his strong hand still drave it mortally On Prince Hypsenor; it did pierce his liver, underneath The veins it passeth; his shrunk knees submitted him to death. And then did lov'd Deiphobus miraculously vaunt: "Now Asius lies not unreveng'd, nor doth his spirit want The joy I wish it, though it be now ent'ring the strong gate Of mighty Pluto, since this hand hath sent him down a mate." This glory in him griev'd the Greeks, and chiefly the great mind Of martial Antilochus, who though to grief inclin'd, He left not yet his friend, but ran and hid him with his shield; And to him came two lovely friends, that freed him from the field, Mecisteus, son of Echius, and the right nobly born Alastor, bearing him to fleet, and did extremely mourn. Idomenëus sunk not yet, but held his nerves entire, His mind much less deficient, being fed with firm desire To hide more Trojans in dim night, or sink himself in guard Of his lov'd countrymen. And then Alcathous prepar'd Work for his valour, off'ring fate his own destructión. A great heroë, and had grace to be the lovéd son Of Æsyetes, son-in-law to prince Æneas' sire, Hippodamia marrying; who most enflam'd the fire Of her dear parents' love, and took precedence in her birth Of all their daughters, and as much exceeded in her worth (For beauty answer'd with her mind, and both with housewif'ry) All the fair beauty of young dames that us'd her company, And therefore, being the worthiest dame, the worthiest man did wed Of ample Troy. Him Neptune stoop'd beneath the royal force Of Idomen, his sparkling eyes deluding, and the course Of his illustrious lineaments so out of nature bound, That back nor forward he could stir, but, as he grew to ground, Stood like a pillar, or high tree, and neither mov'd, nor fear'd; When straight the royal Cretan's dart in his mid breast appear'd, It brake the curets, that were proof to ev'ry other dart, Yet now they cleft and rung; the lance stuck shaking in his heart; His heart with panting made it shake; but Mars did now remit The greatness of it, and the king, now quitting the brag fit Of glory in Deiphobus, thus terribly exclaim'd: "Deiphobus, now may we think that we are ev'nly fam'd, That three for one have sent to Dis. But come, change blows with me, Thy vaunts for him thou slew'st were vain. Come, wretch, that thou may'st see What issue Jove hath. Jove begot Minos, the strength of Crete; Minos begot Deucalion; Deucalion did beget Me Idomen, now Creta's king, that here my ships have brought To bring thyself, thy father, friends, all Ilion's pomp, to nought." Deiphobus at two ways stood, in doubt to call some one, With some retreat, to be his aid, or try the chance alone. At last, the first seem'd best to him, and back he went to call Anchises' son to friend, who stood in troop the last of all, Where still he serv'd; which made him still incense against the king, That, being amongst his best their peer, he grac'd not anything His wrong'd deserts. Deiphobus spake to him, standing near: "Æneas, prince of Troians, if any touch appear Of glory in thee, thou must now assist thy sister's lord, And one that to thy tend'rest youth did careful guard afford, Alcathous, whom Creta's king hath chiefly slain to thee, His right most challenging thy band. Come, therefore, follow me." This much excited his good mind, and set his heart on fire Against the Cretan, who child-like dissolv'd not in his ire, But stood him firm. As when in hills a strength relying boar, Alone, and hearing hunters come, whom tumult flies before, Up-thrusts his bristles, whets his tusks, sets fire on his red eyes, And in his brave prepar'd repulse doth dogs and men despise; So stood the famous-for-his-lance, nor shunn'd the coming charge That resolute Æneas brought. Yet, since the odds was large, He call'd with good right to his aid war-skill'd Ascalaphus, Aphareüs, Meriones, the strong Deipyrus, And Nestor's honourable son: "Come near, my friends," said he, "And add your aids to me alone. Fear taints me worthily, Though firm I stand, and show it not. Æneas great in fight, And one that bears youth in his flow'r, that bears the greatest might, Comes on with aim direct at me. Had I his youthful limb To bear my mind, he should yield fame, or I would yield it him." This said, all held, in many souls, one ready helpful mind, Clapp'd shields and shoulders, and stood close. Æneas, not inclin'd With more presumption than the king, call'd aid as well as he, Divine Agenor, Helen's love, who follow'd instantly, And all their forces following them; as after bellwethers The whole flocks follow to their drink, which sight the shepherd cheers. Nor was Æneas' joy less mov'd to see such troops attend His honour'd person; and all these fought close about his friend; But two of them, past all the rest, had strong desire to shed The blood of either; Idomen, and Cytherea's seed. Æneas first bestow'd his lance, which th' other seeing shunn'd, And that, thrown from an idle hand, stuck trembling in the ground. But Idomen's, discharg'd at him, had no such vain success, Which Œnomaus' entrails found, in which it did impress His sharp pile to his fall; his palms tore his returning earth. Idomenëus straight stepp'd in, and pluck'd his jav'lin forth, But could not spoil his goodly arms, they press'd him so with darts. And now the long toil of the fight had spent his vig'rous parts, And made them less apt to avoid the foe that should advance, Or, when himself advanc'd again, to run and fetch his lance, And therefore in stiff fights of stand he spent the cruel day. When, coming softly from the slain, Deiphobus gave way To his bright jav'lin at the king, whom he could never brook; But then he lost his envy too. His lance yet deadly took Ascalaphus, the son of Mars; quite through his shoulder flew The violent head, and down he fell. Nor yet by all means knew Wide-throated Mars his son was fall'n, but in Olympus' top Sat canopied with golden clouds; Jove's counsel had shut up Both him and all the other Gods from that time's equal task, Which now, about Ascalaphus, strife set. His shining casque Deiphobus had forc'd from him, but instantly leap'd in Mars-swift Meriones, and strook, with his long javelin, The right arm of Deiphobus, which made his hand let fall The sharp-topp'd helmet; the press'd earth resounding there withal. When, vulture-like, Meriones rush'd in again and drew, From out the low part of his arm his jav'lin, and then flew Back to his friends. Deiphobus, faint with the blood's excess Fall'n from his wound, was carefully convey'd out of the press By his kind brother by both sides, Polites, till they gat His horse and chariot that were still set fit for his retreat, And bore him now to Ilion. The rest fought fiercely on, And set a mighty fight on foot. When next, Anchises' son Aphareus Caletorides, that ran upon him, strook Just in the throat with his keen lance; and straight his head forsook His upright carriage; and his shield, his helm, and all, with him Fell to the earth; where ruinous death made prise of ev'ry limb. Antilochus, discov'ring well that Thoon's heart took check, Let fly, and cut the hollow vein, that runs up to his neck, Along his back part, quite in twain; down in the dust he fell, Upwards, and, with extended hands, bade all the world farewell. Antilochus rush'd nimbly in, and, looking round, made prise Of his fair arms; in which affair his round-set enemies Let fly their lances, thundering on his advanced targe, But could not get his flesh. The God that shakes the earth took charge Of Nestor's son and kept him safe; who never was away, But still amongst the thickest foes his busy lance did play, Observing ever when he might, far off, or near, offend; And watching Asius' son, in prease he spied him, and did send, Close coming on, a dart at him, that smote in midst his shield, In which the sharp head of the lance the blue-hair'd God made yield, Not pleas'd to yield his pupil's life; in whose shield half the dart Stuck like a truncheon burn'd with fire; on earth lay th' other part. He, seeing no better end of all, retir'd in fear of worse But him Meriones pursu'd; and his lance found full course To th' other's life. It wounded him betwixt the privy parts And navel, where, to wretched men that war's most violent smarts Must undergo, wounds chiefly vex. His dart Meriones Pursusu'd, and Adamas so striv'd with it, and his misease, As doth a bullock puff and storm, whom in disdainéd bands The upland herdsmen strive to cast; so, fall'n beneath the hands Of his stern foe, Asiades did struggle, pant, and rave. But no long time; for when the lance was pluck'd out, up he gave His tortur'd soul. Then Troy's turn came; when with a Thracian sword The temples of Deipyrus did Helenus afford So huge a blow, it strook all light out of his cloudy eyes, And cleft his helmet; which a Greek, there fighting, made his prise, It fell so full beneath his feet. Atrides griev'd to see That sight, and, threat'ning, shook a lance at Helenus, and he A bow half drew at him; at once out flew both shaft and lance. The shaft Atrides' curets strook; and far away did glance. Atrides' dart of Helenus the thrust out bow-hand strook, And, through the hand, stuck in the bow. Agenor's hand did pluck From forth the nailéd prisoner the jav'lin quickly out; And fairly, with a little wool, enwrapping round about The wounded hand, within a scarf he bore it, which his squire Had ready for him. Yet the wound would needs he should retire. Pisander, to revenge his hurt, right on the king ran he. A bloody fate suggested him to let him run on thee, O Menelaus, that he might, by thee, in dang'rous war Be done to death. Both coming on, Atrides' lance did err. Pisander strook Atrides' shield, that brake at point the dart Not running through; yet he rejoic'd as playing a victor's part. Atrides, drawing his fair sword, upon Pisander flew; Pisander, from beneath his shield, his goodly weapon drew, Two-edg'd, with right sharp steel, and long, the handle olive-tree, Well-polish'd; and to blows they go. Upon the top strook he Atrides' horse-hair'd-feather'd helm; Atrides on his brow, Above th' extreme part of his nose, laid such a heavy blow That all the bones crash'd under it, and out his eyes did drop Before his feet in bloody dust; he after, and shrunk up His dying body, which the foot of his triumphing foe Open'd, and stood upon his breast, and off his arms did go, This insultation us'd the while: "At length forsake our fleet, Thus ye false Trojans, to whom war never enough is sweet. Nor want ye more impieties, with which ye have abus'd Me, ye bold dogs, that your chief friends so honourably us'd. Nor fear you hospitable Jove, that lets such thunders go. But build upon't, he will unbuild your tow'rs that clamber so, For ravishing my goods, and wife, in flow'r of all her years, And without cause; nay, when that fair and lib'ral hand of hers Had us'd you so most lovingly. And now again ye would Cast fire into our fleet, and kill our princes if ye could. Go to, one day you will be curb'd, though never so ye thirst Rude war, by war. O father Jove, they say thou art the first In wisdom of all Gods and men, yet all this comes from thee, And still thou gratifiest these men, how lewd so e'er they be, Though never they be cloy'd with sins, nor can be satiate, As good men should, with this vile war. Satiety of state, Satiety of sleep and love, satiety of ease, Of music, dancing, can find place; yet harsh war still must please Past all these pleasures, ev'n past these. They will be cloy'd with these Before their war joys. Never war gives Troy satieties." This said, the bloody arms were oft; and to his soldiers thrown, He mixing in first fight again. And then Harpalion, Kind king Pylæmen's son, gave charge; who to those wars of Troy His lovéd father followéd, nor ever did enjoy His country's sight again. He strook the targe of Atreus' son Full in the midst; his jav'lin's steel yet had no pow'r to run The target through; nor had himself the heart to fetch his lance, But took him to his strength, and cast on ev'ry side a glance, Lest any his dear sides should dart. But Merion, as he fled, Sent after him a brazen lance, that ran his eager head Through his right hip, and all along the bladder's región Beneath the bone; it settled him, and set his spirit gone Amongst the hands of his best friends; and like a worm he lay Stretch'd on the earth, which his black blood imbru'd, and flow'd away. His corse the Paphlagonians did sadly wait upon, Repos'd in his rich chariot, to sacred Ilion; The king his father following, dissolv'd in kindly tears, And no wreak sought for his slain son. But, at his slaughterers Incenséd Paris spent a lance, since he had been a guest To many Paphlagonians; and through the prease it press'd. There was a certain augur's son, that did for wealth excell, And yet was honest; he was born, and did at Corinth dwell; Who, though he knew his harmful fate, would needs his ship ascend. His father, Polyidus, oft would tell him that his end Would either seize him at his house, upon a sharp disease, Or else among the Grecian ships by Trojans slain. Both these Together he desir'd to shun; but the disease, at last, And ling'ring death in it, he left, and war's quick stroke embrac'd. The lance betwixt his ear and cheek ran in, and drave the mind Of both those bitter fortunes out. Night strook his whole pow'rs blind. Thus fought they, like the spirit of fire; nor Jove-lov'd Hector knew How in the fleet's left wing the Greeks his down-put soldiers slew Almost to victory; the God that shakes the earth so well Help'd with his own strength, and the Greeks so fiercely did impel. Yet Hector made the first place good, where both the ports and wall (The thick rank of the Greek shields broke) he enter'd, and did skall, Where on the gray sea's shore were drawn (the wall being there but slight) Protesilaus' ships, and those of Ajax, where the fight Of men and horse were sharpest set. There the Bœotian bands, Long-rob'd Iaons, Locrians, and, brave men of their hands, The Phthian and Epeian troops did spritefully assail The god-like Hector rushing in; and yet could not prevail To his repulse, though choicest men of Athens there made head; Amongst whom was Menestheus chief, whom Phidias followéd, Stichius and Bias, huge in strength. Th' Epeian troops were led By Meges' and Phylides' cares, Amphion, Dracius. Before the Phthians Medon march'd, and Meneptolemus; And these, with the Bœotian pow'rs, bore up the fleet's defence. Oïleus by his brother's side stood close, and would not thence For any moment of that time. But, as through fallow fields Black oxen draw a well-join'd plough, and either ev'nly yields His thrifty labour, all heads couch'd so close to earth they plow The fallow with their horns, till out the sweat begins to flow, The stretch'd yokes crack, and yet at last the furrow forth is driven; So toughly stood these to their task, and made their work as even. But Ajax Telamonius had many helpful men That, when sweat ran about his knees, and labour flow'd, would then Help bear his mighty sev'n-fold shield; when swift Oïliades The Locrians left, and would not make those murth'rous fights of prease, Because they wore no bright steel casques, nor bristled plumes for show, Round shields, nor darts of solid ash, but with the trusty bow, And jacks well-quilted with soft wool, they came to Troy, and were, In their fit place, as confident as those that fought so near, And reach'd their foes so thick with shafts, that these were they that brake The Trojan orders first; and then, the brave arm'd men did make Good work with their close fights before. Behind whom, having shot, The Locrians hid still; and their foes all thought of fight forgot With shows of those far-striking shafts, their eyes were troubled so. And then, assur'dly, from the ships, and tents, th' insulting foe Had miserably fled to Troy, had not Polydamas Thus spake to Hector: "Hector, still impossible 'tis to pass Good counsel upon you. But say some God prefers thy deeds, In counsels wouldst thou pass us too? In all things none exceeds. To some God gives the pow'r of war, to some the sleight to dance, To some the art of instruments, some doth for voice advance; And that far-seeing God grants some the wisdom of the mind, Which no man can keep to himself, that, though but few can find, Doth profit many, that preserves the public weal and state, And that, who hath, he best can prize. But, for me, I'll relate Only my censure what's our best. The very crown of war Doth burn about thee; yet our men, when they have reach'd thus far, Suppose their valours crown'd, and cease. A few still stir their feet, And so a few with many fight, sperst thinly through the fleet. Retire then, leave speech to the rout, and all thy princes call, That, here, in counsels of most weight, we may resolve of all, If having likelihood to believe that God will conquest give, We shall charge through; or with this grace, make our retreat, and live. For, I must needs affirm, I fear, the debt of yesterday (Since war is such a God of change) the Grecians now will pay. And since th' insatiate man of war remains at fleet, if there We tempt his safety, no hour more his hot soul can forbear." This sound stuff Hector lik'd, approv'd, jump'd from his chariot, And said: "Polydamas make good this place, and suffer not One prince to pass it; I myself will there go, where you see Those friends in skirmish, and return (when they have heard from me Command that your advice obeys) with utmost speed." This said, With day-bright arms, white plume, white scarf, his goodly limbs array'd, He parted from them, like a hill, removing, all of snow, And to the Trojan peers and chiefs he flew, to let them know The counsel of Polydamas. All turn'd, and did rejoice, To haste to Panthus' gentle son, being call'd by Hector's voice; Who, through the forefights making way, look'd for Deiphobus, King Helenus, Asiades, Hyrtasian Asius, Of whom, some were not to be found unhurt, or undeceas'd, Some only hurt, and gone from field. As further he address'd, He found within the fight's left wing the fair-hair'd Helen's love By all means moving men to blows; which could by no means move Hector's forbearance, his friends' miss so put his pow'rs in storm, But thus in wonted terms he chid: "You with the finest form, Impostor, woman's man! where are, in your care mark'd, all these, Deiphobus, King Helenus, Asius Hyrtacides, Othryonëus Acamas? Now haughty Ilion Shakes to his lowest groundwork. Now just ruin falls upon Thy head past rescue." He replied: "Hector, why chid'st thou now, When I am guiltless? Other times, there are for ease, I know, Than these, for she that brought thee forth, not utterly left me Without some portion of thy spirit, to make me brother thee. But since thou first brought'st in thy force, to this our naval fight, I and my friends have ceaseless fought, to do thy service right. But all those friends thou seek'st are slain; excepting Helenus, Who parted wounded in his hand, and so Deiphobus; Jove yet averted death from them. And now lead thou as far As thy great heart affects, all we will second any war That thou endurest; and I hope, my own strength is not lost; Though least, I'll fight it to his best; nor further fights the most." This calm'd hot Hector's spleen; and both turn'd where they saw the face Of war most fierce, and that was where their friends made good the place About renown'd Polydamas, and god-like Polypæt, Palmus, Ascanius, Morus that Hippotion did beget, And from Ascania's wealthy fields but ev'n the day before Arriv'd at Troy, that with their aid they kindly might restore Some kindness they receiv'd from thence. And in fierce fight with these, Phalces and tall Orthæus stood, and bold Cebriones. And then the doubt that in advice Polydamas disclos'd, To fight or fly, Jove took away, and all to fight dispos'd. And as the floods of troubled air to pitchy storms increase That after thunder sweeps the fields, and ravish up the seas, Encount'ring with abhorréd roars, when the engrosséd waves Boil into foam, and endlessly one after other raves; So rank'd and guarded th' Ilians march'd; some now, more now, and then More upon more, in shining steel; now captains, then their men. And Hector, like man-killing Mars, advanc'd before them all, His huge round target before him, through thicken'd, like a wall. With hides well-couch'd with store of brass; and on his temples shin'd His bright helm, on which danc'd his plume; and in this horrid kind, (All hid within his world-like shield) he ev'ry troop assay'd For entry, that in his despite stood firm and undismay'd. Which when he saw, and kept more off, Ajax came stalking then, And thus provok'd him: "O good man, why fright'st thou thus our men? Come nearer. Not art's want in war makes us thus navy-bound, But Jove's direct scourge; his arm'd hand makes our hands give you ground. Yet thou hop'st, of thyself, our spoil. But we have likewise hands To hold our own, as you to spoil; and ere thy countermands Stand good against our ransack'd fleet, your hugely-peopled town Our hands shall take in, and her tow'rs from all their heights pull down. And I must tell thee, time draws on, when, flying, thou shalt cry To Jove and all the Gods to make thy fair-man'd horses fly More swift than falcons, that their hoofs may rouse the dust, and bear Thy body, hid, to Ilion." This said, his bold words were Confirm'd as soon as spoke. Jove's bird, the high-flown eagle, took The right hand of their host; whose wings high acclamations strook From forth the glad breasts of the Greeks. Then Hector made reply: "Vain-spoken man, and glorious, what hast thou said? Would I As surely were the son of Jove, and of great Juno born, Adorn'd like Pallas, and the God that lifts to earth the morn, As this day shall bring harmful light to all your host, and thou, If thou dar'st stand this lance, the earth before the ships shalt strow, Thy bosom torn up, and the dogs, with all the fowl of Troy, Be satiate with thy fat and flesh." This said, with shouting joy His first troops follow'd, and the last their shouts with shouts repell'd. Greece answer'd all, nor could her spirits from all show rest conceal'd. And to so infinite a height all acclamations strove, They reach'd the splendours stuck about the unreach'd throne of Jove. THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH BOOK.

[1] The empire of Jove exceeded Neptune's (saith Plut. upon this place) because he was more ancient, and excellent in knowledge and wisdom; and upon this verse, viz. ἀλλὰ Ζεὺς πρότερος, etc., sets down this his most worthy to be noted opinion: viz. I think also that the blessedness of eternal life, which God enjoys is this: that by any past time He forgets not notions presently apprehended; for otherwise, the knowledge and understanding of things taken away, immortality should not be life, but time, etc. (Plut. de Iside et Osiride). THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Atrides, to behold the skirmish, brings Old Nestor, and the other wounded kings. Juno (receiving of the Cyprian dame Her Ceston, whence her sweet enticements came) Descends to Somnus, and gets him to bind The pow'rs of Jove with sleep, to free her mind. Neptune assists the Greeks, and of the foe Slaughter inflicts a mighty overthrow. Ajax so sore strikes Hector with a stone, It makes him spit blood, and his sense sets gone. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Ξ with sleep, and bed, heav'n's Queen Ev'n Jove himself makes overseen.

Not wine, nor feasts, could lay their soft chains on old Nestor's ear To this high clamour, who requir'd Machaon's thoughts to bear His care in part, about the cause; "For, methink, still," said he, "The cry increases. I must needs the watchtow'r mount, to see Which way the flood of war doth drive. Still drink thou wine, and eat, Till fair-hair'd Hecamed hath giv'n a little water heat To cleanse the quitture from thy wound." This said, the goodly shield Of warlike Thrasymed, his son, who had his own in field, He took, snatch'd up a mighty lance, and so stept forth to view Cause of that clamour. Instantly th' unworthy cause he knew, The Grecians wholly put in rout, the Trojans routing still, Close at the Greeks' backs, their wall raz'd. The old man mourn'd this ill; And, as when with unwieldy waves the great sea fore-feels winds That both ways murmur, and no way her certain current finds, But pants and swells confusedly, here goes, and there will stay, Till on it air casts one firm wind, and then it rolls away; So stood old Nestor in debate, two thoughts at once on wing In his discourse, if first to take direct course to the king, Or to the multitude in fight. At last he did conclude To visit Agamemnon first. Mean time both hosts imbrued Their steel in one another's blood, nought wrought their healths but harms, Swords, huge stones, double-headed darts, still thumping on their arms. And now the Jove-kept kings, whose wounds were yet in cure, did meet Old Nestor, Diomed, Ithacus, and Atreus' sons, from fleet Bent for the fight which was far off, the ships being drawn to shore On heaps at first, till all their sterns a wall was rais'd before, Which, though not great, it yet suffic'd to hide them, though their men Were something straited; for whose scope, in form of battle then, They drew them through the spacious shore, one by another still, Till all the bosom of the strand their sable bulks did fill, Ev'n till they took up all the space 'twixt both the promont'ries. These kings, like Nestor, in desire to know for what those cries Became so violent, came along, all leaning on their darts, To see, though not of pow'r to fight, sad and suspicious hearts Distemp'ring them; and, meeting now Nestor, the king in fear Cried out: "O Nestor our renown! Why shows thy presence here, The harmful fight abandoned? Now Hector will make good The threat'ning vow he made, I fear, that, till he had our blood, And fir'd our fleet, he never more would turn to Ilion. Nor is it long, I see, before his whole will will be done. O Gods! I now see all the Greeks put on Achilles' ire Against my honour; no mean left to keep our fleet from fire." He answer'd: "'Tis an evident truth, not Jove himself can now, With all the thunder in his hands, prevent our overthrow. The wall we thought invincible, and trusted more than Jove, Is scal'd, raz'd, enter'd; and our pow'rs (driv'n up) past breathing, prove A most inevitable fight; both slaughters so commix'd, That for your life you cannot put your diligent'st thought betwixt The Greeks and Trojans, and as close their throats cleave to the sky. Consult we then, if that will serve. For fight advise not I; It fits not wounded men to fight." Atrides answer'd him: "If such a wall as cost the Greeks so many a tiréd limb, And such a dike be pass'd, and raz'd, that, as yourself said well, We all esteem'd invincible, and would past doubt repell The world from both our fleet and us; it doth directly show That here Jove vows our shames and deaths. I evermore did know His hand from ours when he help'd us, and now I see as clear That, like the blesséd Gods, he holds our hated enemies dear, Supports their arms, and pinions ours. Conclude then, 'tis in vain To strive with him. Our ships drawn up, now let us launch again, And keep at anchor till calm night, that then, perhaps, our foes May calm their storms, and in that time our scape we may dispose. 'It is not any shame to fly from ill, although by night. Known ill he better does that flies, than he it takes in fight.'" Ulysses frown'd on him, and said: "Accurs'd, why talk'st thou thus? Would thou hadst led some barb'rous host, and not commanded us Whom Jove made soldiers from our youth, that age might scorn to fly From any charge it undertakes, and ev'ry dazzled eye The honour'd hand of war might close. Thus wouldst thou leave this town, For which our many mis'ries felt entitle it our own? Peace, lest some other Greek give ear, and hear a sentence such; As no man's palate should profane; at least that knew how much His own right weigh'd, and being a prince, and such a prince as bears Rule of so many Greeks as thou. This counsel loathes mine ears, Let others toil in fight and cries, and we so light of heels Upon their very noise, and groans, to hoise away our keels. Thus we should fit the wish of Troy, that, being something near The victory, we give it clear; and we were sure to bear A slaughter to the utmost man, for no man will sustain A stroke, the fleet gone, but at that, look still, and wish him slain. And therefore, prince of men, be sure, thy censure is unfit." "O Ithacus," replied the king, "thy bitter terms have smit My heart in sunder. At no hand, 'gainst any prince's will Do I command this. Would to God, that any man of skill To give a better counsel would, or old, or younger man! My voice should gladly go with his." Then Diomed began: "The man not far is, nor shall ask much labour to bring in, That willingly would speak his thoughts, if spoken they might win Fit ear, and suffer no impair, that I discover them, Being youngest of you; since my sire, that heir'd a diadem, May make my speech to diadems decent enough, though he Lies in his sepulchre at Thebes. I boast this pedigree: Portheus three famous sons begot, that in high Calydon And Pleuron kept, with state of kings, their habitatión; Agrius, Melas, and the third the horseman Oeneus, My father's father, that excell'd in actions generous The other two. But these kept home, my father being driv'n With wand'ring and advent'rous spirits, for so the King of heav'n And th' other Gods set down their wills, and he to Argos came, Where he begun the world, and dwelt. There marrying a dame, One of Adrastus' female race, he kept a royal house, For he had great demesnes, good land, and, being industrious, He planted many orchard-grounds about his house, and bred Great store of sheep. Besides all this, he was well qualitied, And pass'd all Argives, for his spear. And these digressive things Are such as you may well endure, since (being deriv'd from kings, And kings not poor nor virtueless) you cannot hold me base, Nor scorn my words, which oft, though true, in mean men meet disgrace. However, they are these in short: Let us be seen at fight, And yield to strong necessity, though wounded, that our sight May set those men on that, of late, have to Achilles' spleen Been too indulgent, and left blows; but be we only seen, Not come within the reach of darts, lest wound on wound we lay; Which rev'rend Nestor's speech implied, and so far him obey." This counsel gladly all observ'd, went on, Atrides led. Nor Neptune this advantage lost, but closely followéd, And like an aged man appear'd t' Atrides; whose right hand He seiz'd, and said: "Atrides, this doth passing fitly stand With stern Achilles' wreakful spirit, that he can stand astern His ship, and both in fight and death the Grecian bane discern, Since not in his breast glows one spark of any human mind. But be that his own bane. Let God by that loss make him find How vile a thing he is. For know, the blest Gods have not giv'n Thee ever over, but perhaps the Trojans may from heav'n Receive that justice. Nay, 'tis sure, and thou shalt see their falls, Your fleet soon freed, and for fights here they glad to take their walls." This said, he made known who he was, and parted with a cry As if ten thousand men had join'd in battle then, so high His throat flew through the host; and so this great Earth-shaking God Cheer'd up the Greek hearts, that they wish their pains no period. Saturnia from Olympus' top saw her great brother there, And her great husband's brother too, exciting ev'rywhere The glorious spirits of the Greeks; which as she joy'd to see, So, on the fountful Ida's top, Jove's sight did disagree With her contentment, since she fear'd that his hand would descend, And check the Sea-god's practices. And this she did contend How to prevent, which thus seem'd best: To deck her curiously, And visit the Idalian hill, that so the Lightner's eye She might enamour with her looks, and his high temples steep, Ev'n to his wisdom, in the kind and golden juice of sleep. So took she chamber, which her son, the God of ferrary, With firm doors made, being joinèd close, and with a privy key That no God could command but Jove; where, enter'd, she made fast The shining gates, and then upon her lovely body cast Ambrosia, that first made it clear, and after laid on it An od'rous, rich, and sacred oil, that was so wond'rous sweet That ever, when it was but touch'd, it sweeten'd heav'n and earth. Her body being cleans'd with this, her tresses she let forth, And comb'd, her comb dipp'd in the oil, then wrapp'd them up in curls; And, thus her deathless head adorn'd, a heav'nly veil she hurls On her white shoulders, wrought by Her that rules in housewif'ries, Who wove it full of antique works, of most divine device; And this with goodly clasps of gold she fasten'd to her breast. Then with a girdle, whose rich sphere a hundred studs impress'd, She girt her small waist. In her ears, tenderly pierc'd, she wore Pearls, great and orient. On her head, a wreath not worn before Cast beams out like the sun. At last, she to her feet did tie Fair shoes. And thus entire attir'd, she shin'd in open sky, Call'd the fair Paphian Queen apart from th' other Gods, and said: "Lov'd daughter! Should I ask a grace, should I, or be obey'd? Or wouldst thou cross me, being incens'd, since I cross thee and take The Greeks' part, thy hand helping Troy?" She answer'd, "That shall make No diff'rence in a diff'rent cause. Ask, ancient Deity, What most contents thee. My mind stands inclin'd as liberally To grant it as thine own to ask; provided that it be A favour fit and in my pow'r." She, giv'n deceitfully, Thus said: "Then give me those two pow'rs, with which both men and Gods Thou vanquishest, Love and Desire; for now the periods Of all the many-feeding earth, and the original Of all the Gods, Oceanus, and Thetis whom we call Our Mother, I am going to greet. They nurst me in their court, And brought me up, receiving me in most respectful sort From Phæa, when Jove under earth and the unfruitful seas Cast Saturn. These I go to see, intending to appease Jars grown betwixt them, having long abstain'd from speech and bed; Which jars, could I so reconcile, that in their anger's stead I could place love, and so renew their first society, I should their best lov'd be esteem'd, and honour'd endlessly." She answer'd: "'Tis not fit, nor just, thy will should be denied, Whom Jove in his embraces holds." This spoken, she untied, And from her od'rous bosom took, her Ceston, in whose sphere Were all enticements to delight, all loves, all longings were, Kind conference, fair speech, whose pow'r the wisest doth inflame. This she resigning to her hands, thus urg'd her by her name: "Receive this bridle, thus fair-wrought, and put it 'twixt thy breasts, Where all things to be done are done; and whatsoever rests In thy desire return with it." The great-ey'd Juno smil'd, And put it 'twixt her breasts. Love's Queen, thus cunningly beguil'd, To Jove's court flew. Saturnia, straight stooping from heav'n's height, Pieria and Emathia, those countries of delight, Soon reach'd, and to the snowy mounts, where Thracian soldiers dwell, Approaching, pass'd their tops untouch'd. From Athos then she fell, Pass'd all the broad sea, and arriv'd in Lemnos, at the tow'rs Of godlike Thoas, where she met the Prince of all men's pow'rs, Death's brother, Sleep; whose hand she took, and said: "Thou king of men, Prince of the Gods too, if before thou heard'st my suits, again Give helpful ear, and through all times I'll offer thanks to thee. Lay slumber on Jove's fi'ry eyes, that I may comfort me With his embraces; for which grace I'll grace thee with a throne Incorruptible, all of gold, and elegantly done By Mulciber, to which he forg'd a footstool for the ease Of thy soft feet, when wine and feasts thy golden humours please." Sweet Sleep replied: "Satunia, there lives not any God, Besides Jove, but I would becalm; aye if it were the Flood, That fathers all the Deities, the great Oceanus; But Jove we dare not come more near, than he commandeth us. Now you command me as you did, when Jove's great-minded son, Alcides, having sack'd the town of stubborn Ilion, Took sail from thence; when by your charge I pour'd about Jove's mind A pleasing slumber, calming him, till thou drav'st up the wind, In all his cruelties, to sea, that set his son ashore In Cous, far from all his friends. Which, waking, vex'd so sore The supreme Godhead, that he cast the Gods about the sky, And me, above them all, he sought, whom he had utterly Hurl'd from the sparkling firmament, if all-gods-taming Night (Whom, flying, I besought for aid) had suffer'd his despite, And not preserv'd me; but his wrath with my offence dispens'd, For fear t' offend her, and so ceas'd, though never so incens'd. And now another such escape, you wish I should prepare." She answer'd: "What hath thy deep rest to do with his deep care? As though Jove's love to Ilion in all degrees were such As 'twas to Hercules his son, and so would storm as much For their displeasure as for his? Away, I will remove Thy fear with giving thee the dame, that thou didst ever love, One of the fair young Graces born, divine Pasithae." This started Somnus into joy, who answer'd: "Swear to me, By those inviolable springs, that feed the Stygian lake, With one hand touch the nourishing earth, and in the other take The marble sea, that all the Gods, of the infernal state, Which circle Saturn, may to us be witnesses, and rate What thou hast vow'd; That with all truth, thou wilt bestow on me, The dame I grant I ever lov'd, divine Pasithae." She swore, as he enjoin'd, in all, and strengthen'd all his joys By naming all th' infernal Gods, surnam'd the Titanois. The oath thus taken, both took way, and made their quick repair To Ida from the town, and isle, all hid in liquid air. At Lecton first they left the sea, and there the land they trod; The fountful nurse of savages, with all her woods, did nod Beneath their feet; there Somnus stay'd, lest Jove's bright eye should see, And yet, that he might see to Jove, he climb'd the goodliest tree That all th' Idalian mountain bred, and crown'd her progeny, A fir it was, that shot past air, and kiss'd the burning sky; There sate he hid in his dark arms, and in the shape with all Of that continual prating bird, whom all the Deities call Chalcis, but men Cymmindis name. Saturnia tripp'd apace, Up to the top of Gargarus, and show'd her heav'nly face To Jupiter, who saw, and lov'd, and with as hot a fire, Being curious in her tempting view, as when with first desire (The pleasure of it being stol'n) they mix'd in love and bed; And, gazing on her still, he said: "Saturnia, what hath bred This haste in thee from our high court, and whither tends thy gait, That void of horse and chariot, fit for thy sov'reign state, Thou lackiest here?" Her studied fraud replied: "My journey now Leaves state and labours to do good; and where in right I owe All kindness to the Sire of Gods, and our good Mother Queen That nurst and kept me curiously in court (since both have been Long time at discord) my desire is to atone their hearts; And therefore go I now to see those earth's extremest parts. For whose far-seat I spar'd my horse the scaling of this hill, And left them at the foot of it; for they must taste their fill Of travail with me, and must draw my coach through earth and seas, Whose far-intended reach, respect, and care not to displease Thy graces, made me not attempt, without thy gracious leave." The cloud-compelling God her guile in this sort did receive: "Juno, thou shalt have after leave, but, ere so far thou stray, Convert we our kind thoughts to love, that now doth ev'ry way Circle with victory my pow'rs, nor yet with any dame, Woman, or Goddess, did his fires my bosom so inflame As now with thee. Not when it lov'd the parts so generous Ixion's wife had, that brought forth the wise Pirithous; Nor when the lovely dame Acrisius' daughter stirr'd My amorous pow'rs, that Perseus bore to all men else preferr'd; Nor when the dame, that Phenix got, surpris'd me with her sight, Who the divine-soul'd Rhadamanth and Minos brought to light; Nor Semele, that bore to me the joy of mortal men, The sprightly Bacchus; nor the dame that Thebes renownéd then, Alcmena, that bore Hercules; Latona, so renown'd; Queen Ceres, with the golden hair; nor thy fair eyes did wound My entrails to such depth as now with thirst of amorous ease." The cunning Dame seem'd much incens'd, and said: "What words are these, Unsufferable Saturn's son? What! Here! In Ida's height! Desir'st thou this? How fits it us? Or what if in the sight Of any God thy will were pleas'd, that he the rest might bring To witness thy incontinence? 'Twere a dishonour'd thing. I would not show my face in heav'n, and rise from such a bed. But, if love be so dear to thee, thou hast a chamberstead, Which Vulcan purposely contriv'd with all fit secrecy; There sleep at pleasure." He replied: "I fear not if the eye Of either God or man observe, so thick a cloud of gold I'll cast about us that the sun, who furthest can behold, Shall never find us." This resolv'd, into his kind embrace He took his wife. Beneath them both fair Tellus strew'd the place With fresh-sprung herbs, so soft and thick that up aloft it bore Their heav'nly bodies; with his leaves, did dewy lotus store Th' Elysian mountain; saffron flow'rs and hyacinths help'd make The sacred bed; and there they slept. When suddenly there brake A golden vapour out of air, whence shining dews did fall, In which they wrapt them close, and slept till Jove was tam'd withal. Mean space flew Somnus to the ships, found Neptune out, and said: "Now cheerfully assist the Greeks; and give them glorious head, At least a little, while Jove sleeps; of whom through ev'ry limb I pour'd dark sleep, Saturnia's love hath so illuded him." This news made Neptune more secure in giving Grecians heart, And through the first fights thus he stirr'd the men of most desert: "Yet, Grecians, shall we put our ships, and conquest, in the hands Of Priam's Hector by our sloth? He thinks so, and commands With pride according; all because, Achilles keeps away. Alas, as we were nought but him! We little need to stay On his assistance, if we would our own strengths call to field, And mutually maintain repulse. Come on then, all men yield To what I order. We that bear best arms in all our hosts, Whose heads sustain the brightest helms, whose hands are bristled most With longest lances, let us on. But stay, I'll lead you all; Nor think I but great Hector's spirits will suffer some appall, Though they be never so inspir'd. The ablest of us then, That on our shoulders worst shields bear, exchange with worser men That fight with better." This propos'd, all heard it, and obey'd. The kings, ev'n those that suffer'd wounds, Ulysses, Diomed, And Agamemnon, helpt t' instruct the cómplete army thus: To good gave good arms, worse to worse, yet none were mutinous. Thus, arm'd with order, forth they flew; the great Earth-shaker led, A long sword in his sinewy hand, which when he brandishéd It lighten'd still, there was no law for him and it, poor men Must quake before them. These thus mann'd, illustrious Hector then His host brought up. The blue-hair'd God and he stretch'd through the prease A grievous fight; when to the ships and tents of Greece the seas Brake loose, and rag'd. But when they join'd, the dreadful clamour rose To such a height, as not the sea, when up the North-spirit blows Her raging billows, bellows so against the beaten shore; Nor such a rustling keeps a fire, driven with violent blore Through woods that grow against a hill; nor so the fervent strokes Of almost-bursting winds resound against a grove of oaks; As did the clamour of these hosts, when both the battles clos'd. Of all which noble Hector first at Ajax' breast dispos'd His jav'lin, since so right on him the great-soul'd soldier bore; Nor miss'd it, but the bawdricks both that his broad bosom wore, To hang his shield and sword, it strook; both which his flesh preserv'd. Hector, disdaining that his lance had thus as good as swerv'd, Trode to his strength; but, going off, great Ajax with a stone, One of the many props for ships, that there lay trampled on, Strook his broad breast above his shield, just underneath his throat, And shook him piecemeal; when the stone sprung back again, and smote Earth, like a whirlwind, gath'ring dust with whirring fiercely round, For fervour of his unspent strength, in settling on the ground. And as when Jove's bolt by the roots rends from the earth an oak, His sulphur casting with the blow a strong unsavoury smoke, And on the fall'n plant none dare look but with amazéd eyes, (Jove's thunder being no laughing game) so bow'd strong Hector's thighs, And so with tost-up heels he fell, away his lance he flung, His round shield follow'd, then his helm, and out his armour rung. The Greeks then shouted, and ran in, and hop'd to hale him off, And therefore pour'd on darts in storms, to keep his aid aloof; But none could hurt the people's Guide, nor stir him from his ground; Sarpedon, prince of Lycia, and Glaucus so renown'd, Divine Agenor, Venus' son, and wise Polydamas, Rush'd to his rescue, and the rest. No one neglective was Of Hector's safety. All their shields, they couch'd about him close, Rais'd him from earth, and (giving him, in their kind arms, repose) From off the labour carried him, to his rich chariot, And bore him mourning towards Troy. But when the flood they got Of gulfy Xanthus, that was got by deathless Jupiter, There took they him from chariot, and all besprinkled there His temples with the stream. He breath'd, look'd up, assay'd to rise, And on his knees stay'd spitting blood. Again then clos'd his eyes, And back again his body fell. The main blow had not done Yet with his spirit. When the Greeks saw worthy Hector gone, Then thought they of their work, then charg'd with much more cheer the foe, And then, far first, Oïliades began the overthrow. He darted Satnius Enops' son, whom famous Nais bore As she was keeping Enops' flocks on Satnius' river's shore, And strook him in his belly's rim, who upwards fell, and rais'd A mighty skirmish with his fall. And then Panthœdés seiz'd Prothenor Areilycides, with his revengeful spear, On his right shoulder, strook it through, and laid him breath less there; For which he insolently bragg'd, and cried out: "Not a dart From great-soul'd Panthus' son, I think, shall ever vainlier part, But some Greek's bosom it shall take, and make him give his ghost." This brag the Grecians stomach'd much; but Telamonius most, Who stood most near Prothenor's fall, and out he sent a lance, Which Panthus' son, declining, 'scap'd, yet took it to sad chance Archilochus, Antenor's son, whom heav'n did destinate To that stern end; 'twixt neck and head the jav'lin wrought his fate, And ran in at the upper joint of all the back long bone, Cut both the nerves; and such a load of strength laid Ajax on, As that small part he seiz'd outweigh'd all th' under limbs, and strook His heels up, so that head and face the earth's possessions took, When all the low parts sprung in air; and thus did Ajax quit Panthœdes' brave: "Now, Panthus' son, let thy prophetic wit Consider, and disclose a truth, if this man do not weigh Ev'n with Prothenor. I conceive, no one of you will say That either he was base himself, or sprung of any base; Antenor's brother, or his son, he should be by his face; One of his race, past question, his likeness shows he is," This spake he, knowing it well enough. The Trojans storm'd at this, And then slew Acamas, to save his brother yet engag'd, Bœotius, dragging him to spoil; and thus the Greeks enrag'd: "O Greeks, ev'n born to bear our darts, yet ever breathing threats, Not always under tears and toils ye see our fortune sweats, But sometimes you drop under death. See now your quick among Our dead, intranc'd with my weak lance, to prove I have ere long Reveng'd my brother. 'Tis the wish of ev'ry honest man His brother, slain in Mars's field, may rest wreak'd in his fane." This stirr'd fresh envy in the Greeks, but urg'd Peneleus most, Who hurl'd his lance at Acamas; he 'scap'd; nor yet it lost The force he gave it, for it found the flock-rich Phorbas' son, Ilionëus, whose dear sire, past all in Ilion, Was lov'd of Hermes, and enrich'd, and to him only bore His mother this now slaughter'd man. The dart did undergore His eye-lid, by his eye's dear roots, and out the apple fell, The eye pierc'd through. Nor could the nerve that stays the neck repell His strong-wing'd lance, but neck and all gave way, and down he dropp'd. Peneleus then unsheath'd his sword, and from the shoulders chopp'd His luckless head; which down he threw, the helm still sticking on, And still the lance fix'd in his eye; which not to see alone Contented him, but up again he snatch'd, and show'd it all, With this stern brave: "Ilians, relate brave Ilionëus' fall To his kind parents, that their roofs their tears may overrun; For so the house of Promachus, and Alegenor's son, Must with his wife's eyes overflow, she never seeing more Her dear lord, though we tell his death, when to our native shore We bring from ruin'd Troy our fleet, and men so long forgone." This said, and seen, pale fear possess'd all those of Ilion, And ev'ry man cast round his eye to see where death was not, That he might fly him. Let not then his grac'd hand be forgot, O Muses, you that dwell in heav'n, that first imbru'd the field With Trojan spoil, when Neptune thus had made their irons yield. First Ajax Telamonius the Mysian captain slew, Great Hyrtius Gyrtiades. Antilochus o'erthrew Phalces and Mermer, to their spoil. Meriones gave end To Morys and Hyppotion. Teucer to fate did send Prothoon and Periphetes. Atrides' jav'lin chac'd Duke Hyperenor, wounding him in that part that is plac'd Betwixt the short ribs and the bones, that to the triple gut Have pertinence; the jav'lin's head did out his entrails cut, His forc'd soul breaking through the wound; night's black hand clos'd his eyes. Then Ajax, great Oïleus' son, had divers victories, For when Saturnius suffer'd flight, of all the Grecian race Not one with swiftness of his feet could so enrich a chace. THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK.

[1] This first verse (after the first four syllables) is to be read as one of our tens. THE FIFTEENTH OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Jove waking, and beholding Troy in flight, Chides Juno, and sends Iris to the fight To charge the Sea-god to forsake the field, And Phœbus to invade it, with his shield Recov'ring Hector's bruis'd and eraséd pow'rs, To field he goes, and makes new conquerors, The Trojans giving now the Grecians chace Ev'n to their fleet. Then Ajax turns his face, And feeds, with many Trojan lives, his ire; Who then brought brands to set the fleet on fire. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Jove sees in O his oversight, Chides Juno, Neptune calls from fight.

The Trojans, beat past pale and dike, and numbers prostrate laid, All got to chariot, fear-driv'n all, and fear'd as men dismay'd. Then Jove on Ida's top awak'd, rose from Saturnia's side, Stood up, and look'd upon the war; and all inverted spied Since he had seen it; th' Ilians now in rout, the Greeks in fight; King Neptune, with his long sword, chief; great Hector put down quite, Laid flat in field, and with a crown of princes compasséd So stopp'd up that he scarce could breathe, his mind's sound habit fled, And he still spitting blood. Indeed, his hurt was not set on By one that was the weakest Greek. But him Jove look'd upon With eyes of pity; on his wife with horrible aspéct, To whom he said: "O thou in ill most cunning architect, All arts and comments that exceed'st! not only to enforce Hector from fight, but, with his men, to show the Greeks a course. I fear, as formerly, so now, these ills have with thy hands Their first fruits sown, and therefore could load all thy limbs with bands, Forgett'st thou, when I hang'd thee up, how to thy feet I tied Two anvils, golden manacles on thy false wrists implied, And let thee mercilessly hang from our refinéd heav'n Ev'n to earth's vapours; all the Gods in great Olympus giv'n To mutinies about thee, yet, though all stood staring on, None durst dissolve thee, for these hands, had they but seiz'd upon Thy friend, had headlong thrown him off from our star-bearing round, Till he had tumbled out his breath, and piece-meal dash'd the ground? Nor was my angry spirit calm'd so soon, for those foul seas, On which, inducing northern flaws, thou shipwrack'dst Hercules, And toss'd him to the Coan shore, that thou shouldst tempt again My wrath's importance, when thou seest, besides, how grossly vain My pow'rs can make thy policies; for from their utmost force I freed my son, and set him safe in Argos, nurse of horse. These I remember to thy thoughts, that thou may'st shun these sleights, And know how badly bed-sports thrive, procur'd by base deceits." This frighted the offending queen, who with this state excus'd Her kind unkindness: "Witness Earth, and Heav'n so far diffus'd, Thou Flood whose silent gliding waves the under ground doth bear, (Which is the great'st and gravest oath, that any God can swear) Thy sacred head, those secret joys that our young bed gave forth, By which I never rashly swore! that He who shakes the earth Not by my counsel did this wrong to Hector and his host, But, pitying th' oppresséd Greeks, their fleet being nearly lost, Reliev'd their hard conditión, yet utterly impell'd By his free mind. Which since I see is so offensive held To thy high pleasure, I will now advise him not to tread But where thy tempest-raising feet, O Jupiter, shall lead." Jove laugh'd to hear her so submiss, and said: "My fair-ey'd love, If still thus thou and I were one, in counsels held above, Neptune would still in word and fact be ours, if not in heart. If then thy tongue and heart agree, from hence to heav'n depart, To call the excellent-in-bows, the Rain-bow, and the Sun, That both may visit both the hosts; the Grecian army one, And that is Iris, let her haste, and make the Sea-god cease T' assist the Greeks, and to his court retire from war in peace; Let Phœbus, on the Trojan part, inspire with wonted pow'r Great Hector's spirits, make his thoughts forget the late stern hour, And all his anguish, setting on his whole recover'd man To make good his late grace in fight, and hold in constant wane The Grecian glories, till they fall, in flight before the fleet Of vex'd Achilles. Which extreme will prove the mean to greet Thee with thy wish, for then the eyes of great Æacides (Made witness of the gen'ral ill, that doth so near him prease) Will make his own particular look out, and by degrees Abate his wrath, that, though himself for no extremities Will seem reflected, yet his friend may get of him the grace To help his country in his arms; and he shall make fit place For his full presence with his death, which shall be well fore-run; For I will first renown his life with slaughter of my son, Divine Sarpedon, and his death great Hector's pow'r shall wreak, Ending his ends. Then, at once, out shall the fury break Of fierce Achilles, and, with that, the flight now felt shall turn, And then last, till in wrathful flames the long-sieg'd Ilion burn. Minerva's counsel shall become grave mean to this my will, Which no God shall neglect before Achilles take his fill Of slaughter for his slaughter'd friend; ev'n Hector's slaughter thrown Under his anger; that these facts may then make fully known My vow's performance, made of late, and, with my bowéd head, Confirm'd to Thetis, when her arms embrac'd my knees, and pray'd That to her city-razing son I would all honour show." This heard, his charge she seem'd t' intend, and to Olympus flew. But, as the mind of such a man that hath a great way gone, And either knowing not his way, or then would let alone His purpos'd journey, is distract, and in his vexéd mind Resolves now not to go, now goes, still many ways inclin'd; So rev'rend Juno headlong flew, and 'gainst her stomach striv'd, For, being amongst th' immortal Gods in high heav'n soon arriv'd, All rising, welcoming with cups her little absence thence, She all their courtships overpass'd with solemn negligence, Save that which fair-cheek'd Themis show'd, and her kind cup she took, For first she ran and met with her, and ask'd: "What troubled look She brought to heav'n? She thought, for truth, that Jove had terrified Her spirits strangely since she went." The fair-arm'd Queen replied: "That truth may eas'ly be suppos'd; you, Goddess Themis, know His old severity and pride, but you bear't out with show, And like the banquet's arbiter amongst th' Immortals' fare, Though well you hear amongst them all, how bad his actions are; Nor are all here, or anywhere, mortals, nor Gods, I fear, Entirely pleas'd with what he does, though thus ye banquet here." Thus took she place, displeasedly; the feast in general Bewraying privy spleens at Jove; and then, to colour all, She laugh'd, but merely from her lips, for over her black brows Her still-bent forehead was not clear'd; yet this her passion's throes Brought forth in spite, being lately school'd: "Alas, what fools are we That envy Jove! Or that by act, word, thought, can fantasy Any resistance to his will! He sits far off, nor cares, Nor moves, but says he knows his strength, to all degrees compares His greatness past all other Gods, and that in fortitude, And ev'ry other godlike pow'r, he reigns past all indu'd. For which great eminence all you Gods, whatever ill he does, Sustain with patience. Here is Mars, I think, not free from woes, And yet he bears them like himself. The great God had a son, Whom he himself yet justifies, one that from all men won Just surname of their best belov'd, Ascalaphus; yet he, By Jove's high grace to Troy, is slain." Mars started horribly, As Juno knew he would, at this, beat with his hurl'd-out hands His brawny thighs, cried out, and said: "O you that have commands In these high temples, bear with me, if I revenge the death Of such a son. I'll to the fleet, and though I sink beneath The fate of being shot to hell, by Jove's fell thunder-stone, And lie all grim'd amongst the dead with dust and blood, my son Revenge shall honour." Then he charg'd Fear and Dismay to join His horse and chariot. He got arms, that over heav'n did shine And then a wrath more great and grave in Jove had been prepar'd Against the Gods than Juno caus'd, if Pallas had not car'd More for the peace of heav'n than Mars; who leap'd out of her throne, Rapt up her helmet, lance, and shield, and made her fane's porch groan With her egression to his stay, and thus his rage defers: "Furious and foolish, th' art undone! Hast thou for nought thine ears? Heard'st thou not Juno being arriv'd from heav'n's great King but now? Or wouldst thou he himself should rise, forc'd with thy rage, to show The dreadful pow'r she urg'd in him, so justly being stirr'd? Know, thou most impudent and mad, thy wrath had not inferr'd Mischief to thee, but to us all. His spirit had instantly Left both the hosts, and turn'd his hands to uproars in the sky, Guilty and guiltless both to wrack in his high rage had gone. And therefore, as thou lov'st thyself, cease fury for thy son; Another, far exceeding him in heart and strength of hand, Or is, or will be shortly, slain. It were a work would stand Jove in much trouble, to free all from death that would not die." This threat ev'n nail'd him to his throne; when heav'n's chief Majesty Call'd bright Apollo from his fane, and Iris that had place Of internunciess from the Gods, to whom she did the grace Of Jupiter, to this effect: "It is Saturnius' will, That both, with utmost speed, should stoop to the Idalian hill, To know his further pleasure there. And this let me advise, When you arrive, and are in reach of his refulgent eyes, His pleasure heard, perform it all, of whatsoever kind." Thus mov'd she back, and us'd her throne. Those two outstripp'd the wind, And Ida all-enchas'd with springs they soon attain'd, and found Where far-discerning Jupiter, in his repose, had crown'd The brows of Gargarus, and wrapt an odorif'rous cloud About his bosom. Coming near, they stood. Nor now he show'd His angry count'nance, since so soon he saw they made th' access That his lov'd wife enjoin'd; but first the fair ambassadress He thus commanded: "Iris, go to Neptune, and relate Our pleasure truly, and at large. Command him from the fate Of human war, and either greet the Gods' society, Or the divine sea make his seat. If proudly he deny, Let better counsels be his guides, than such as bid me war, And tempt my charge, though he be strong, for I am stronger far, And elder born. Nor let him dare, to boast even state with me Whom all Gods else prefer in fear." This said, down hasted she From Ida's top to Ilion; and like a mighty snow, Or gelid hail, that from the clouds the northern spirit doth blow; So fell the windy-footed dame, and found with quick repair The wat'ry God, to whom she said: "God with the sable hair, I came from Ægis-bearing Jove, to bid thee cease from fight, And visit heav'n, or th' ample seas. Which if, in his despite, Or disobedience, thou deniest, he threatens thee to come, In opposite fight, to field himself; and therefore warns thee home, His hands eschewing, since his pow'r is far-superior, His birth before thee; and affirms, thy lov'd heart should abhor To vaunt equality with him, whom ev'ry Deity fears." He answer'd: "O unworthy thing! Though he be great, he bears His tongue too proudly, that ourself, born to an equal share Of state and freedom, he would force. Three brothers born we are To Saturn, Rhea brought us forth, this Jupiter, and I. And Pluto, God of under-grounds. The world indiff'rently Dispos'd betwixt us; ev'ry one his kingdom; I the seas, Pluto the black lot, Jupiter the principalities Of broad heav'n, all the sky and clouds, was sorted out. The earth And high Olympus common are, and due to either's birth. Why then should I be aw'd by him? Content he his great heart With his third portion, and not think, to amplify his part, With terrors of his stronger hands, on me, as if I were The most ignoble of us all. Let him contain in fear His daughters and his sons, begot by his own person, This Holds more convenience. They must hear these violent threats of his." "Shall I," said Iris, "bear from thee, an answer so austere? Or wilt thou change it? Changing minds, all noble natures bear. And well thou know'st, these greatest born, the Furies follow still." He answer'd: "Iris, thy reply keeps time, and shows thy skill. O 'tis a most praiseworthy thing, when messengers can tell, Besides their messages, such things, as fit th' occasion well. But this much grieves my heart and soul, that being in pow'r and state All-ways his equal, and so fix'd by one decree in fate, He should to me, as under him, ill language give, and chide. Yet now, though still incens'd, I yield, affirming this beside, And I enforce it with a threat: That if without consent Of me, Minerva, Mercury, the Queen of regiment, And Vulcan, he will either spare high Ilion, or not race Her turrets to the lowest stone, and, with both these, not grace The Greeks as victors absolute, inform him this from me— His pride and my contempt shall live at endless enmity." This said, he left the Greeks, and rush'd into his wat'ry throne, Much miss'd of all th' heroic host. When Jove discern'd him gone, Apollo's service he employ'd, and said: "Lov'd Phœbus, go To Hector; now th' earth-shaking God hath taken sea, and so Shrunk from the horrors I denounc'd; which standing, he, and all The under-seated Deities, that circle Saturn's fall, Had heard of me in such a fight as had gone hard for them. But both for them and me 'tis best, that thus they fly th' extreme, That had not pass'd us without sweat. Now then, in thy hands take My adder-fring'd affrighting shield, which with such terror shake, That fear may shake the Greeks to flight. Besides this, add thy care, O Phœbus, far-off shooting God, that this so sickly fare Of famous Hector be recur'd, and quickly so excite His amplest pow'rs, that all the Greeks may grace him with their flight, Ev'n to their ships, and Hellespont; and then will I devise All words and facts again for Greece, that largely may suffice To breathe them from their instant toils." Thus from th' Idæan height, Like air's swift pigeon-killer, stoop'd the far-shot God of light, And found great Hector sitting up, not stretch'd upon his bed, Not wheezing with a stopp'd-up spirit, not in cold sweats, but fed With fresh and comfortable veins, but his mind all his own, But round about him all his friends, as well as ever known. And this was with the mind of Jove, that flew to him before Apollo came; who, as he saw no sign of any sore, Ask'd, like a cheerful visitant: "Why in this sickly kind, Great Hector, sitt'st thou so apart? Can any grief of mind Invade thy fortitude?" He spake, but with a feeble voice: "O thou, the best of Deities! Why, since I thus rejoice By thy so serious benefit, demand'st thou, as in mirth, And to my face, if I were ill? For, more than what thy worth Must needs take note of, doth not Fame from all mouths fill thine ears, That, as my hand at th' Achive fleet was making massacres Of men whom valiant Ajax led, his strength strook with a stone All pow'r of more hurt from my breast? My very soul was gone, And once to-day I thought to see the house of Dis and Death." "Be strong," said he, "for such a spirit now sends the God of breath From airy Ida, as shall run through all Greek spirits in thee. Apollo with the golden sword, the clear Far-seer, see, Him, who betwixt death and thy life, 'twixt ruin and those tow'rs, Ere this day oft hath held his shield. Come then, be all thy pow'rs In wonted vigour, let thy knights with all their horse assay The Grecian fleet, myself will lead, and scour so clear the way, That flight shall leave no Greek a rub." Thus instantly inspir'd Were all his nerves with matchless strength; and then his friends he fir'd Against their foes, when to his eyes his ears confirm'd the God. Then, as a goodly-headed hart, or goat, bred in the wood, A rout of country huntsmen chase, with all their hounds in cry, The beast yet or the shady woods, or rocks excessive high, Keep safe, or our unwieldy fates (that ev'n in hunters sway) Bar them the poor beast's pulling down; when straight the clam'rous fray Calls out a lion, hugely-man'd, and his abhorréd view Turns headlong in unturning flight (though vent'rous) all the crew; So hitherto the chasing Greeks their slaughter dealt by troops; But, after Hector was beheld range here and there, then stoops The boldest courage, then their heels took in their drooping hearts, And then spake Andræmonides, a man of far-best parts Of all the Ætolians, skill'd in darts, strenuous in fights of stand, And one of whom few of the Greeks could get the better hand For rhetoric, when they fought with words; with all which being wise, Thus spake he to his Grecian friends: "O mischief! Now mine eyes Discern no little miracle; Hector escap'd from death, And all-recover'd, when all thought his soul had sunk beneath The hands of Ajax. But some God hath sav'd and freed again Him that but now dissolv'd the knees of many a Grecian, And now I fear will weaken more; for, not without the hand Of Him that thunders, can his pow'rs thus still the forefights stand, Thus still triumphant. Hear me then: Our troops in quick retreat Let's draw up to our fleet, and we, that boast ourselves the great, Stand firm, and try if these that raise so high their charging darts May be resisted. I believe, ev'n this great heart of hearts Will fear himself to be too bold, in charging thorow us." They eas'ly heard him, and obey'd; when all the generous They call'd t' encounter Hector's charge, and turn'd the common men Back to the fleet. And these were they, that bravely furnish'd then The fierce forefight: Th' Ajaces both, the worthy Cretan king, The Mars-like Meges, Merion, and Teucer. Up then bring The Trojan chiefs their men in heaps; before whom, amply-pac'd, March'd Hector, and in front of him Apollo, who had cast About his bright aspect a cloud, and did before him bear Jove's huge and each-where-shaggy shield, which, to contain in fear Offending men, the God-smith gave to Jove; with this he led The Trojan forces. The Greeks stood. A fervent clamour spread The air on both sides as they join'd. Out flew the shafts and darts, Some falling short, but other some found butts in breasts and hearts. As long as Phœbus held but out his horrid shield, so long The darts flew raging either way, and death grew both ways strong; But when the Greeks had seen his face, and, who it was that shook The bristled targe, knew by his voice, then all their strengths forsook Their nerves and minds. And then look how a goodly herd of neat, Or wealthy flock of sheep, being close, and dreadless at their meet, In some black midnight, suddenly, and not a keeper near, A brace of horrid bears rush in, and then fly here and there The poor affrighted flocks or herds; so ev'ry way dispers'd The heartless Grecians, so the Sun their headstrong chace revers'd To headlong flight, and that day rais'd, with all grace, Hector's head. Arcesilaus then he slew, and Stichius; Stichius led Bœotia's brazen-coated men; the other was the friend Of mighty-soul'd Menestheüs. Æneas brought to end Medon and Jasus; Medon was the brother, though but base, Of swift Oïliades, and dwelt, far from his breeding place, In Phylace; the other led th' Athenian bands, his sire Was Spelus, Bucolus's son. Mecistheus did expire Beneath Polydamas's hand. Polites, Echius slew, Just at the joining of the hosts. Agenor overthrew Clonius. Bold Deïochus felt Alexander's lance; It strook his shoulder's upper part, and did his head advance Quite through his breast, as from the fight he turn'd him for retreat. While these stood spoiling of the slain, the Greeks found time to get Beyond the dike and th' undik'd pales; all scapes they gladly gain'd, Till all had pass'd the utmost wall; Necessity so reign'd. Then Hector cried out: "Take no spoil, but rush on to the fleet; From whose assault, for spoil or flight, if any man I meet, He meets his death; nor in the fire of holy funeral His brother's or his sister's hands shall cast within our wall His loathéd body; but, without, the throats of dogs shall grave His manless limbs." This said, the scourge his forward horses drave Through ev'ry order; and, with him, all whipp'd their chariots on, All threat'ningly, out-thund'ring shouts as earth were overthrown. Before them march'd Apollo still, and, as he march'd, digg'd down, Without all labour, with his feet the dike, till, with his own, He fill'd it to the top, and made way both for man and horse As broad and long as with a lance, cast out to try one's force, A man could measure. Into this they pour'd whole troops as fast As num'rous; Phœbus still, before, for all their haste, Still shaking Jove's unvalu'd shield, and held it up to all. And then, as he had chok'd their dike, he tumbled down their wall. And look how eas'ly any boy, upon the sea-ebb'd shore, Makes with a little sand a toy, and cares for it no more, But as he rais'd it childishly, so in his wanton vein, Both with his hands and feet he pulls, and spurns it down again; So slight, O Phœbus, thy hands made of that huge Grecian toil, And their late stand, so well-resolv'd, as eas'ly mad'st recoil. Thus stood they driv'n up at their fleet; where each heard other's thought, Exhorted, passing humbly pray'd, all all the Gods besought, With hands held up to heav'n, for help. 'Mongst all the good old man, Grave Nestor, for his counsels call'd the Argives' guardian, Fell on his aged knees, and pray'd, and to the starry host Stretch'd out his hands for aid to theirs, of all thus moving most: "O father Jove, if ever man, of all our host, did burn Fat thighs of oxen or of sheep, for grace of safe return, In fruitful Argos, and obtain'd the bowing of thy head For promise of his humble pray'rs, O now remember him, Thou merely heav'nly, and clear up the foul brows of this dim And cruel day; do not destroy our zeal for Trojan pride." He pray'd, and heav'n's great Counsellor with store of thunder tried His former grace good, and so heard the old man's hearty pray'rs. The Trojans took Jove's sign for them, and pour'd out their affairs In much more violence on the Greeks, and thought on nought but fight. And as a huge wave of a sea, swoln to his rudest height, Breaks over both sides of a ship, being all-urg'd by the wind, For that's it makes the wave so proud; in such a borne-up kind The Trojans overgat the wall, and, getting in their horse, Fought close at fleet, which now the Greeks ascended for their force. Then from their chariots they with darts, the Greeks with bead-hooks fought, Kept still aboard for naval fights, their heads with iron wrought In hooks and pikes. Achilles' friend, still while he saw the wall, That stood without their fleet, afford employment for them all, Was never absent from the tent of that man-loving Greek, Late-hurt Eurypylus, but sate, and ev'ry way did seek, To spend the sharp time of his wound, with all the ease he could In med'cines, and in kind discourse. But when he might behold The Trojans past the wall, the Greeks flight-driv'n, and all in cries, Then cried he out, cast down his hands, and beat with grief his thighs, Then, "O Eurypylus," he cried, "now all thy need of me Must bear my absence, now a work of more necessity Calls hence, and I must haste to call Achilles to the field. Who knows, but, God assisting me, my words may make him yield? The motion of a friend is strong." His feet thus took him thence. The rest yet stood their enemies firm; but all their violence (Though Troy fought there with fewer men) lack'd vigour to repell Those fewer from their navy's charge, and so that charge as well Lack'd force to spoil their fleet or tents. And as a shipwright's line (Dispos'd by such a hand as learn'd from th' Artizan divine The perfect practice of his art) directs or guards so well The naval timber then in frame, that all the laid-on steel Can hew no further than may serve, to give the timber th' end Fore-purpos'd by the skilful wright; so both hosts did contend With such a line or law applied, to what their steel would gain. At other ships fought other men; but Hector did maintain His quarrel firm at Ajax' ship. And so did both employ About one vessel all their toil; nor could the one destroy The ship with fire, nor force the man, nor that man yet get gone The other from so near his ship, for God had brought him on. But now did Ajax, with a dart, wound deadly in the breast Caletor, son of Clytius, as he with fire address'd To burn the vessel; as he fell, the brand fell from his hand. When Hector saw his sister's son lie slaughter'd in the sand, He call'd to all his friends, and pray'd they would not in that strait Forsake his nephew, but maintain about his corse the fight, And save it from the spoil of Greece. Then sent he out a lance At Ajax, in his nephew's wreak; which miss'd, but made the chance On Lycophron Mastorides, that was the household friend Of Ajax, born in Cythera; whom Ajax did defend, Being fled to his protectión, for killing of a man Amongst the god-like Cytherans. The vengeful jav'lin ran Quite through his head, above his ear, as he was standing by His fautour then astern his ship, from whence his soul did fly, And to the earth his body fell. The hair stood up an end On Ajax, who to Teucer call'd (his brother) saying: "Friend Our lovéd consort, whom we brought from Cythera, and grac'd So like our father, Hector's hand hath made him breathe his last. Where then are all thy death-borne shafts, and that unvalu'd bow Apollo gave thee?" Tencer straight his brother's thoughts did know, Stood near him, and dispatch'd a shaft, amongst the Trojan fight. It strook Pisenor's goodly son, young Clitus, the delight Of the renown'd Polydamus, the bridle in his hand, As he was labouring his horse, to please the high command Of Hector and his Trojan friends, and bring him where the fight Made greatest tumult; but his strife, for honour in their sight, Wrought not what sight or wishes help'd; for, turning back his look, The hollow of his neck the shaft came singing on, and strook, And down he fell; his horses back, and hurried through the field The empty chariot. Panthus' son made all haste, and withheld Their loose career, disposing them to Protiaon's son, Astynous, with special charge, to keep them ever on, And in his sight. So he again, amongst the foremost went. At Hector then another shaft, incenséd Teucer sent, Which, had it hit him, sure had hurt, and, had it hurt him, slain, And, had it slain him, it had driv'n all those to Troy again. But Jove's mind was not sleeping now, it wak'd to Hector's fame, And Teucer's infamy; himself (in Teucer's deadly aim) His well-wrought string dissevering, that serv'd his bravest bow; His shaft flew quite another way, his bow the earth did strow. At all which Teucer stood amaz'd, and to his brother cried: "O prodigy! Without all doubt, our angel doth deride The counsels of our fight; he brake a string my hands put on This morning, and was newly made, and well might have set gone A hundred arrows; and, beside, he strook out of my hand The bow Apollo gave." He said: "Then, good friend, do not stand More on thy archery, since God, preventer of all grace Desir'd by Grecians, slights it so. Take therefore in the place A good large lance, and on thy neck a target cast as bright, With which come fight thyself with some, and other some excite, That without labour at the least, though we prove worser men, Troy may not brag it took our ships. Come, mind our business, then." This said, he hasted to his tent, left there his shafts and bow, And then his double double shield did on his shoulders throw; Upon his honour'd head he plac'd his helmet thickly-plum'd, And then his strong and well-pil'd lance in his fair hand assum'd, Return'd; and boldly took his place, by his great brother's side. When Hector saw his arrows broke, out to his friends he cried: "O friends, be yet more comforted; I saw the hands of Jove Break the great Grecian archer's shafts. 'Tis easy to approve That Jove's pow'r is direct with men; as well in those set high Upon the sudden, as in those depress'd as suddenly, And those not put in state at all. As now he takes away Strength from the Greeks, and gives it us; then use it, and assay With join'd hands this approachéd fleet. If any bravely buy His fame or fate with wounds or death, in Jove's name let him die. Who for his country suffers death, sustains no shameful thing, His wife in honour shall survive, his progeny shall spring In endless summers, and their roofs with patrimony swell. And all this, though, with all their freight, the Greek ships we repell." His friends thus cheer'd; on th' other part, strong Ajax stirr'd his friends: "O Greeks," said he, "what shame is this, that no man more defends His fame and safety, than to live, and thus be forc'd to shrink! Now either save your fleet, or die; unless ye vainly think That you can live and they destroy'd. Perceives not ev'ry ear How Hector heartens up his men, and hath his fire-brands here Now ready to inflame our fleet? He doth not bid them dance, That you may take your ease and see, but to the fight advance. No counsel can serve us but this: To mix both hands and hearts, And bear up close. 'Tis better much, t' expose our utmost parts To one day's certain life or death, than languish in a war So base as this, beat to our ships by our inferiors far." Thus rous'd he up their spirits and strengths. To work then both sides went, When Hector the Phocensian duke to fields of darkness sent, Fierce Schedius, Perimedes' son; which Ajax did requite With slaughter of Laodamas, that led the foot to fight, And was Antenor's famous son. Polydamas did end Otus, surnam'd Cyllenius, whom Phydas made his friend, Being chief of the Epeians' bands. Whose fall when Meges view'd, He let fly at his feller's life; who, shrinking in, eschew'd The well-aim'd lance; Apollo's will denied that Panthus' son Should fall amongst the foremost fights; the dart the mid-breast won Of Crasmus; Meges won his arms. At Meges, Dolops then Bestow'd his lance; he was the son of Lampus, best of men, And Lampus of Laomedon, well-skill'd in strength of mind, He strook Phylides' shield quite through, whose curets, better lin'd, And hollow'd fitly, sav'd his life. Phyleus left him them, Who from Epirus brought them home, on that part where the stream Of famous Seléés doth run; Euphetes did bestow, Being guest with him, those well-prov'd arms, to wear against the foe, And now they sav'd his son from death. At Dolops, Meges threw A spear well-pil'd, that strook his casque full in the height; off flew His purple feather, newly made, and in the dust it fell. While these thus striv'd for victory, and either's hope serv'd well, Atrides came to Meges' aid, and, hidden with his side, Let loose a jav'lin at his foe, that through his back implied His lusty head, ev'n past his breast; the ground receiv'd his weight. While these made in to spoil his arms, great Hector did excite All his allies to quick revenge; and first he wrought upon Strong Manalippus, that was son to great Hycetaon, With some reproof. Before these wars, he in Percote fed Clov'n-foot'd oxen, but did since return where he was bred, Excell'd amongst the Ilians, was much of Priam lov'd, And in his court kept as his son. Him Hector thus reprov'd: "Thus, Menalippus, shall our blood accuse us of neglect? Nor moves it thy lov'd heart, thus urg'd, thy kinsman to protect? Seest thou not how they seek his spoil? Come, follow, now no more Our fight must stand at length, but close; nor leave the close before We close the latest eye of them, or they the lowest stone Tear up, and sack the citizens of lofty Ilion." He led; he follow'd, like a God. And then must Ajax needs, As well as Hector, cheer his men, and thus their spirits he feeds: "Good friends, bring but yourselves to feel the noble stings of shame For what ye suffer, and be men. Respect each other's fame; For which who strives in shame's fit fear, and puts on ne'er so far, Comes oft'ner off. Then stick engag'd; these fugitives of war Save neither life, nor get renown, nor bear more mind than sheep." This short speech fir'd them in his aid, his spirit touch'd them deep, And turn'd them all before the fleet into a wall of brass; To whose assault Jove stirr'd their foes, and young Atrides was Jove's instrument, who thus set on the young Antilochus: "Antilochus, in all our host, there is not one of us More young than thou, more swift of foot, nor, with both those, so strong. O would thou wouldst then, for thou canst, one of this lusty throng, That thus comes skipping out before (whoever, any where) Make stick, for my sake, 'twixt both hosts, and leave his bold blood there!" He said no sooner, and retir'd, but forth he rush'd before The foremost fighters, yet his eye did ev'ry way explore For doubt of odds; out flew his lance; the Trojans did abstain While he was darting; yet his dart he cast not off in vain, For Menalippus, that rare son of great Hycetaon, As bravely he put forth to fight, it fiercely flew upon; And at the nipple of his breast, his breast and life did part. And then, much like an eager hound, cast off at some young hart Hurt by the hunter, that had left his covert then but new, The great-in-war Antilochus, O Menalippus, flew On thy torn bosom for thy spoil. But thy death could not lie Hid to great Hector; who all haste made to thee, and made fly Antilochus, although in war he were at all parts skill'd. But as some wild beast, having done some shrewd turn (either kill'd The herdsman, or the herdsman's dog) and skulks away before The gather'd multitude makes in; so Nestor's son forbore, But after him, with horrid cries, both Hector and the rest Show'rs of tear-thirsty lances pour'd; who having arm'd his breast With all his friends, he turn'd it then. Then on the ships all Troy, Like raw-flesh-nourish'd lions, rush'd, and knew they did employ Their pow'rs to perfect Jove's high will; who still their spirits enflam'd, And quench'd the Grecians'; one renown'd, the other often sham'd. For Hector's glory still he stood, and ever went about To make him cast the fleet such fire, as never should go out; Heard Thetis' foul petitión, and wish'd in any wise The splendour of the burning ships might satiate his eyes. From him yet the repulse was then to be on Troy conferr'd, The honour of it giv'n the Greeks; which thinking on, he stirr'd, With such addition of his spirit, the spirit Hector bore To burn the fleet, that of itself was hot enough before. But now he far'd like Mars himself, so brandishing his lance As, through the deep shades of a wood, a raging fire should glance, Held up to all eyes by a hill; about his lips a foam Stood as when th' ocean is enrag'd, his eyes were overcome With fervour, and resembled flames, set off by his dark brows, And from his temples his bright helm abhorréd lightnings throws; For Jove, from forth the sphere of stars, to his state put his own, And all the blaze of both the hosts confin'd in him alone. And all this was, since after this he had not long to live, This lightning flew before his death, which Pallas was to give (A small time thence, and now prepar'd) beneath the violence Of great Pelides. In mean time, his present eminence Thought all things under it; and he, still where he saw the stands Of greatest strength and bravest arm'd, there he would prove his hands, Or nowhere; off'ring to break through, but that pass'd all his pow'r, Although his will were past all theirs, they stood him like a tow'r Conjoin'd so firm, that as a rock, exceeding high and great, And standing near the hoary sea, bears many a boist'rous threat Of high-voic'd winds and billows huge, belch'd on it by the storms; So stood the Greeks great Hector's charge, nor stirr'd their battellous forms. He, girt in fire borne for the fleet, still rush'd at ev'ry troop, And fell upon it like a wave, high rais'd, that then doth stoop Out from the clouds, grows, as it stoops, with storms, then down doth come And cuff a ship, when all her sides are hid in brackish foam, Strong gales still raging in her sails, her sailors' minds dismay'd, Death being but little from their lives; so Jove-like Hector fray'd And plied the Greeks, who knew not what would chance, for all their guards. And as the baneful king of beasts, leapt into oxen herds Fed in the meadows of a fen, exceeding great; the beasts In number infinite; 'mongst whom (their herdsmen wanting breasts To fight with lions, for the price of a black ox's life) He here and there jumps, first and last, in his blood-thirsty strife, Chas'd and assaulted; and, at length, down in the midst goes one, And all the rest spers'd through the fen; so now all Greece was gone; So Hector, in a flight from heav'n upon the Grecians cast, Turn'd all their backs; yet only one his deadly lance laid fast, Brave Mycenæus Periphes, Cypræus' dearest son, Who of the heav'n's-Queen-lovéd king, great Eurysthæus, won The grace to greet in ambassy the strength of Hercules, Was far superior to his sire in feet, fight, nobleness Of all the virtues, and all those did such a wisdom guide As all Mycena could not match; and this man dignified, Still making greater his renown, the state of Priam's son, For his unhappy hasty foot, as he address'd to run, Stuck in th' extreme ring of his shield, that to his ancles reach'd, And down he upwards fell, his fall up from the centre fetch'd A huge sound with his head and helm; which Hector quickly spied, Ran in, and in his worthy breast his lance's head did hide; And slew about him all his friends, who could not give him aid, They griev'd, and of his god-like foe fled so extreme afraid. And now amongst the nearest ships, that first were drawn to shore, The Greeks were driv'n; beneath whose sides, behind them, and before, And into them they pour'd themselves, and thence were driv'n again Up to their tents, and there they stood; not daring to maintain Their guards more outward, but, betwixt the bounds of fear and shame, Cheer'd still each other; when th' old man, that of the Grecian name Was call'd the Pillar, ev'ry man thus by his parents pray'd: "O friends, be men, and in your minds let others' shames be weigh'd. Know you have friends besides yourselves, possessions, parents, wives, As well those that are dead to you, as those ye love with lives; All sharing still their good, or bad, with yours. By these I pray, That are not present (and the more should therefore make ye weigh Their miss of you, as yours of them) that you will bravely stand, And this forc'd flight you have sustain'd, at length yet countermand." Supplies of good words thus supplied the deeds and spirits of all. And so at last Minerva clear'd, the cloud that Jove let fall Before their eyes; a mighty light flew beaming ev'ry way, As well about their ships, as where their darts did hottest play, Then saw they Hector great in arms, and his associates, As well all those that then abstain'd, as those that help'd the fates, And all their own fight at the fleet. Nor did it now content Ajax to keep down like the rest; he up the hatches went, Stalk'd here and there, and in his hand a huge great bead-hook held, Twelve cubits long, and full of iron. And as a man well-skill'd In horse, made to the martial race, when, of a number more, He chooseth four, and brings them forth, to run them all before Swarms of admiring citizens, amids their town's high way, And, in their full career, he leaps from one to one, no stay Enforc'd on any, nor fails he, in either seat or leap; So Ajax with his bead-hook leap'd nimbly from ship to ship, As actively commanding all, them in their men as well As men in them, most terribly exhorting to repell, To save their navy and their tents. But Hector nothing needs To stand on exhortations now at home, he strives for deeds. And look how Jove's great queen of birds, sharp-set, looks out for prey, Knows floods that nourish wild-wing'd fowls, and, from her airy way, Beholds where cranes, swans, cormorants, have made their foody fall, Darkens the river with her wings, and stoops amongst them all; So Hector flew amongst the Greeks, directing his command, In chief, against one opposite ship; Jove with a mighty hand Still backing him and all his men. And then again there grew A bitter conflict at the fleet. You would have said none drew A weary breath, nor ever would, they laid so freshly on. And this was it that fir'd them both: The Greeks did build upon No hope but what the field would yield, flight an impossible course; The Trojans all hope entertain'd, that sword and fire should force Both ships and lives of all the Greeks. And thus, unlike affects Bred like strenuity in both. Great Hector still directs His pow'rs against the first near ship. 'Twas that fair bark that brought Protesilaus to those wars, and now her self to nought, With many Greek and Trojan lives, all spoil'd about her spoil. One slew another desp'rately, and close the deadly toil Was pitch'd on both parts. Not a shaft, nor far-off striking dart Was us'd through all. One fight fell out, of one despiteful heart. Sharp axes, twybills, two-hand swords, and spears with two heads borne, Were then the weapons; fair short swords, with sanguine hilts still worn, Had use in like sort; of which last, ye might have numbers view'd Drop with dissolv'd arms from their hands, as many down-right hew'd From off their shoulders as they fought, their bawdrics cut in twain. And thus the black blood flow'd on earth, from soldiers hurt and slain. When Hector once had seiz'd the ship, he clapt his fair broad hand Fast on the stern, and held it there, and there gave this command: "Bring fire, and all together shout. Now Jove hath drawn the veil From such a day as makes amends, for all his storms of hail; By whose blest light we take those ships, that, in despite of heav'n, Took sea, and brought us worlds of woe, all since our peers were giv'n To such a laziness and fear; they would not let me end Our ling'ring banes, and charge thus home, but keep home and defend, And so they rul'd the men I led. But though Jove then withheld My natural spirit, now by Jove 'tis freed, and thus impell'd." This more inflam'd them; in so much that Ajax now no more Kept up, he was so drown'd in darts; a little he forbore The hatches to a seat beneath, of sev'n foot long, but thought It was impossible to scape; he sat yet where he fought, And hurl'd out lances thick as hail, at all men that assay'd To fire the ship; with whom he found his hands so overlaid, That on his soldiers thus he cried: "O friends, fight I alone? Expect ye more walls at your backs? Towns rampir'd here are none, No citizens to take ye in, no help of any kind. We are, I tell you, in Troy's fields; have nought but seas behind, And foes before; far, far from Greece. For shame, obey commands, There is no mercy in the wars; your healths lie in your hands." Thus rag'd he, and pour'd out his darts. Whoever he espied Come near the vessel arm'd with fire, on his fierce dart he died. All that pleas'd Hector made him mad, all that his thanks would earn; Of which twelve men, his most resolv'd, lay dead before his stern. THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK. THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Achilles, at Patroclus' suit, doth yield His arms and Myrmidons; which brought to field, The Trojans fly. Patroclus hath the grace Of great Sarpedon's death, sprung of the race Of Jupiter, he having slain the horse Of Thetis' son, fierce Pedasus. The force Of Hector doth revenge the much-rued end Of most renown'd Sarpedon on the friend Of Thetides, first by Euphorbus harm'd, And by Apollo's personal pow'r disarm'd. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Πι̑ Patroclus bears the chance Of death, impos'd by Hector's lance.

Thus fighting for this well-built ship; Patroclus all that space Stood by his friend, preparing words to win the Greeks his grace, With pow'r of uncontainéd tears; and, like a fountain pour'd In black streams from a lofty rock, the Greeks so plagu'd deplor'd. Achilles, ruthful for his tears, said: "Wherefore weeps my friend So like a girl, who, though she sees her mother cannot tend Her childish humours, hangs on her, and would be taken up, Still viewing her with tear-drown'd eyes, when she hath made her stoop, To nothing liker I can shape thy so unseemly tears. What causeth them? Hath any ill solicited thine ears Befall'n my Myrmidons? Or news from lovéd Phthia brought, Told only thee, lest I should grieve, and therefore thus hath wrought On thy kind spirit? Actor's son, the good Menœtius, Thy father, lives, and Peleus, mine, great son of Æacus, Amongst his Myrmidons; whose deaths, in duty we should mourn, Or is it what the Greeks sustain, that doth thy stomach turn, On whom, for their injustice' sake, plagues are so justly laid? Speak, man, let both know either's heart." Patroclus, sighing, said: "O Peleus' son, thou strongest Greek by all degrees that lives, Still be not angry, our sad state such cause of pity gives, Our greatest Greeks lie at their ships sore wounded; Ithacus, King Agamemnon, Diomed, and good Eurypylus; But these much-med'cine-knowing men, physicians, can recure, Thou yet unmed'cinable still, though thy wound all endure, Heav'n bless my bosom from such wrath as thou sooth'st as thy bliss, Unprofitably virtuous. How shall our progenies, Born in thine age, enjoy thine aid, when these friends, in thy flow'r, Thou leav'st to such unworthy death? O idle, cruel pow'r! Great Peleus never did beget, nor Thetis bring forth thee, Thou from the blue sea, and her rocks, deriv'st thy pedigree, What so declines thee? If thy mind shuns any augury, Related by thy mother-queen from heav'n's foreseeing eye, And therefore thou forsak'st thy friends, let me go ease their moans With those brave relics of our host, thy mighty Myrmidons, That I may bring to field more light to conquest than hath been. To which end grace me with thine arms, since, any shadow seen Of thy resemblance, all the pow'r of perjur'd Troy will fly, And our so-tiréd friend's will breathe; our fresh-set-on supply Will eas'ly drive their wearied off." Thus, foolish man, he sued For his sure death; of all whose speech Achilles first renew'd The last part thus: "O worthy friend, what have thy speeches been? I shun the fight for oracles, or what my mother queen Hath told from Jove? I take no care, nor note of one such thing! But this fit anger stings me still, that the insulting king Should from his equal take his right, since he exceeds in pow'r. This, still his wrong, is still my grief: He took my paramour That all men gave, and whom I won by virtue of my spear, That, for her, overturn'd a town. This rape he made of her, And used me like a fugitive, an inmate in a town, That is no city libertine, nor capable of their gown. But bear we this as out of date; 'tis past, nor must we still Feed anger in our noblest parts; yet thus, I have my will As well as our great king of men, for I did ever vow Never to cast off my disdain till, as it falls out now, Their miss of me knock'd at my fleet, and told me in their cries I was reveng'd, and had my wish of all my enemies. And so of this repeat enough. Take thou my fame-blaz'd arms, And my fight-thirsty Myrmidons lead to these hot alarms. Whole clouds of Trojans circle us with hateful eminence; The Greeks shut in a little shore, a sort of citizens Skipping upon them; all because their proud eyes do not see The radiance of my helmet there, whose beams had instantly Thrust back, and all these ditches fill'd with carrion of their flesh, If Agamemnon had been kind; where now they fight as fresh, As thus far they had put at ease, and at our tents contend. And may; for the repulsive hand of Diomed doth not spend His raging darts there, that their death could fright out of our fleet; Nor from that head of enmity, can my poor hearers meet The voice of great Atrides now. Now Hector's only voice Breaks all the air about both hosts, and, with the very noise Bred by his loud encouragements, his forces fill the field, And fight the poor Achaians down. But on, put thou my shield Betwixt the fire-plague and our fleet. Rush bravely on, and turn War's tide as headlong on their throats. No more let them ajourn Our sweet home-turning. But observe the charge I lay on thee To each least point, that thy rul'd hand may highly honour me, And get such glory from the Greeks, that they may send again My most sweet wench, and gifts to boot, when thou hast cast a rein On these so headstrong citizens, and forc'd them from our fleet. With which grace if the God of sounds thy kind egression greet; [1] Retire, and be not tempted on (with pride to see thy hand Rain slaughter'd carcasses on earth) to run forth thy command As far as Ilion, lest the Gods, that favour Troy, come forth To thy encounter, for the Sun much loves it; and my worth, In what thou suffer'st, will be wrong'd, that I would let my friend Assume an action of such weight without me, and transcend His friend's prescription. Do not then affect a further fight Than I may strengthen. Let the rest, when thou hast done this right, Perform the rest. O would to Jove, thou Pallas, and thou Sun, That not a man hous'd underneath those tow'rs of Ilion, Nor anyone of all the Greeks, how infinite a sum Soever all together make, might live unovercome; But only we two, 'scaping death, might have the thund'ring down Of ev'ry stone stuck in the walls of this so sacred town!" Thus spake they only 'twixt themselves. And now the foe no more Could Ajax stand, being so oppress'd with all the iron store The Trojans pour'd on; with whose darts, and with Jove's will beside, His pow'rs were cloy'd, and his bright helm did deaf'ning blows abide, His plume, and all bead-ornaments, could never hang in rest. His arm yet labour'd up his shield, and having done their best, They could not stir him from his stand, although he wrought it out With short respirings, and with sweat, that ceaseless flow'd about His reeking limbs; no least time giv'n to take in any breath; Ill strengthen'd ill; when one was up, another was beneath. Now, Muses, you that dwell in heav'n, the dreadful mean inspire, That first enforc'd the Grecian fleet, to take in Trojan fire. First Hector, with his huge broad sword, cut off, at setting on, The head of Ajax' ashen lance; which Ajax seeing gone, And that he shook a headless spear, a little while unware, His wary spirits told him straight the hand of Heav'n was there; And trembling under his conceit, which was that 'twas Jove's deed, Who, as be poll'd off his dart's heads, so sure he had decreed That all the counsels of their war, he would poll off like it, And give the Trojans victory; so trusted he his wit, And left his darts. And then the ship was heap'd with horrid brands Of kindling fire; which instantly was seen through all the strands In unextinguishable flames, that all the ship embrac'd. And then Achilles beat his thighs, cried out, "Patroclus, haste, Make way with horse. I see at fleet, a fire of fearful rage. Arm, arm, lest all our fleet it fire, and all our pow'r engage. Arm quickly, I'll bring up the troops." To these so dreadful wars Patroclus, in Achilles' arms, enlighten'd all with stars, And richly amell'd, all haste made. He wore his sword, his shield, His huge-plum'd helm, and two such spears, as he could nimbly wield. But the most fam'd Achilles' spear, big, solid, full of weight, He only left of all his arms; for that far pass'd the might Of any Greek to shake but his; Achilles' only ire Shook that huge weapon, that was giv'n by Chiron to his sire, Cut from the top of Pelion, to be heroës' deaths. His steeds Automedon straight join'd; like whom no man that breathes, Next Peleus' son, Patroclus lov'd; for, like him, none so great He found in faith at ev'ry fight, nor to out-look a threat, Automedon did therefore guide for him Achilles' steeds, Xanthius and Balius swift as wind, begotten by the seeds Of Zephyr, and the Harpy born, Podarge, in a mead Close to the wavy oceán, where that fierce Harpy fed. Automedon join'd these before, and with the hindmost gears He fasten'd famous Pedasus, whom, from the massacres Made by Achilles, when he took Eëtion's wealthy town, He brought, and, though of mortal race, yet gave him the renown To follow his immortal horse. And now, before his tents, Himself had seen his Myrmidons, in all habiliments Of dreadful war. And when ye see, upon a mountain bred, [2] A den of wolves, about whose hearts unmeasur'd strengths are fed, New come from currie of a stag, their jaws all blood-besmear'd, And when from some black-water fount they all together herd, There having plentifully lapp'd, with thin and thrust out tongues, The top and clearest of the spring, go belching from their lungs The clotter'd gore, look dreadfully, and entertain no dread, Their bellies gaunt all taken up, with being so rawly fed; Then say, that such, in strength and look, were great Achilles' men Now order'd for the dreadful fight; and so with all them then Their princes and their chiefs did show, about their Gen'ral's friend; His friend, and all, about himself; who chiefly did intend Th' embattelling of horse and foot. To that siege, held so long, Twice-five-and-twenty sail he brought, twice-five-and-twenty strong Of able men was ev'rv sail. Five colonels he made Of all those forces; trusty men, and all of pow'r to lead, But he of pow'r beyond them all. Menesthius was one, That ever wore discolour'd arms; he was a river's son That fell from heav'n, and good to drink was his delightful stream, His name unwearied Sperchius, he lov'd the lovely dame Fair Polydora, Peleus' seed, and dear in Borus' sight, And she to that celestial Flood gave this Menesthius light, A woman mixing with a God. Yet Borus bore the name Of father to Menesthius, he marrying the dame, And giving her a mighty dow'r; he was the kind descent Of Perieres. The next man, renown'd with regiment, Was strong Eudorus, brought to life by one suppos'd a maid, Bright Polymela, Phylas' seed, but had the wanton play'd With Argus-killing Mercury; who (fir'd with her fair eyes, As she was singing in the quire of Her that makes the cries In clam'rous hunting, and doth bear the crooked bow of gold) Stole to her bed in that chaste room, that Phœbe chaste did hold, And gave her that swift-warlike son, Eudorus, brought to light As she was dancing; but as soon, as She that rules the plight Of labouring women eas'd her throes, and show'd her son the sun, Strong Echecæus, Actor's heir, woo'd earnestly, and won Her second favour, feeing her with gifts of infinite prize; And after brought her to his house, where, in his grandsire's eyes, Old Phylas, Polymela's son obtain'd exceeding grace, And found as careful bringing up, as of his natural race He had descended. The third chief was fair Mæmalides Pisandrusus, who in skill of darts obtain'd supremest praise Of all the Myrmidons, except their lord's companion. The fourth charge, aged Phœnix had. The fifth, Alcimedon, Son of Laerces, and much fam'd. All these digested thus In fit place by the mighty son of royal Peleüs, This stern remembrance he gave all: "You, Myrmidons," said he, "Lest any of you should forget his threat'nings us'd to me In this place, and, through all the time, that my just anger reign'd, Attempting me with bitter words, for being so restrain'd, For my hot humour, from the fight, remember them as these: 'Thou cruel son of Peleüs, whom She that rules the seas Did only nourish with her gall, thou dost ungently hold Our hands against our wills from fight. We will not be controll'd, But take our ships, and sail for home, before we loiter here And feed thy fury.' These high words exceeding often were The threats that, in your mutinous troops, ye us'd to me for wrath To be detain'd so from the field. Now then, your spleens may bathe In sweat of those great works ye wish'd; now, he that can employ A gen'rous heart, go fight, and fright these bragging sons of Troy." This set their minds and strengths on fire, the speech enforcing well, Being us'd in time; but, being their king's, it much more did impell, And closer rush'd in all the troops. And as, for buildings high, The mason lays his stones more thick, against th' extremity Of wind and weather, and ev'n then, if any storm arise, He thickens them the more for that, the present act so plies His honest mind to make sure work; so, for the high estate This work was brought to, these men's minds, according to the rate, Were rais'd, and all their bodies join'd; but their well-spoken king, With his so timely-thought-on speech, more sharp made valour's sting, And thicken'd so their targets boss'd, so all their helmets then, That shields propp'd shields, helms helmets knock'd, and men encourag'd men. Patroclus and Automedon did arm before them all, Two bodies with one mind inform'd; and then the General Betook him to his private tent, where from a coffer wrought Most rich and curiously, and giv'n by Thetis to be brought In his own ship, top-fill'd with vests, warm robes to check cold wind, And tapestries all gold'n-fring'd, and curl'd with thrumbs behind, He took a most unvalu'd bowl, in which none drank but he; Nor he but to the Deities, nor any Deity But Jove himself was serv'd with that; and that he first did cleanse With sulphur, then with fluences of sweetest water rense; Then wash'd his hands, and drew himself a mighty bowl of wine, Which (standing midst the place enclos'd for services divine, And looking up to heav'n and Jove, who saw him well) he pour'd Upon the place of sacrifice, and humbly thus implor'd: "Great Dodonæus, president of cold Dodone's tow'rs, Divine Pelasgicus, that dwellest far hence; about whose bow'rs Th' austere prophetic Selli dwell, that still sleep on the ground, Go bare, and never cleanse their feet; as I before have found Grace to my vows, and hurt to Greece, so now my pray'rs intend. I still stay in the gather'd fleet, but have dismiss'd my friend, Amongst my many Myrmidons, to danger of the dart; O grant his valour my renown, arm with my mind his heart! That Hector's self may know my friend can work in single war, And not then only show his hands, so hot and singular, When my kind presence seconds him. But, fight he ne'er so well, No further let him trust his fight, but, when he shall repell Clamour and danger from our fleet, vouchsafe a safe retreat To him and all his companies, with fames and arms complete." He pray'd, and heav'n's great Counsellor gave satisfying ear To one part of his orisons, but left the other there; He let him free the fleet of foes, but safe retreat denied. Achilles left that utter part where he his zeal applied, And turn'd into his inner tent, made fast his cup, and then Stood forth, and with his mind beheld the foes fight; and his men, That follow'd his great-minded friend, embattled till they brake With gallant spirit upon the foe. And as fell wasps, that make Their dwellings in the broad high-way, which foolish children use (Their cottages being near their nests) to anger and abuse With ever vexing them, and breed (to soothe their childish war) A common ill to many men, since if a traveller (That would his journey's end apply, and pass them unassay'd) Come near and vex them, upon him the children's faults are laid, For on they fly as he were such, and still defend their own; So far'd it with the fervent mind of ev'ry Myrmidon, Who pour'd themselves out of their fleet upon their wanton foes, That needs would stir them, thrust so near, and cause the overthrows Of many others, that had else been never touch'd by them, Nor would have touch'd. Patroclus then put his wind to the stream, And thus exhorted: "Now, my friends, remember you express Your late-urg'd virtue, and renown our great Æacides. That, he being strong'st of all the Greeks, his eminence may dim All others likewise in our strengths, that far off imitate him: And Agamemnon now may see his fault as general As his place high, dishonouring him that so much honours all." Thus made he sparkle their fresh fire, and on they rush'd; the fleet Fill'd full her hollow sides with sounds, that terribly did greet Th' amazed Trojans; and their eyes did second their amaze When great Menœtius' son they saw, and his friend's armour blaze. All troops stood troubled, with conceit that Peleus' son was there, His anger cast off at the ships; and each look'd ev'rywhere For some authority to lead the then preparéd flight. Patroclus greeted with a lance the region where the fight Made strongest tumult, near the ship Protesilaus brought, And strook Pyræchmen; who before the fair-helmed Pæons fought, Led from Amydon, near whose walls the broad-stream'd Axius flows. Through his right shoulder flew the dart, whose blow strook all the blows In his pow'r from his pow'rless arm, and down he groaning fell; His men all flying, their leader fled. This one dart did repell The whole guard plac'd about the ship, whose fire extinct, half burn'd The Pæons left her, and full cry to clam'rous flight return'd. Then spread the Greeks about their ships; triumphant tumult flow'd: And, as from top of some steep hill the Lightner strips a cloud, And lets a great sky out from heav'n, in whose delightsome light All prominent foreheads, forests, tow'rs, and temples cheer the sight; So clear'd these Greeks this Trojan cloud, and at their ships and tents Obtain'd a little time to breathe, but found no present vents To their inclusions; nor did Troy, though these Pæonians fled, Lose any ground, but from this ship they needfully turn'd head. Then ev'ry man a man subdu'd. Patroclus in the thigh Strook Areilycus; his dart the bone did break, and fly Quite through, and sunk him to the earth. Good Menelaus slew Accomplish'd Thoas, in whose breast, being nak'd, his lance he threw Above his shield, and freed his soul. Phylides, taking note That bold Amphiclus bent at him, prevented him, and smote His thigh's extreme part, where of man his fattest muscle lies, The nerves torn with his lance's pile, and darkness clos'd his eyes. Antilochus Atymnius seiz'd, his steel lance did impress His first three guts, and loos'd his life. At young Nestorides, Maris, Atymnius' brother, flew; and at him Thrasymed The brother to Antilochus; his eager jav'lin's head The muscles of his arm cut out, and shiver'd all the bone; Night clos'd his eyes, his lifeless corse his brother fell upon. And so by two kind brothers' hands, did two kind brothers bleed; Both being divine Sarpedon's friends, and were the darting seed Of Amisodarus, that kept the bane of many men Abhorr'd Chimæra; and such bane now caught his childeren. Ajax Oïliades did take Cleobulus alive, Invading him stay'd by the press; and at him then let drive With his short sword that cut his neck; whose blood warm'd all the steel, And cold Death with a violent fate his sable eyes did seel. Peneleüs, and Lycon cast together off their darts; Both miss'd, and both together then went with their swords; in parts The blade and hilt went, laying on upon the helmet's height. Peneleus' sword caught Lycon's neck, and cut it thorough quite. His head hung by the very skin. The swift Meriones, Pursuing flying Acamas, just as he got access To horse and chariot overtook, and took him such a blow On his right shoulder, that he left his chariot, and did strow The dusty earth; life left his limbs, and night his eyes possess'd. Idomenæus his stern dart at Erymas address'd, As, like to Acamas, he fled; it cut the sundry bones Beneath his brain, betwixt his neck, and foreparts; and so runs, Shaking his teeth out, through his mouth, his eyes all drown'd in blood, So through his nostrils and his mouth, that now dart-open stood, He breath'd his spirit. Thus had death from ev'ry Grecian chief A chief of Troy. For, as to kids, or lambs, their cruell'st thief, The wolf, steals in, and, when he sees that by the shepherd's sloth The dams are spers'd about the hills, then serves his rav'nous tooth With ease, because his prey is weak; so serv'd the Greeks their foes, Discerning well how shrieking flight did all their spirits dispose, Their biding virtues quite forgot. And now the natural spleen That Ajax bore to Hector still, by all means, would have been Within his bosom with a dart; but he that knew the war, Well-cover'd in a well-lin'd shield, did well perceive how far The arrows and the jav'lins reach'd, by being within their sounds And ominous singings; and observ'd the there-in-clining bounds Of Conquest in her aid of him, and so obey'd her change, Took safest course for him and his, and stood to her as strange. And as, when Jove intends a storm, he lets out of the stars, From steep Olympus, a black cloud, that all heav'n's splendour bars From men on earth; so from the hearts of all the Trojan host All comfort lately found from Jove, in flight and cries was lost. Nor made they any fair retreat. Hector's unruly horse Would needs retire him, and he left engag'd his Trojan force, Forc'd by the steepness of the dike, that in ill place they took, And kept them that would fain have gone. Their horses quite forsook A number of the Trojan kings, and left them in the dike; Their chariots in their foreteams broke. Patroclus then did strike While steel was hot, and cheer'd his friends; nor meant his enemies good, Who, when they once began to fly, each way receiv'd a flood, And chok'd themselves with drifts of dust. And now were clouds begot Beneath the clouds; with flight and noise the horse neglected not Their home intendments; and, where rout was busiest, there pour'd on Patroclus most exhorts and threats; and then lay overthrown Numbers beneath their axle-trees; who, lying in flight's stream, Made th' after chariots jot and jump, in driving over them. Th' immortal horse Patroclus rode, did pass the dike with ease, And wish'd the depth and danger more; and Menœtiades As great a spirit had to reach, retiring Hector's haste, But his fleet horse had too much law, and fetch'd him off too fast. And as in Autumn the black earth is loaden with the storms That Jove in gluts of rain pours down, being angry with the forms Of judgment in authoriz'd men, that in their courts maintain, With violent office, wrested laws, and (fearing Gods, nor men) Exile all justice; for whose fault, whole fields are overflown, And many valleys cut away with torrents headlong thrown From neighbour mountains, till the sea receive them roaring in, And judg'd men's labours then are vain, plagu'd for their judge's sin; So now the foul defaults of some all Troy were laid upon; So like those torrents roar'd they back to windy Ilion; And so like tempests blew the horse with ravishing back again Those hot assailants, all their works at fleet now render'd vain. Patroclus, when he had dispers'd the foremost phalanxes, Call'd back his forces to the fleet, and would not let them prease, As they desir'd, too near the town; but 'twixt the ships and flood, And their steep rampire, his hand steep'd Revenge in seas of blood. Then Pronous was first that fell beneath his fi'ry lance, Which strook his bare breast, near his shield. The second Thestor's chance, Old Enops' son, did make himself; who shrinking, and set close In his fair seat, ev'n with th' approach Patroclus made, did lose All manly courage, insomuch that from his hands his reins Fell flowing down, and his right jaw Patroclus' lance attains, Strock through his teeth, and there it stuck, and by it to him drew Dead Thestor to his chariot. It show'd, as when you view An angler from some prominent rock draw with his line and hook A mighty fish out of the sea; for so the Greek did pluck The Trojan gaping from his seat, his jaws op'd with the dart; Which when Patroclus drew, he fell; his life and breast did part. Then rush'd he on Erylaus; at whom he hurl'd a stone, Which strake his head so in the midst, that two was made of one; Two ways it fell, cleft through his casque. And then Tlepolemus, Epaltes, Damastorides, Evippus, Echius, Ipheas, bold Amphoterus, and valiant Erymas, And Polymelus, by his sire surnam'd Argeadas, He heap'd upon the much-fed earth. When Jove's most worthy son, Divine Sarpedon, saw these friends thus stay'd, and others run, "O shame! Why fly ye?" then he cried, "Now show ye feet enow. On, keep your way, myself will meet the man that startles you, To make me understand his name that flaunts in conquest thus, And hath so many able knees so soon dissolv'd to us." Down jump'd he from his chariot; down leap'd his foe as light. And as, on some far-looking rock, a cast of vultures fight, Fly on each other, strike and truss, part, meet, and then stick by, Tug both with crooked beaks and seres, cry, fight, and fight and cry; So fiercely fought these angry kings, and show'd as bitter galls. Jove, turning eyes to this stern fight, his wife and sister calls, And much mov'd for the Lycian Prince, said: "O that to my son Fate, by this day and man, should cut a thread so nobly spun! Two minds distract me; if I should now ravish him from fight, And set him safe in Lycia; or give the Fates their right." "Austere Saturnius," she replied, "what unjust words are these? A mortal, long since mark'd by fate, wouldst thou immortalize? Do, but by no God be approv'd. Free him, and numbers more, Sons of Immortals, will live free, that death must taste before These gates of Ilion; ev'ry God will have his son a God, Or storm extremely. Give him then an honest period In brave fight by Patroclus' sword, if he be dear to thee, And grieves thee for his danger'd life; of which when he is free, Let Death and Somnus bear him hence, till Lycia's natural womb Receive him from his brother's hands, and citizens'; a tomb And column rais'd to him. This is the honour of the dead." She said, and her speech rul'd his pow'r; but in his safety's stead, For sad ostent of his near death, he steep'd his living name In drops of blood heav'n swet for him, which earth drunk to his fame. And now, as this high combat grew to this too humble end, Sarpedon's death had this state more; 'twas usher'd by his friend And charioteer, brave Thrasymed; whom in his belly's rim Patroclus wounded with his lance, and endless ended him. And then another act of name foreran his princely fate. His first lance missing, he let fly a second that gave date Of violent death to Pedasus; who, as he joy'd to die By his so honourable hand, did ev'n in dying neigh. His ruin startled th' other steeds, the gears crack'd, and the reins Strappled his fellows; whose misrule Automedon restrains By cutting the intangling gears, and so dissund'ring quite The brave slain beast; when both the rest obey'd, and went foreright. And then the royal combatants fought for the final stroke; When Lycia's Gen'ral miss'd again, his high-rais'd jav'lin took Above his shoulder empty way. But no such speedless flight Patroclus let his spear perform, that on the breast did light Of his brave foe, where life's strings close about the solid heart, Impressing a recureless wound; his knees then left their part, And let him fall; when like an oak, a poplar, or a pine, New fell'd by arts-men on the hills, he stretch'd his form divine Before his horse and chariot. And as a lion leaps Upon a goodly yellow bull, drives all the herd in heaps, And, under his unconquer'd jaws, the brave beast sighing dies; So sigh'd Sarpedon underneath this prince of enemies, Call'd Glaucus to him, his dear friend, and said: "Now, friend, thy hands Much duty owe to fight and arms; now for my love it stands Thy heart in much hand to approve that war is harmful; now How active all thy forces are, this one hour's act must show. First call our Lycian captains up, look round, and bring up all, And all exhort to stand, like friends, about Sarpedon's fall, And spend thyself thy steel for me; for be assur'd no day Of all thy life, to thy last hour, can clear thy black dismay In woe and infamy for me, if I be taken hence Spoil'd of mine arms, and thy renown despoil'd of my defence. Stand firm then, and confirm thy men." This said, the bounds of death Concluded all sight to his eyes, and to his nosthrils breath. Patroclus, though his guard was strong, forc'd way through ev'ry doubt, Climb'd his high bosom with his foot, and pluck'd his jav'lin out, And with it drew the film and strings of his yet panting heart; And last, together with the pile, his princely soul did part. His horse, spoil'd both of guide and king, thick snoring and amaz'd, And apt to flight, the Myrmidons made nimbly to, and seiz'd. Glaucus, to hear his friend ask aid, of him past all the rest, Though well he knew his wound uncur'd, confusion fill'd his breast Not to have good in any pow'r, and yet so much good will. And (laying his hand upon his wound, that pain'd him sharply still, And was by Teucer's hand set on from their assail'd steep wall, In keeping hurt from other men) he did on Phœbus call, The God of med'cines, for his cure: "Thou King of cures," said he, "That art perhaps in Lycia with her rich progeny, Or here in Troy; but any where, since thou hast pow'r to hear, O give a hurt and woeful man, as I am now, thine ear. This arm sustains a cruel wound, whose pains shoot ev'ry way, Afflict this shoulder, and this hand, and nothing long can stay A flux of blood still issuing; nor therefore can I stand With any enemy in fight, nor hardly make my hand Support my lance; and here lies dead the worthiest of men, Sarpedon, worthy son to Jove, whose pow'r could yet abstain From all aid in this deadly need; give thou then aid to me, O King of all aid to men hurt; assuage th' extremity Of this arm's anguish, give it strength, that by my precedent I may excite my men to blows, and this dead corse prevent Of further violence." He pray'd, and kind Apollo heard, Allay'd his anguish, and his wound of all the black blood clear'd That vex'd it so, infus'd fresh pow'rs into his weaken'd mind; And all his spirits flow'd with joy that Phœbus stood inclin'd, In such quick bounty, to his pray'rs. Then, as Sarpedon will'd, He cast about his greedy eye; and first of all instill'd To all his captains all the stings, that could inflame their fight For good Sarpedon. And from them, he stretch'd his speedy pace T' Agenor, Hector, Venus' son, and wise Polydamas; And (only naming Hector) said: "Hector, you now forget Your poor auxiliary friends, that in your toils have swet Their friendless souls out far from home. Sarpedon, that sustain'd With justice, and his virtues all, broad Lycia, hath not gain'd The like guard for his person here; for yonder dead he lies Beneath the great Patroclus' lance. But come, let your supplies, Good friends, stand near him. O disdain to see his corse defil'd With Grecian fury; and his arms, by their oppressions spoil'd. These Myrmidons are come enrag'd, that such a mighty boot Of Greeks Troy's darts have made at fleet." This said, from head to foot Grief strook their pow'rs past patience, and not to be restrain'd, To hear news of Sarpedon's death; who, though he appertain'd To other cities, yet to theirs he was the very fort, And led a mighty people there, of all whose better sort Himself was best. This made them run in flames upon the foe; The first man Hector, to whose heart Sarpedon's death did go. Patroclus stirr'd the Grecian spirits; and first th' Ajaces, thus: "Now, brothers, be it dear to you, to fight and succour us, As ever heretofore ye did, with men first excellent. The man lies slain that first did scale, and raze the battlement That crown'd our wall, the Lycian prince. But if we now shall add Force to his corse, and spoil his arms, a prise may more be had Of many great ones, that for him will put on to the death." To this work these were prompt enough; and each side ordereth Those phalanxes that most had rate of resolutions; The Trojans and the Lycian pow'rs; the Greeks and Myrmidons. These ran together for the corse, and clos'd with horrid cries, Their armours thund'ring with the claps laid on about the prise. And Jove, about th' impetuous broil, pernicious night pour'd out, As long as for his lovéd son, pernicious Labour fought. The first of Troy the first Greeks foil'd; when, not the last indeed Amongst the Myrmidons, was slain, the great Agacleus' seed, Divine Epigeus, that before had exercis'd command In fair Budeiüs; but because he laid a bloody hand On his own sister's valiant son, to Peleus and his queen He came for pardon, and obtain'd; his slaughter being the mean He came to Troy, and so to this. He ventur'd ev'n to touch The princely carcass; when a stone did more to him by much, Sent out of able Hector's hand; it cut his skull in twain, And strook him dead. Patroclus, griev'd to see his friend so slain, Before the foremost thrust himself. And as a falcon frays A flock of stares or caddesses; such fear brought his assays Amongst the Trojans and their friends; and, angry at the heart, As well as griev'd, for him so slain, another stony dart As good as Hector's he let fly, that dusted in the neck Of Sthenelaus, thrust his head to earth first, and did break The nerves in sunder with his fall; off fell the Trojans too, Ev'n Hector's self, and all as far as any man can throw (Provok'd for games, or in the wars to shed an enemy's soul) A light long dart. The first that turn'd, was he that did control The targeteers of Lycia, prince Glaucus; who to hell Sent Bathyclæus, Chalcon's son; he did in Hellas dwell, And shin'd for wealth and happiness amongst the Myrmidons; His bosom's midst the jav'lin strook, his fall gat earth with groans. The Greeks griev'd, and the Trojans joy'd, for so renown'd a man; About whom stood the Grecians firm. And then the death began On Troy's side by Meriones; he slew one great in war, Laogonus, Onetor's son, the priest of Jupiter, Created in th' Idæan hill. Betwixt his jaw and ear The dart stuck fast, and loos'd his soul; sad mists of hate and fear Invading him. Anchises' son despatch'd a brazen lance At bold Meriones; and hop'd to make an equal chance On him with bold Laogonus, though under his broad shield He lay so close. But he discern'd, and made his body yield So low, that over him it flew, and trembling took the ground, With which Mars made it quench his thirst; and since the head could wound No better body, and yet thrown from ne'er the worse a hand, It turn'd from earth, and look'd awry. Æneas let it stand, Much angry at the vain event, and told Meriones He scap'd but hardly, nor had cause to hope for such success Another time, though well he knew his dancing faculty, By whose agility he scap'd; for, had his dart gone by With any least touch, instantly he had been ever slain. He answer'd: "Though thy strength be good, it cannot render vain The strength of others with thy jests; nor art thou so divine, But when my lance shall touch at thee, with equal speed to thine, Death will share with it thy life's pow'rs; thy confidence can shun No more than mine what his right claims." Menœtius' noble son Rebuk'd Meriones, and said: "What need'st thou use this speech? Nor thy strength is approv'd with words, good friend, nor can we reach The body, nor make th' enemy yield, with these our counterbraves. We must enforce the binding earth, to hold them in her graves. If you will war, fight. Will you speak? Give counsel Counsel, blows, Are th' ends of wars and words. Talk here, the time in vain bestows." He said, and led; and, nothing less for any thing he said, (His speech being season'd with such right) the worthy seconded. And then, as in a sounding vale, near neighbour to a hill, Wood-fellers make a far-heard noise, with chopping, chopping still, And laying on, on blocks and trees; so they on men laid load, And beat like noises into air, both as they strook and trode. But, past their noise, so full of blood, of dust, of darts, lay smit Divine Sarpedon, that a man must have an excellent wit That could but know him, and might fail, so from his utmost head, Ev'n to the low plants of his feet, his form was alteréd. All thrusting near it ev'ry way, as thick as flies in spring, That in a sheep-cote, when new milk assembles them, make wing, And buzz about the top-full pails. Nor ever was the eye Of Jove averted from the fight; he view'd, thought, ceaselessly And diversly upon the death of great Achilles' friend, If Hector there, to wreak his son, should with his jav'lin end His life, and force away his arms, or still augment the field; He then concluded that the flight of much more soul should yield Achilles' good friend more renown, and that ev'n to their gates He should drive Hector and his host; and so disanimates The mind of Hector that he mounts his chariot, and takes Flight Up with him, tempting all to her; affirming his insight Knew evidently that the beam of Jove's all-ord'ring scoles Was then in sinking on their side, surcharg'd with flocks of souls. Then not the noble Lycians stay'd, but left their slaughter'd lord Amongst the corses' common heap; for many more were pour'd About and on him, while Jove's hand held out the bitter broil. And now they spoil'd Sarpedon's arms, and to the ships the spoil Was sent by Menœtiades. Then Jove thus charg'd the Sun: "Haste, honour'd Phœbus, let no more Greek violence be done To my Sarpedon; but his corse of all the sable blood And jav'lins purg'd; then carry him, far hence to some clear flood, With whose waves wash, and then embalm each thorough-cleanséd limb With our ambrosia; which perform'd, divine weeds put on him, And then to those swift mates and twins, sweet Sleep and Death, commit His princely person, that with speed they both may carry it To wealthy Lycia; where his friends and brothers will embrace, And tomb it in some monument, as fits a prince's place." Then flew Apollo to the fight, from the Idalian hill, At all parts putting into act his great Commander's will; Drew all the darts, wash'd, balm'd the corse; which, deck'd with ornament, By Sleep and Death, those feather'd twins, he into Lycia sent. Patroclus then Automedon commands to give his steeds Large reins, and all way to the chace; so madly he exceeds The strict commission of his friend; which had he kept had kept A black death from him. But Jove's mind hath evermore outstept The mind of man; who both affrights, and takes the victory From any hardiest hand with ease; which he can justify, Though he himself commands him fight, as now he put this chace In Menœtiades's mind. How much then weighs the grace, Patroclus, that Jove gives thee now, in scoles put with thy death, Of all these great and famous men the honourable breath! Of which Adrestus first he slew, and next Autonous, Epistora, and Perimus, Pylartes, Elasus, Swift Menalippus, Molius; all these were overthrown By him, and all else put in rout; and then proud Ilion Had stoop'd beneath his glorious hand, he rag'd so with his lance, If Phœbus had not kept the tow'r, and help'd the Ilians, Sustaining ill thoughts 'gainst the prince. Thrice to the prominence Of Troy's steep wall he bravely leap'd; thrice Phœbus thrust him thence, Objecting his all-dazzling shield, with his resistless hand; But fourthly, when, like one of heav'n, he would have stirr'd his stand, Apollo threaten'd him, and said: "Cease, it exceeds thy fate, Forward, Patroclus, to expugn with thy bold lance this state; Nor under great Achilles' pow'rs, to thine superior far, Lies Troy's grave ruin." When he spake, Patroclus left that war, Leap'd far back, and his anger shunn'd. Hector detain'd his horse Within the Scæan port, in doubt to put his personal force Amongst the rout, and turn their heads, or shun in Troy the storm. Apollo, seeing his suspense, resum'd the goodly form Of Hector's uncle, Asius; the Phrygian Dymas' son, Who near the deep Sangarius had habitation, Being brother to the Trojan queen. His shape Apollo took, And ask'd of Hector, why his spirit so clear the fight forsook? Affirming 'twas unfit for him, and wish'd his forces were As much above his, as they mov'd in an inferior sphere. He should, with shame to him, be gone; and so bade drive away Against Patroclus, to approve, if He that gave them day Would give the glory of his death to his preferréd lance. So left he him, and to the fight did his bright head advance, Mix'd with the multitude, and stirr'd foul tumult for the foe. Then Hector bade Cebriones put on; himself let go All other Greeks within his reach, and only gave command To front Patroclus. He at him; jump'd down; his strong left hand A jav'lin held, his right a stone, a marble sharp and such As his large hand had pow'r to gripe, and gave it strength as much As he could lie to; nor stood long, in fear of that huge man That made against him, but full on with his huge stone he ran, Discharg'd, and drave it 'twixt the brows of bold Cebriones. Nor could the thick bone there prepar'd extenuate so th' access, But out it drave his broken eyes, which in the dust fell down, And he div'd after; which conceit of diving took the son Of old Menœtius, who thus play'd upon the other's bane. "O heav'ns! For truth, this Trojan was a passing active man! With what exceeding ease he dives, as if at work he were Within the fishy seas! This man alone would furnish cheer For twenty men, though 'twere a storm, to leap out of a sail, And gather oysters for them all, he does it here as well, And there are many such in Troy." Thus jested he so near His own grave death; and then made in, to spoil the charioteer, "With such a lion's force and fate, as, often ruining Stalls of fat oxen, gets at length a mortal wound to sting His soul out of that rav'nous breast, that was so insolent, And so his life's bliss proves his bane; so deadly confident Wert thou, Patroclus, in pursuit of good Cebriones, To whose defence now Hector leap'd. The opposite address, These masters of the cry in war now made, was of the kind Of two fierce kings of beasts, oppos'd in strife about a hind Slain on the forehead of a hill, both sharp and hungry set And to the currie never came but like two deaths they met; Nor these two entertain'd less mind of mutual prejudice About the body, close to which when each had press'd for prise, Hector the head laid hand upon, which, once grip'd, never could Be forc'd from him; Patroclus then upon the feet got hold, And he pinch'd with as sure a nail. So both stood tugging there, While all the rest made eager fight, and grappled ev'ry where. And as the east and south winds strive, to make a lofty wood Bow to their greatness, barky elms, wild ashes, beeches, bow'd Ev'n with the earth, in whose thick arms the mighty vapours lie, And toss by turns, all, either way, their leaves at random fly, Boughs murmur, and their bodies crack, and with perpetual din The sylvans falter, and the storms are never to begin; So rag'd the fight, and all from Flight pluck'd her forgotten wings, While some still stuck, still new-wing'd shafts flew dancing from their strings, Huge stones sent after that did shake the shields about the corse, Who now, in dust's soft forehead stretch'd, forgat his guiding horse. As long as Phœbus turn'd his wheels about the midst of heaven, So long the touch of either's darts the falls of both made even; But, when his wain drew near the west, the Greeks past measure were The abler soldiers, and so swept the Trojan tumult clear From off the body, out of which they drew the hurl'd-in darts, And from his shoulders stripp'd his arms; and then to more such parts Patroclus turn'd his striving thoughts, to do the Trojans ill. Thrice, like the God of war, he charg'd, his voice as horrible, And thrice-nine those three charges slew; but in the fourth assay, O then, Patroclus, show'd thy last; the dreadful Sun made way Against that onset; yet the prince discern'd no Deity, He kept the press so, and, besides, obscur'd his glorious eye With such felt darkness. At his back, he made a sudden stand, And 'twixt his neck and shoulders laid down-right with either hand A blow so weighty, that his eyes a giddy darkness took, And from his head his three-plum'd helm the bounding violence shook, That rung beneath his horses' hooves, and, like a water-spout, Was crush'd together with the fall; the plumes that set it out, All spatter'd with black blood and dust; when ever heretofore It was a capital offence to have or dust or gore Defile a triple-feather'd helm, but on the head divine And youthful temples of their prince it us'd, untouch'd, to shine. Yet now Jove gave it Hector's hands, the other's death was near. Besides whose lost and filéd helm his huge long weighty spear, Well-bound with iron, in his hand was shiver'd, and his shield Fell from his shoulders to his feet, the bawdrick strewing the field; His curets left him, like the rest. And all this only done By great Apollo. Then his mind took in confusion, The vig'rous knittings of his joints dissolv'd; and, thus dismay'd, A Dardan, one of Panthus' sons, and one that overlaid All Trojans of his place with darts, swift footing, skill, and force In noble horsemanship, and one that tumbled from their horse, One after other, twenty men, and when he did but learn The art of war; nay when he first did in the field discern A horse and chariot of his guide; this man, with all these parts, (His name Euphorbus) comes behind, and 'twixt the shoulders darts Forlorn Patroclus, who yet liv'd, and th' other (getting forth His jav'lin) took him to his strength; nor durst he stand the worth Of thee, Patroclus, though disarm'd, who yet (discomfited By Phœbus' and Euphorbus' wound) the red heap of the dead He now too late shunn'd, and retir'd. When Hector saw him yield, And knew he yielded with a wound, he scour'd the arméd field, Came close up to him, and both sides strook quite through with his lance. He fell, and his most weighty fall gave fit tune to his chance; For which all Greece extremely mourn'd. And as a mighty strife About a little fount begins, and riseth to the life Of some fell boar resolv'd to drink; when likewise to the spring A lion comes alike dispos'd, the boar thirsts, and his king, Both proud, and both will first be serv'd; and then the lion takes Advantage of his sov'reign strength, and th' other, fainting, makes Resign his thirst up with his blood; Patroclus, so enforc'd When he had forc'd so much brave life, was from his own divorc'd. And thus his great divorcer brav'd: "Patroclus, thy conceit Gave thee th' eversion of our Troy, and to thy fleet a freight Of Trojan ladies, their free lives put all in bands by thee; But (too much prizer of thy self) all these are propp'd by me, For these have my horse stretch'd their hoofs to this so long a war, And I (far best of Troy in arms) keep off from Troy as far, Ev'n to the last beam of my life, their necessary day. And here, in place of us and ours, on thee shall vultures prey, Poor wretch; nor shall thy mighty friend afford thee any aid, That gave thy parting much deep charge, and this perhaps be said: 'Martial Patroclus, turn not face, nor see my fleet before The curets from great Hector's breast, all gilded with his gore, Thou hew'st in pieces.' If thus vain were his far-stretched commands, As vain was thy heart to believe his words lay in thy hands." He, languishing, replied: "This proves, thy glory worse than vain, That when two Gods have giv'n thy hands what their pow'rs did obtain, (They conqu'ring, and they spoiling me both of my arms and mind, It being a work of ease for them) thy soul should be so blind To oversee their evident deeds, and take their pow'rs to thee; When, if the pow'rs of twenty such had dar'd t' encounter me, My lance had strew'd earth with them all. Thou only dost obtain A third place in my death; whom, first, a harmful hate hath slain Effected by Latona's son; second, and first of men, Euphorbus. And this one thing more concerns thee; note it then; Thou shalt not long survive thyself; nay, now death calls for thee, And violent fate; Achilles' lance shall make this good for me." Thus death join'd to his words his end; his soul took instant wing, And to the house that hath no lights descended) sorrowing For his sad fate, to leave him young, and in his ablest age. He dead, yet Hector ask'd him why, in that prophetic rage, He so forespake him, when none knew but great Achilles might Prevent his death, and on his lance receive his latest light? Thus setting on his side his foot, he drew out of his wound His brazen lance, and upwards cast the body on the ground; When quickly, while the dart was hot, he charg'd Automedon, Divine guide of Achilles' steeds, in great contention To seize him too; but his so swift and deathless horse, that fetch'd Their gift to Peleus from the Gods, soon rapt him from his reach. THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH BOOK.

[1] Jupiter called the God of sounds, for the chief sound his thunder.

[2] A simile most lively expressive. THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

A dreadful fight about Patroclus' corse; Euphorbus slain by Menelaus' force; Hector in th' armour of Æacides; Antilochus relating the decease Of slain Patroclus to fair Thetis' son; The body from the striving Trojans won; Th' Ajaces making good the after field; Make all the subject that this book doth yield, ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Rho the vent'rous hosts maintain A slaught'rous conflict for the slain.

Nor could his slaughter rest conceal'd from Menelaus' ear; Who flew amongst the foremost fights, and with his targe and spear Circled the body, as much griev'd, and with as tender heed To keep it theirs, as any dam about her first-born seed, Not proving what the pain of birth would make the love before, Nor to pursue his first attaint Euphorbus' spirit forbore; [1] But, seeing Menelaus chief in rescue of the dead, Assay'd him thus: "Atrides, cease, and leave the slaughteréd With his embru'd spoil to the man, that first, of all our state, And famous succours, in fair fight, made passage to his fate; And therefore suffer me to wear the good name I have won Amongst the Trojans, lest thy life repay what his hath done." "O Jupiter," said he, incens'd, "thou art no honest man To boast so past thy pow'r to do. Not any lion can, Nor spotted leopard, nor boar, whose mind is mightiest In pouring fury from his strength, advance so proud a crest As Panthus' fighting progeny. But Hyperenor's pride, That joy'd so little time his youth, when he so vilified My force in arms, and call'd me worst of all our chivalry, And stood my worst, might teach ye all to shun this surcuidrie; I think he came not safely home, to tell his wife his acts. Nor less right of thy insolence my equal fate exacts, And will obtain me, if thou stay'st. Retire then, take advice: A fool sees nought before 'tis done, and still too late is wise." This mov'd not him but to the worse, since it renew'd the sting That his slain brother shot in him, remember'd by the king, To whom he answer'd: "Thou shalt pay, for all the pains endur'd By that slain brother, all the wounds sustain'd for him, recur'd With one made in thy heart by me. 'Tis true thou mad'st his wife A heavy widow, when her joys of wedlock scarce had life, And hurt'st our parents with his grief; all which thou gloriest in, Forespeaking so thy death, that now their grief's end shall begin. To Panthus, and the snowy hand of Phrontes, I will bring Those arms, and that proud head of thine. And this laborious thing Shall ask no long time to perform. Nor be my words alone, But their performance; Strength, and Fight, and Terror thus sets on." This said, he strook his all-round shield; nor shrunk that, but his lance That turn'd head in it. Then the king assay'd the second chance; First praying to the King of Gods; and his dart entry got (The force much driving back his foe) in low part of his throat, And ran his neck through. Then fell pride, and he; and all with gore His locks, that like the Graces were, and which he ever wore In gold and silver ribands wrapp'd, were piteously wet. And when alone in some choice place, a husbandman hath set The young plant of an olive tree, whose root being ever fed With plenty of delicious springs, his branches bravely spread, And all his fresh and lovely head, grown curl'd with snowy flow'rs, That dance and flourish with the winds, that are of gentlest pow'rs; But when a whirlwind, got aloft, stoops with a sudden gale, Tears from his head his tender curls, and tosseth therewithal His fix'd root from his hollow mines; it well presents the force Of Sparta's king; and so the plant, Euphorbus and his corse. He slain, the king stripp'd off his arms; and with their worthy prise, All fearing him, had clearly pass'd, if heaven's fair Eye of eyes Had not, in envy of his acts, to his encounter stirr'd The Mars-like Hector; to whose pow'rs the rescue he preferr'd Of those fair arms, and took the shape of Mentas, colonel Of all the Cicones that near the Thracian Hebrus dwell. Like him, he thus puts forth his voice: "Hector, thou scour'st the field In headstrong púrsuit of those horse, that hardly are compell'd To take the draught of chariots, by any mortal's hand; The great grandchild of Æacus hath only their command, Whom an immortal mother bore. While thou attend'st on these, The young Atrides, in defence of Menœtiades, Hath slain Euphorbus." Thus the God took troop with men again; And Hector, heartily perplex'd, look'd round, and saw the slain Still shedding rivers from his wound; and then took envious view Of brave Atrides with his spoil; in way to whom he flew Like one of Vulcan's quenchless flames. Atrides heard the cry That ever usher'd him, and sigh'd, and said: "O me, if I [2] Should leave these goodly arms, and him, that here lies dead for me, I fear I should offend the Greeks; if I should stay and be Alone with Hector and his men, I may be compass'd in, Some sleight or other they may use, many may quickly win Their wills of one, and all Troy comes ever where Hector leads. But why, dear mind, dost thou thus talk? When men dare set their heads Against the Gods, as sure they do that fight with men they love, Straight one or other plague ensues. It cannot therefore move The grudge of any Greek that sees I yield to Hector, he Still fighting with a spirit from heav'n. And yet if I could see Brave Ajax, he and I would stand, though 'gainst a God; and sure 'Tis best I seek him, and then see if we two can procure This corse's freedom through all these. A little then let rest The body, and my mind be still. Of two bads choose the best." In this discourse, the troops of Troy were in with him, and he Made such a lion-like retreat, as when the herdsmen see The royal savage, and come on, with men, dogs, cries, and spears, To clear their hornéd stall, and then the kingly heart he bears (With all his high disdain) falls off; so from this odds of aid The golden-hair'd Atrides fled, and in his strength display'd Upon his left hand him he wish'd, extremely busiéd About encouraging his men, to whom an extreme dread Apollo had infus'd. The king reach'd Ajax instantly, And said: "Come, friend, let us two haste, and from the tyranny Of Hector free Patroclus' corse." He straight and gladly went; And then was Hector haling off the body, with intent To spoil the shoulders of the dead, and give the dogs the rest, His arms he having pris'd before; when Ajax brought his breast To bar all further spoil. With that he had, sure Hector thought 'Twas best to satisfy his spleen; which temper Ajax wrought With his mere sight, and Hector fled. The arms he sent to Troy, To make his citizens admire, and pray Jove send him joy. Then Ajax gather'd to the corse, and hid it with his targe, There setting down as sure a foot, as, in the tender charge Of his lov'd whelps, a lion doth; two hundred hunters near To give him onset, their more force makes him the more austere, Drowns all their clamours in his roars, darts, dogs, doth all despise, And lets his rough brows down so low, they cover all his eyes; So Ajax look'd, and stood, and stay'd for great Priamides. When Glaucus Hippolochides saw Ajax thus depress The spirit of Hector, thus he chid: "O goodly man at arms, In fight a Paris, why should fame make thee fort 'gainst our harms, Being such a fugitive? Now mark, how well thy boasts defend Thy city only with her own. Be sure it shall descend To that proof wholly. Not a man of any Lycian rank Shall strike one stroke more for thy town; for no man gets a thank Should he eternally fight here, nor any guard of thee. How wilt thou, worthless that thou art, keep off an enemy From our poor soldiers, when their prince, Sarpedon, guest and friend To thee, and most deservedly, thou flew'st from in his end, And left'st to all the lust of Greece? O Gods, a man that was (In life) so huge a good to Troy, and to thee such a grace, (In death) not kept by thee from dogs! If my friends will do well, We'll take our shoulders from your walls, and let all sink to hell; As all will, were our faces turn'd. Did such a spirit breathe In all you Trojans, as becomes all men that fight beneath Their country's standard, you would see, that such a prop your cause With like exposure of their lives, have all the honour'd laws Of such a dear confederacy kept to them to a thread, As now ye might reprise the arms Sarpedon forfeited By forfeit of your rights to him, would you but lend your hands, And force Patroclus to your Troy. Ye know how dear he stands In his love, that of all the Greeks is, for himself, far best, And leads the best near-fighting men; and therefore would at least Redeem Sarpedon's arms; nay him, whom you have likewise lost. This body drawn to Ilion would after draw and cost A greater ransom if you pleas'd; but Ajax startles you; 'Tis his breast bars this right to us; his looks are darts enow To mix great Hector with his men. And not to blame ye are, You choose foes underneath your strengths, Ajax exceeds ye far." Hector look'd passing sour at this, and answer'd: "Why dar'st thou, So under, talk above me so? O friend, I thought till now Thy wisdom was superior to all th' inhabitants Of gleby Lycia; but now impute apparent wants To that discretion thy words show, to say I lost my ground For Ajax' greatness. Nor fear I the field in combats drown'd, Nor force of chariots, but I fear a Pow'r much better seen In right of all war than all we. That God, that holds between Our victory and us his shield, lets conquest come and go At his free pleasure, and with fear converts her changes so Upon the strongest. Men must fight when his just spirit impels, Not their vain glories. But come on, make thy steps parallels To these of mine, and then be judge, how deep the work will draw. If then I spend the day in shifts, or thou canst give such law To thy detractive speeches then, or if the Grecian host Holds any that in pride of strength holds up his spirit most, Whom, for the carriage of this prince, that thou enforcest so, I make not stoop in his defence. You, friends, ye hear and know How much it fits ye to make good this Grecian I have slain, For ransom of Jove's son, our friend. Play then the worthy men, Till I indue Achilles' arms." This said, he left the fight, And call'd back those that bore the arms, not yet without his sight, In convoy of them towards Troy. For them he chang'd his own, Remov'd from where it rained tears, and sent them back to town. Then put he on th' eternal arms, that the Celestial States Gave Peleus; Peleus, being old, their use appropriates To his Achilles, that, like him, forsook them not for age. When He, whose empire is in clouds, saw Hector bent to wage War in divine Achilles' arms, he shook his head, and said: "Poor wretch, thy thoughts are far from death, though he so near hath laid His ambush for thee. Thou putt'st on those arms, as braving him Whom others fear; hast slain his friend, and from his youthful limb Torn rudely off his heav'nly arms, himself being gentle, kind, And valiant. Equal measure then, thy life in youth must find. Yet since the justice is so strict, that not Andromache, In thy denied return from fight, must ever take of thee Those arms, in glory of thy acts; thou shalt have that frail blaze Of excellence that neighbours death, a strength ev'n to amaze." To this His sable brows did bow; and he made fit his limb To those great arms, to fill which up the War-god enter'd him Austere and terrible, his joints and ev'ry part extends With strength and fortitude; and thus to his admiring friends High Clamour brought him. He so shin'd, that all could think no less But he resembled ev'ry way great-soul'd Æacides. Then ev'ry way he scour'd the field, his captains calling on; Asteropæus, Eunomus, that foresaw all things done, Glaucus, and Medon, Desinor, and strong Thersilochus, Phorcis, and Mesthles, Chromius, and great Hippothous; To all these, and their populous troops, these his excitements were: "Hear us, innumerable friends, near-bord'ring nations, hear. We have not call'd you from our towns, to fill our idle eye With number of so many men (no such vain empery Did ever joy us) but to fight; and of our Trojan wives, With all their children, manfully to save the innocent lives. In whose cares we draw all our towns of aiding soldiers dry, With gifts, guards, victual, all things fit; and hearten their supply With all like rights; and therefore now let all sides set down this, Or live, or perish; this of war the special secret is. In which most resolute design, whoever bears to town Patroclus, laid dead to his hand, by winning the renown Of Ajax' slaughter, the half-spoil we wholly will impart To his free use, and to ourself the other half convert; And so the glory shall be shar'd, ourself will have no more Then he shall shine in." This drew all to bring abroad their store Before the body. Ev'ry man had hope it would be his, And forc'd from Ajax. Silly fools, Ajax prevented this By raising rampires to his friend with half their carcasses. And yet his humour was to roar, and fear, and now no less To startle Sparta's king, to whom he cried out: "O my friend! O Menelaus! Now no hope to get off; here's the end Of all our labours. Not so much I fear to lose the corse (For that's sure gone, the fowls of Troy and dogs will quickly force That piece-meal) as I fear my head, and thine, O Atreus' son. Hector a cloud brings will hide all. Instant destructión, Grievous and heavy, comes. O call our peers to aid us; fly." He hasted, and us'd all his voice, sent far and near his cry: "O princes, chief lights of the Greeks, and you that publicly Eat with our General and me, all men of charge, O know Jove gives both grace and dignity to any that will show Good minds for only good itself, though presently the eye Of him that rules discern him not. 'Tis hard for me t'espy, Through all this smoke of burning fight, each captain in his place, And call assistance to our need. Be then each other's grace, And freely follow each his next. Disdain to let the joy Of great Æacides be forc'd to feed the beasts of Troy." His voice was first heard and obey'd by swift Oïliades; Idomenëus and his mate, renown'd Meriones, Were seconds to Oïleus' son; but, of the rest, whose mind Can lay upon his voice the names, that after these combin'd In setting up this fight on end? The Trojans first gave on. And as into the sea's vast mouth, when mighty rivers run, Their billows and the sea resound, and all the utter shore Rebellows in her angry shocks the sea's repulsive roar; With such sounds gave the Trojans charge, so was their charge repress'd. One mind fill'd all Greeks, good brass shields close couch'd to ev'ry breast, And on their bright helms Jove pour'd down a mighty deal of night, To hide Patroclus; whom alive, and when he was the knight Of that grandchild of Æacus, Saturnius did not hate, Nor dead would see him dealt to dogs, and so did instigate His fellows to his worthy guard. At first the Trojans drave The black-ey'd Grecians from the corse; but not a blow they gave That came at death. Awhile they hung about the body's heels, The Greeks quite gone. But all that while, did Ajax whet the steels Of all his forces, that cut back way to the corse again. Brave Ajax (that for form and fact, pass'd all that did maintain The Grecian fame, next Thetis' son) now flew before the first. And as a sort of dogs and youths are by a boar disperst About a mountain; so fled these from mighty Ajax, all That stood in conflict for the corse, who thought no chance could fall Betwixt them and the prise at Troy; for both Hippothous, Lethus' Pelasgus' famous son, was so adventurous That he would stand to bore the corse about the ancle-bone, Where all the nervy fibres meet and ligaments in one, That make the motion of those parts; through which he did convey The thong or bawdric of his shield, and so was drawing away All thanks from Hector and his friends; but in their stead he drew An ill that no man could avert; for Telamonius threw A lance that strook quite through his helm, his brain came leaping out; Down fell Letheides, and with him the body's hoisted foot. Far from Larissa's soil he fell; a little time allow'd To his industrious spirits to quit the benefits bestow'd By his kind parents. But his wreak Priamides assay'd, And threw at Ajax; but his dart, discover'd, pass'd, and stay'd At Schedius, son of Iphitus, a man of ablest hand Of all the strong Phocensians, and liv'd with great command In Panopëus. The fell dart fell through his channel-bone, Pierc'd through his shoulder's upper part, and set his spirit gone. When after his another flew, the same hand giving wing To martial Phorcis' startled soul, that was the after spring Of Phænops' seed. The jav'lin strook his curets through, and tore The bowels from the belly's midst. His fall made those before Give back a little, Hector's self enforc'd to turn his face. And then the Greeks bestow'd their shouts, took vantage of the chace, Drew off, and spoil'd Hippothous and Phorcis of their arms. And then ascended Ilion had shaken with alarms, Discov'ring th' impotence of Troy, ev'n past the will of Jove, And by the proper force of Greece, had Phœbus fail'd to move Æneas in similitude of Periphas (the son Of grave Epytes) king at arms, and had good service done To old Anchises, being wise, and ev'n with him in years. But, like this man, the far-seen God to Venus' son appears, And ask'd him how he would maintain steep Ilion in her height, In spite of Gods, as he presum'd; when men approv'd so slight All his presumptions, and all theirs that puff'd him with that pride, Believing in their proper strengths, and gen'rally supplied With such unfrighted multitudes? But he well knew that Jove, Besides their self-conceits, sustain'd their forces with more love Than theirs of Greece; and yet all that lack'd pow'r to hearten them. Æneas knew the God, and said: "It was a shame extreme, That those of Greece should beat them so, and by their cowardice, Not want of man's aid nor the Gods'; and this before his eyes A Deity stood ev'n now and vouch'd, affirming Jove their aid; And so bade Hector and the rest, to whom all this he said, Turn head, and not in that quick ease part with the corse to Greece." This said, before them all he flew, and all as of a piece Against the Greeks flew. Venus' son Leocritus did end, Son of Arisbas, and had place of Lycomedes' friend; Whose fall he friendly pitied, and, in revenge, bestow'd A lance that Apisaon strook, so sore that straight he strow'd The dusty centre, it did stick in that congealéd blood That forms the liver. Second man he was of all that stood In name for arms amongst the troop that from Pæonia came, Asteropæus being the first; who was in ruth the same That Lycomedes was; like whom, he put forth for the wreak Of his slain friend; but wrought it not, because he could not break That bulwark made of Grecian shields, and bristled wood of spears, Combin'd about the body slain. Amongst whom Ajax bears The greatest labour, ev'ry way exhorting to abide, And no man fly the corse a foot, nor break their ranks in pride Of any foremost daring spirit, but each foot hold his stand, And use the closest fight they could. And this was the command Of mighty Ajax; which observ'd, they steep'd the earth in blood. The Trojans and their friends fell thick. Nor all the Grecians stood (Though far the fewer suffer'd fate) for ever they had care To shun confusion, and the toil that still oppresseth there. So set they all the field on fire; with which you would have thought The sun and moon had been put out, in such a smoke they fought About the person of the prince. But all the field beside Fought underneath a lightsome heav'n; the sun was in his pride, And such expansure of his beams he thrust out of his throne, That not a vapour durst appear in all that region, No, not upon the highest hill. There fought they still, and breath'd, Shunn'd danger, cast their darts aloof, and not a sword unsheath'd. The other plied it, and the war and night plied them as well, The cruel steel afflicting all; the strongest did not dwell Unhurt within their iron roofs. Two men of special name. Antilochus and Thrasymed, were yet unserv'd by Fame With notice of Patroclus' death. They thought him still alive In foremost tumult, and might well, for (seeing their fellows thrive In no more comfortable sort than fight and death would yield) They fought apart; for so their sire, old Nestor, strictly will'd, Enjoining fight more from the fleet. War here increas'd his heat The whole day long, continually the labour and the sweat The knees, calves, feet, hands, faces, smear'd, of men that Mars applied About the good Achilles' friend. And as a huge ox-hide [3] A currier gives amongst his men, to supple and extend With oil till it be drunk withall; they tug, stretch out, and spend Their oil and liquor lib'rally, and chafe the leather so That out they make a vapour breathe, and in their oil doth go, A number of them set on work, and in an orb they pull, That all ways all parts of the hide they may extend at full; So here and there did both parts hale the corse in little place, And wrought it all ways with their sweat; the Trojans hop'd for grace To make it reach to Ilion, the Grecians to their fleet, A cruel tumult they stirr'd up, and such as should Mars see't (That horrid hurrier of men) or She that betters him, Minerva, never so incens'd, they could not disesteem. So baneful a contention did Jove that day extend Of men and horse about the slain. Of whom his god-like friend Had no instruction, so far off, and underneath the wall Of Troy, that conflict was maintain'd; which was not thought at all By great Achilles, since he charg'd, that having set his foot Upon the ports, he would retire, well knowing Troy no boot For his assaults without himself, since not by him as well He knew it was to be subdu'd. His mother oft would tell The mind of mighty Jove therein, oft hearing it in heav'n; But of that great ill to his friend was no instruction giv'n By careful Thetis. By degrees must ill events be known. The foes cleft one to other still, about the overthrown. His death with death infected both. Ev'n private Greeks would say Either to other: "'Twere a shame, for us to go our way, And let the Trojans bear to Troy the praise of such a prise! Which, let the black earth gasp, and drink our blood for sacrifice, Before we suffer. 'Tis an act much less infortunate, And then would those of Troy resolve, though certainly our fate Will fell us altogether here. Of all not turn a face." Thus either side his fellows' strength excited past his place, And thus through all th' unfruitful air, an iron sound ascended Up to the golden firmament; when strange affects contended In these immortal heav'n-bred horse of great Æacides, Whom (once remov'd from forth the fight) a sudden sense did seize Of good Patroclus' death, whose hands they oft had undergone, And bitterly they wept for him. Nor could Automedon With any manage make them stir, oft use the scourge to them, Oft use his fairest speech, as oft threats never so extreme, They neither to the Hellespont would bear him, nor the fight; But still as any tombstone lays his never stirréd weight On some good man or woman's grave for rites of funeral; So unremovéd stood these steeds, their heads to earth let fall, And warm tears gushing from their eyes, with passionate desire Of their kind manager; their manes, that flourish'd with the fire Of endless youth allotted them, fell through the yoky sphere, Ruthfully ruffled and defil'd, Jove saw their heavy cheer, And, pitying them, spake to his mind: "Poor wretched beasts," said he, "Why gave we you t' a mortal king, when immortality And incapacity of age so dignifies your states? Was it to haste the miseries pour'd out on human fates? Of all the miserablest things that breathe and creep on earth, No one more wretched is than man. And for your deathless birth, Hector must fail to make you prise. Is't not enough he wears, And glories vainly in those arms? Your chariots and rich gears, Besides you, are too much for him. Your knees and spirits again My care of you shall fill with strength, that so ye may sustain Automedon, and bear him off. To Troy I still will give The grace of slaughter, till at fleet their bloody feet arrive, Till Phœbus drink the western sea, and sacred Darkness throws Her sable mantle 'twixt their points." Thus in the steeds he blows Excessive spirit; and through the Greeks and Ilians they rapt The whirring chariot, shaking off the crumbled centre wrapt Amongst their tresses. And with them, Automedon let fly Amongst the Trojans, making way through all as frightfully As through a jangling flock of geese a lordly vulture beats, Giv'n way with shrikes by ev'ry goose, that comes but near his threats; With such state fled he through the press, pursuing as he fled; But made no slaughter; nor he could, alone being carried Upon the sacred chariot. How could he both works do, Direct his jav'lin, and command his fi'ry horses too? At length he came where he beheld his friend Alcimedon, That was the good Laercius', the son of Æmon's, son; Who close came to his chariot side, and ask'd: "What God is he That hath so robb'd thee of thy soul, to run thus franticly Amongst these fore fights, being alone; thy fighter being slain, And Hector glorying in his arms?" He gave these words again: "Alcimedon, what man is he, of all the Argive race, So able as thyself to keep, in use of press and pace, These deathless horse; himself being gone, that like the Gods had th' art Of their high manage? Therefore take to thy command his part, And ease me of the double charge, which thou hast blam'd with right." He took the scourge and reins in hand, Automedon the fight. Which Hector seeing, instantly, Æneas standing near, He told him, he discern'd the horse, that mere immortal were, Address'd to fight with coward guides, and therefore hop'd to make A rich prise of them, if his mind would help to undertake, For those two could not stand their charge. He granted, and both cast Dry solid hides upon their necks, exceeding soundly brast; And forth they went, associate with two more god-like men, Aretus and bold Chromius; nor made they question then To prise the goodly-crested horse, and safely send to hell The souls of both their guardians. O fools, that could not tell They could not work out their return from fierce Automedon Without the lib'ral cost of blood; who first made orison To father Jove, and then was fill'd with fortitude and strength; When (counselling Alcimedon to keep at no great length The horse from him, but let them breathe upon his back, because He saw th' advance that Hector made, whose fury had no laws Propos'd to it, but both their lives and those horse made his prise, Or his life theirs) he call'd to friend these well-approv'd supplies, Th' Ajaces, and the Spartan king, and said, "Come, princes, leave A sure guard with the corse, and then to your kind care receive Our threaten'd safeties. I discern the two chief props of Troy Preparar'd against us. But herein, what best men can enjoy Lies in the free knees of the Gods. My dart shall lead ye all [4] The sequel to the care of Jove I leave, whatever fall." All this spake good Automedon; then, brandishing his lance, He threw, and strook Aretus' shield, that gave it enterance Through all the steel, and, by his belt, his belly's inmost part It pierc'd, and all his trembling limbs gave life up to his dart. Then Hector at Automedon a blazing lance let fly, Whose flight he saw, and falling flat, the compass was too high, And made it stick beyond in earth, th' extreme part burst, and there Mars buried all his violence. The sword then for the spear Had chang'd the conflict, had not haste sent both th' Ajaces in, Both serving close their fellows' call, who, where they did begin, There drew the end. Priamides, Æneas, Chromius (In doubt of what such aid might work) left broken hearted thus Aretus to Automedon, who spoil'd his arms, and said: "A little this revives my life for him so lately dead, Though by this nothing countervail'd." And with this little vent Of inward grief, he took the spoil; with which he made ascent Up to his chariot, hands and feet of bloody stains so full That lion-like he look'd, new turn'd from tearing up a bull. And now another bitter fight about Patroclus grew, Tear-thirsty, and of toil enough; which Pallas did renew, Descending from the cope of stars, dismiss'd by sharp-ey'd Jove To animate the Greeks; for now, inconstant change did move His mind from what he held of late. And as the purple bow Jove bends at mortals, when of war he will the signal show, Or make it a presage of cold, in such tempestuous sort That men are of their labours eas'd, but labouring cattle hurt; So Pallas in a purple cloud involv'd herself, and went Amongst the Grecians, stirr'd up all; but first encouragement She breath'd in Atreus' younger son, and, for disguise, made choice Of aged Phœnix' shape, and spake with his unwearied voice: "O Menelaus, much defame, and equal heaviness, Will touch at thee, if this true friend of great Æacides Dogs tear beneath the Trojan walls; and therefore bear thee well. Toil through the host, and ev'ry man with all thy spirit impell." He answer'd: "O thou long-since born, O Phœnix, that hast won The honour'd foster-father's name of Thetis' god-like son, I would Minerva would but give strength to me, and but keep These busy darts off; I would then make in indeed, and steep My income in their bloods, in aid of good Patroclus; much His death afflicts me, much. But yet, this Hector's grace is such With Jove, and such a fi'ry strength and spirit he has, that still His steel is killing, killing still." The king's so royal will Minerva joy'd to hear, since she did all the Gods outgo In his remembrance. For which grace she kindly did bestow Strength on his shoulders, and did fill his knees as lib'rally With swiftness, breathing in his breast the courage of a fly, Which loves to bite so, and doth bear man's blood so much good will, That still though beaten from a man she flies upon him still; With such a courage Pallas fill'd the black parts near his heart, And then he hasted to the slain, cast off a shining dart, And took one Podes, that was heir to old Eetion, A rich man and a strenuous, and by the people done Much honour, and by Hector too, being consort and his guest; And him the yellow-headed king laid hold on at his waist In off'ring flight, his iron pile strook through him, down he fell, And up Atrides drew his corse. Then Phœbus did impell The spirit of Hector, Phænops like, surnam'd Asiades, Whom Hector us'd, of all his guests, with greatest friendliness, And in Abydus stood his house; in whose form thus he spake: "Hector! What man of all the Greeks will any terror make Of meeting thy strength any more, when thou art terrified By Menelaus, who, before he slew thy friend, was tried A passing easy soldier, where now (besides his end Impos'd by him) he draws him off, and not a man to friend. From all the Trojans? This friend is Podes, Eetion's son." This hid him in a cloud of grief, and set him foremost on. And then Jove took his snake-fring'd shield, and Ida cover'd all With sulphury clouds, from whence he let abhorréd lightnings fall, And thunder'd till the mountains shook; and with this dreadful state He usher'd victory to Troy, to Argos flight and fate. Peneleüs Bœotius was he that foremost fled, Being wounded in his shoulder's height; but there the lance's head Strook lightly, glancing to his mouth, because it strook him near, Thrown from Polydamas. Leitus next left the fight in fear (Being hurt by Hector in his hand) because he doubted sore His hand in wishéd fight with Troy would hold his lance no more. Idomenëus sent a dart at Hector (rushing in, And following Leitus) that strook his bosom near his chin, And brake at top. The Ilians for his escape did shout. When Hector at Deucalides another lance sent out, As in his chariot he stood; it miss'd him narrowly, For, as it fell, Cœranus drave his speedy chariot by, And took the Trojan lance himself; he was the charioteer Of stern Meriones, and first on foot did service there, Which well he left to govern horse, for saving now his king, With driving 'twixt him and his death, though thence his own did spring, Which kept a mighty victory from Troy, in keeping death From his great sov'reign. The fierce dart did enter him beneath His ear, betwixt his jaw and it, drave down, cut through his tongue, And strook his teeth out; from his hands the horses' reins he flung, Which now Meriones receiv'd as they bestrew'd the field, And bade his sov'reign scourge away, he saw that day would yield No hope of victory for them. He fear'd the same, and fled. Nor from the mighty-minded son of Telamon lay hid, For all his clouds, high Jove himself, nor from the Spartan king. They saw Him in the victory, He still was varying For Troy. For which sight Ajax said: "O heav'ns, what fool is he That sees not Jove's hand in the grace now done our enemy? Not any dart they touch but takes, from whomsoever thrown, Valiant or coward; what he wants Jove adds, not any one Wants his direction to strike sure; nor ours to miss as sure. But come, let us be sure of this, to put the best in ure That lies in us; which two-fold is, both to fetch off our friend, And so to fetch him off as we may likeliest contend To fetch ourselves off; that our friends surviving may have right In joy of our secure retreat, as he that fell in fight, Being kept as sure from further wrong. Of which perhaps they doubt, And looking this way, grieve for us, not able to work out Our pass from this man-slaughterer, great Hector, and his hands That are too hot for men to touch, but that these thirsty sands Before our fleet will be enforc'd to drink our headlong death. Which to prevent by all fit means, I would the parted breath Of good Patroclus, to his friend, with speed imparted were, By some he loves; for, I believe, no heavy messenger Hath yet inform'd him. But alas! I see no man to send, Both men and horse are hid in mists that ev'ry way descend. O father Jupiter, do thou the sons of Greece release Of this felt darkness; grace this day with fit transparences; And give the eyes thou giv'st, their use; destroy us in the light, And work thy will with us, since needs thou wilt against us fight." This spake he weeping, and his tears Saturnius pity show'd, Dispers'd the darkness instantly, and drew away the cloud From whence it fell; the sun shin'd out, and all the host appear'd; And then spake Ajax, whose heard pray'r his spirits highly cheer'd: "Brave Menelaus, look about; and if thou canst descry Nestor's Antilochus alive, incite him instantly To tell Achilles that his friend, most dear to him, is dead." He said, nor Menelaus stuck at any thing he said, As loth to do it, but he went. As from a grazier's stall A lion goes, when overlaid with men, dogs, darts, and all, Not eas'ly losing a fat ox, but strong watch all night held, His teeth yet wat'ring, oft he comes, and is as oft repell'd, The adverse darts so thick are pour'd before his brow-hid eyes, And burning firebrands which, for all his great heart's heat, he flies, And, grumbling, goes his way betimes; so from Patroclus went Atrides, much against his mind, his doubts being vehement Lest, he gone from his guard, the rest would leave for very fear The person to the spoil of Greece. And yet his guardians were Th' Ajaces and Meriones; whom much his care did press, And thus exhort: "Ajaces both, and you Meriones, Now let some true friend call to mind the gentle and sweet nature Of poor Patroclus; let him think, how kind to ev'ry creature His heart was living, though now dead." Thus urg'd the fair-hair'd king, And parted, casting round his eye. As when upon her wing An eagle is, whom men affirm to have the sharpest sight Of all air's region of fowls, and, though of mighty height, Sees yet within her leavy form of humble shrubs, close laid, A light-foot hare, which straight she stoops, trusses, and strikes her dead; So dead thou strook'st thy charge, O king, through all war's thickets so Thou look'dst, and swiftly found'st thy man exhorting 'gainst the foe, And heart'ning his plied men to blows us'd in the war's left wing; To whom thou saidst: "Thou god-lov'd man, come here, and hear a thing Which I wish never were to hear. I think ev'n thy eye sees What a destruction God hath laid upon the sons of Greece, And what a conquest he gives Troy; in which the best of men, Patroclus, lies exanimate, whose person passing fain The Greeks would rescue and bear home; and therefore give thy speed To his great friend, to prove if he will do so good a deed To fetch the naked person off, for Hector's shoulders wear His priséd arms." Antilochus was highly griev'd to hear This heavy news, and stood surpris'd with stupid silence long; His fair eyes standing full of tears; his voice, so sweet and strong Stuck in his bosom; yet all this wrought in him no neglect Of what Atrides gave in charge, but for that quick effect He gave Laodocus his arms (his friend that had the guide Of his swift horse) and then his knees were speedily applied In his sad message, which his eyes told all the way in tears. Nor would thy gen'rous heart assist his sore charg'd soldiers, O Menelaus, in mean time, though left in much distress; Thou sent'st them god-like Thrasymede, and mad'st thy kind regress Back to Patroclus; where arriv'd, half breathless thou didst say To both th' Ajaces: "I have sent this messenger away To swift Achilles, who, I fear, will hardly help us now, Though mad with Hector; without arms he cannot fight, ye know. Let us then think of some best mean, both how we may remove The body, and get off ourselves from this vocif'rous drove, And fate of Trojans." "Bravely spoke at all parts," Ajax said, "O glorious son of Atreus. Take thou then straight the dead, And thou, Meriones; we two, of one mind as one name, Will back ye soundly, and on us receive the wild-fire flame That Hector's rage breathes after you, before it come at you." This said, they took into their arms the body; all the show, That might be, made to those of Troy; at arm's end bearing it. Out shriek'd the Trojans when they saw the body borne to fleet, And rush'd on. As at any boar, gash'd with the hunter's wounds, A kennel of the sharpest set and sorest bitten hounds Before their youthful huntsmen haste, and eagerly awhile Pursue, as if they were assur'd of their affected spoil; But when the savage, in his strength as confident as they, Turns head amongst them, back they fly, and ev'ry one his way; So troop-meal Troy pursu'd awhile, laying on with swords and darts; But when th' Ajaces turn'd on them, and made their stand, their hearts Drunk from their faces all their bloods, and not a man sustain'd The forechace, nor the after-fight. And thus Greece nobly gain'd The person towards home. But thus, the changing war was rack'd Out to a passing bloody length; for as, once put in act, A fire, invading city roofs, is suddenly engrost, And made a wondrous mighty flame, in which is quickly lost A house long building, all the while a boist'rous gust of wind Lumb'ring amongst it; so the Greeks, in bearing off their friend, More and more foes drew, at their heels a tumult thund'ring still Of horse and foot. Yet as when mules, in haling from a hill A beam or mast, through foul deep way, well-clapp'd, and hearten'd, close Lie to their labour, tug and sweat, and passing hard it goes, Urg'd by their drivers to all haste; so dragg'd they on the corse, Still both th' Ajaces at their backs, who back still turn'd the force, Though after it grew still the more. Yet as a sylvan hill Thrusts back a torrent, that hath kept a narrow channel still, Till at his oaken breast it beats, but there a check it takes, That sends it over all the vale, with all the stir it makes, Nor can with all the confluence break through his rooty sides; In no less firm and brave repulse, th' Ajaces curb'd the prides Of all the Trojans; yet all held the pursuit in his strength, Their chiefs being Hector, and the son of Venus, who at length Put all the youth of Greece besides in most amazeful rout, Forgetting all their fortitudes, distraught, and shrieking out A number of their rich arms lost, fall'n from them here and there, About, and in the dike; and yet, the war concludes not here. THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK.

[1] This Euphorbus was he that, in Ovid, Pythagoras saith he was in the wars of Troy.

[2] Note the manly and wise discourse of Menelaus with himself seeing Hector advancing towards him.

[3] An inimitable simile.

[4] In the Greek always this phrase is used, not in the hands, but ἐν γούνασι κεὶται, in the knees of the Gods lies our help, etc. THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Achilles mourns, told of Patroclus' end; When Thetis doth from forth the sea ascend And comfort him, advising to abstain From any fight till her request could gain Fit arms of Vulcan. Juno yet commands To show himself. And at the dike he stands In sight of th' enemy, who with his sight Flies; and a number perish in the flight. Patroclus' person (safe brought from the wars) His soldiers wash. Vulcan the arms prepares. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Sigma continues the alarms, And fashions the renownéd arms.

They fought still like the rage of fire. And now Antilochus Came to Æacides, whose mind was much solicitous For that which, as he fear'd, was fall'n. He found him near the fleet With upright sail-yards, utt'ring this to his heroic conceit: "Ah me! Why see the Greeks themselves thus beaten from the field, And routed headlong to their fleet? O let not heaven yield Effect to what my sad soul fears, that, as I was foretold, The strongest Myrmidon next me, when I should still behold The sun's fair light, must part with it. Past doubt Menœtius' son Is he on whom that fate is wrought. O wretch, to leave undone What I commanded; that, the fleet once freed of hostile fire, Not meeting Hector, instantly he should his pow'rs retire." As thus his troubled mind discours'd, Antilochus appear'd, And told with tears the sad news thus: "My lord, that must be heard Which would to heav'n I might not tell! Menœtius' son lies dead, And for his naked corse (his arms already forfeited, And worn by Hector) the debate is now most vehement." This said, grief darken'd all his pow'rs. With both his hands he rent The black mould from the forcéd earth, and pour'd it on his head, Smear'd all his lovely face; his weeds, divinely fashionéd, All fil'd and mangled; and himself he threw upon the shore, Lay, as laid out for funeral, then tumbled round, and tore His gracious curls. His ecstasy he did so far extend, That all the ladies won by him and his now slaughter'd friend, Afflicted strangely for his plight, came shrieking from the tents, And fell about him, beat their breasts, their tender lineaments Dissolv'd with sorrow. And with them wept Nestor's warlike son, Fell by him, holding his fair hands, in fear he would have done His person violence; his heart, extremely straiten'd, burn'd, Beat, swell'd, and sigh'd as it would burst. So terribly he mourn'd, That Thetis, sitting in the deeps of her old father's seas, Heard, and lamented. To her plaints the bright Nereides Flock'd all, how many those dark gulfs soever comprehend. There Glauce, and Cymodoce, and Spio, did attend, Nessea, and Cymothoe, and calm Amphithoe, Thalia, Thoa, Panope, and swift Dynamene, Actæa, and Limnoria, and Halia the fair Fam'd for the beauty of her eyes, Amathia for her hair, Iæra, Proto, Clymene, and curl'd Dexamene, Pherusa, Doris, and with these the smooth Amphinome, Chaste Galatea so renown'd, and Callianira, came, With Doto and Orythia, to cheer the mournful dame. Apseudes likewise visited, and Callianassa gave Her kind attendance, and with her Agave grac'd the cave, Nemertes, Mæra, followéd, Melita, Ianesse, With Ianira, and the rest of those Nereides That in the deep seas make abode; all which together beat Their dewy bosoms; and to all, thus Thetis did repeat Her cause of mourning: "Sisters, hear, how much the sorrows weigh, Whose cries now call'd ye. Hapless I brought forth unhappily The best of all the sons of men; who, like a well-set plant In best soils, grew and flourishéd; and when his spirit did want Employment for his youth and strength, I sent him with a fleet To fight at Ilion; from whence his fate-confinéd feet Pass all my deity to retire. The court of his high birth, The glorious court of Peleüs, must entertain his worth Never hereafter. All the life he hath to live with me Must waste in sorrows. And this son I now am bent to see, Being now afflicted with some grief not usually grave, Whose knowledge and recure I seek." This said, she left her cave, Which all left with her; swimming forth, the green waves, as they sworn, Cleft with their bosoms, curl'd, and gave quick way to Troy. Being come, They all ascended, two and two, and trod the honour'd shore, Till where the fleet of Myrmidons, drawn up in heaps, it bore. There stay'd they at Achilles' ship; and there did Thetis lay Her fair hand on her son's curl'd head, sigh'd, wept, and bade him say What grief drew from his eyes those tears? "Conceal it not," said she, "Till this hour thy uplifted hands have all things granted thee. The Greeks, all thrust up at their sterns, have pour'd out tears enow, And in them seen how much they miss remission of thy vow." He said, "'Tis true, Olympius hath done me all that grace, But what joy have I of it all, when thus thrusts in the place Loss of my whole self in my friend? Whom, when his foe had slain, He spoil'd of those profanéd arms, that Peleus did obtain From heav'n's high Pow'rs, solemnizing thy sacred nuptial bands, As th' only present of them all, and fitted well their hands, Being lovely, radiant, marvellous. O would to heav'n thy throne, With these fair Deities of the sea, thou still hadst sat upon, And Peleus had a mortal wife; since by his means is done So much wrong to thy grievéd mind, my death being set so soon, And never suff'ring my return to grace of Peleus' court! Nor do I wish it; nor to live in any man's resort, But only that the crying blood, for vengeance of my friend Mangled by Hector, may be still'd; his foe's death paying his end." She, weeping, said: "That hour is near, and thy death's hour then nigh; Which, in thy wish serv'd of thy foe, succeedeth instantly." "And instantly it shall succeed," he answer'd "since my fate Allow'd not to my will a pow'r to rescue, ere the date Of his late slaughter, my true friend. Far from his friends he died, Whose wrong therein my eyes had light and right to see denied. Yet now I neither light myself, nor have so spent my light, That either this friend or the rest (in numbers infinite Slaughter'd by Hector) I can help, nor grace with wish'd repair To our dear country, but breathe here unprofitable air, And only live a load to earth with all my strength, though none Of all the Grecians equal it. In counsel many a one Is my superior; what I have, no grace gets; what I want Disgraceth all. How then too soon can hastiest death supplant My fate-curst life? Her instrument to my indignity Being that black fiend Contention; whom would to God might die To Gods and men; and Anger too, that kindles tyranny In men most wise, being much more sweet than liquid honey is To men of pow'r to satiate their watchful enmities; And like a pliant fume it spreads through all their breasts; as late It stole stern passage thorough mine, which he did instigate That is our Gen'ral. But the fact so long past, the effect Must vanish with it, though both griev'd; nor must we still respect Our soothéd humours. Need now takes the rule of either's mind. And when the loser of my friend his death in me shall find, Let death take all. Send him, ye Gods, I'll give him my embrace. Not Hercules himself shunn'd death, though dearest in the grace Of Jupiter; ev'n him Fate stoop'd, and Juno's cruelty. And if such fate expect my life, where death strikes I will lie. Meantime I wish a good renown that these deep breasted dames Of Ilion and Dardania may, for the extinguish'd flames Of their friends' lives, with both their hands wipe miserable tears From their so-curiously-kept cheeks, and be the officers To execute my sighs on Troy, when (seeing my long retreat But gather'd strength, and gives my charge an answerable heat) They well may know 'twas I lay still, and that my being away Presented all their happiness. But any further stay (Which your much love perhaps may wish) assay not to persuade; All vows are kept, all pray'rs heard; now, free way for fight is made." The silver-footed Dame replied: "It fits thee well, my son, To keep destruction from thy friends; but those fair arms are won And worn by Hector, that should keep thyself in keeping them, Though their fruition be but short, a long death being near him, Whose cruel glory they are yet. By all means then forbear To tread the massacres of war, till I again appear From Mulciber with fit new arms; which, when thy eye shall see The sun next rise, shall enter here with his first beams and me." Thus to her Sisters of the Sea she turn'd, and bade them ope The doors and deeps of Nereüs; she in Olympus' top Must visit Vulcan for new arms to serve her wreakful son, And bade inform her father so, with all things further done. This said, they underwent the sea, herself flew up to heav'n. In mean space, to the Hellespont and ships the Greeks were driv'n In shameful rout; nor could they yet, from rage of Priam's son, Secure the dead of new assaults, both horse and men made on With such impression. Thrice the feet the hands of Hector seiz'd, And thrice th' Ajaces thump'd him off. With whose repulse displeas'd, He wreak'd his wrath upon the troops, then to the corse again Made horrid turnings, crying out of his repulséd men, And would not quit him quite for death. A lion almost sterv'd Is not by upland herdsman driv'n, from urging to be serv'd, With more contention, than his strength by those two of a name; And had perhaps his much-prais'd will, if th' airy-footed Dame, Swift Iris, had not stoop'd in haste, ambassadress from heav'n To Peleus' son, to bid him arm; her message being giv'n By Juno, kept from all the Gods; she thus excited him: "Rise, thou most terrible of men, and save the precious limb Of thy belov'd; in whose behalf, the conflict now runs high Before the fleet, the either host fells other mutually, These to retain, those to obtain. Amongst whom most of all Is Hector prompt, he's apt to drag thy friend home, he your pall Will make his shoulders; his head forc'd, he'll be most famous; rise, No more lie idle, set the foe a much more costly prize Of thy friend's value than let dogs make him a monument, Where thy name will be grav'n." He ask'd, "What Deity hath sent Thy presence hither?" She replied: "Saturnia, she alone, Not high Jove knowing, nor one God that doth inhabit on Snowy Olympus." He again: "How shall I set upon The work of slaughter, when mine arms are worn by Priam's son? How will my Goddess-mother grieve, that bade I should not arm Till she brought arms from Mulciber! But should I do such harm To her and duty, who is he, but Ajax, that can vaunt The fitting my breast with his arms; and he is conversant Amongst the first in use of his, and rampires of the foe Slain near Patroclus builds to him?" "All this," said she, "we know, And wish thou only wouldst but show thy person to the eyes Of these hot Ilians, that, afraid of further enterprise, The Greeks may gain some little breath." She woo'd, and he was won; And straight Minerva honour'd him, who Jove's shield clapp'd upon His mighty shoulders, and his head girt with a cloud of gold That cast beams round about his brows. And as when arms enfold A city in an isle, from thence a fume at first appears, Being in the day, but, when the even her cloudy forehead rears, Thick show the fires, and up they cast their splendour, that men nigh, Seeing their distress, perhaps may set ships out to their supply; So (to show such aid) from his head a light rose, scaling heav'n, And forth the wall he stept and stood, nor brake the precept giv'n By his great mother, mix'd in fight, but sent abroad his voice; Which Pallas far-off echoéd, who did betwixt them hoise Shrill tumult to a topless height. And as a voice is heard With emulous affectión, when any town is spher'd With siege of such a foe as kills men's minds, and for the town Makes sound his trumpet; so the voice from Thetis' issue thrown Won emulously th' ears of all. His brazen voice once heard, The minds of all were startled so they yielded; and so fear'd The fair-man'd horses, that they flew back, and their chariots turn'd, Presaging in their augurous hearts the labours that they mourn'd A little after; and their guides a repercussive dread Took from the horrid radiance of his refulgent head, Which Pallas set on fire with grace. Thrice great Achilles spake, And thrice (in heat of all the charge) the Trojans started back. Twelve men, of greatest strength in Troy, left with their lives exhal'd Their chariots and their darts, to death with his three summons call'd. And then the Grecians spritefully drew from the darts the corse, And hears'd it, bearing it to fleet; his friends with all remorse Marching about it. His great friend dissolving then in tears To see his truly-lov'd return'd, so hors'd upon an hearse, Whom with such horse and chariot he set out safe and whole, Now wounded with unpitying steel, now sent without a soul, Never again to be restor'd, never receiv'd but so, He follow'd mourning bitterly. The sun (yet far to go) Juno commanded to go down; who, in his pow'r's despite, Sunk to the ocean, over earth dispersing sudden night. And then the Greeks and Trojans both gave up their horse and darts. The Trojans all to council call'd, ere they refresh'd their hearts With any supper, nor would sit; they grew so stiff with fear To see, so long from heavy fight, Æacides appear. Polydamus began to speak, who only could discern Things future by things past, and was vow'd friend to Hector, born In one night both. He thus advis'd: "Consider well, my friends, In this so great and sudden change, that now itself extends, What change is best for us t' oppose. To this stands my command: Make now the town our strength, not here abide light's rosy hand, Our wall being far off, and our foe, much greater, still as near. Till this foe came, I well was pleas'd to keep our watches here, My fit hope of the fleet's surprise inclin'd me so; but now 'Tis stronglier guarded, and, their strength increas'd, we must allow Our own proportionate amends. I doubt exceedingly That this indiff'rency of fight 'twixt us and th' enemy, And these bounds we prefix to them, will nothing so confine Th' uncurb'd mind of Æacides. The height of his design Aims at our city and our wives; and all bars in his way (Being back'd with less than walls) his pow'r will scorn to make his stay, And over-run, as over-seen and not his object. Then Let Troy be freely our retreat; lest, being enforc'd, our men 'Twixt this and that be taken up by vultures, who by night May safe come off, it being a time untimely for his might To spend at random; that being sure. If next light show us here To his assaults, each man will wish, that Troy his refuge were, And then feel what he hears not now. I would to heav'n mine ear Were free ev'n now of those complaints, that you must after hear If ye remove not! If ye yield, though wearied with a fight So late and long, we shall have strength in council and the night. And (where we here have no more force, than need will force us to, And which must rise out of our nerves) high ports, tow'rs, walls will do What wants in us; and in the morn, all arm'd upon our tow'rs, We all will stand out to our foe. 'Twill trouble all his pow'rs, To come from fleet and give us charge, when his high-crested horse His rage shall satiate with the toil of this and that way's course, Vain entry seeking underneath our well-defended walls, And he be glad to turn to fleet, about his funerals. For of his entry here at home, what mind will serve his thirst, Or ever feed him with sack'd Troy? The dogs shall eat him first." At this speech Hector bent his brows, and said: "This makes not great Your grace with me, Polydamus, that argue for retreat To Troy's old prison. Have we not enough of those tow'rs yet? And is not Troy yet charg'd enough, with impositions set Upon her citizens, to keep our men from spoil without, But still we must impose within? That houses with our rout As well as purses may be plagu'd? Before time, Priam's town Traffick'd with divers-languag'd men, and all gave the renown Of rich Troy to it, brass and gold abounding; but her store Is now from ev'ry house exhaust; possessions evermore Are sold out into Phrygia and lovely Mæony; And have been ever since Jove's wrath. And now his clemency Gives me the mean to quit our want with glory, and conclude The Greeks in sea-bords and our seas, to slack it, and extrude His offer'd bounty by our flight. Fool that thou art, bewray This counsel to no common ear, for no man shall obey; If any will, I'll check his will. But what our self command, Let all observe. Take suppers all, keep watch of ev'ry hand. If any Trojan have some spoil, that takes his too much care, Make him dispose it publicly; 'tis better any fare The better for him, than the Greeks. When light then decks the skies, Let all arm for a fierce assault. If great Achilles rise, And will enforce our greater toil, it may rise so to him. On my back he shall find no wings, my spirit shall force my limb To stand his worst, and give or take. Mars is our common lord, And the desirous swordsman's life he ever puts to sword." This counsel gat applause of all, so much were all unwise; Minerva robb'd them of their brains, to like the ill advice The great man gave, and leave the good since by the meaner given. All took their suppers; but the Greeks spent all the heavy even About Patroclus' mournful rites, Pelides leading all In all the forms of heaviness. He by his side did fall, And his man-slaught'ring hands impos'd into his oft-kiss'd breast, Sighs blew up sighs; and lion-like, grac'd with a goodly crest, That in his absence being robb'd by hunters of his whelps, Returns to his so desolate den, and, for his wanted helps, Beholding his unlook'd-for wants, flies roaring back again, Hunts the sly hunter, many a vale resounding his disdain; So mourn'd Pelides his late loss, so weighty were his moans, Which, for their dumb sounds, now gave words to all his Myrmidons: "O Gods," said he, "how vain a vow I made, to cheer the mind Of sad Menœtius, when his son his hand to mine resign'd, That high-tow'r'd Opus he should see, and leave ras'd Ilion With spoil and honour, ev'n with me! But Jove vouchsafes to none Wish'd passages to all his vows; we both were destinate To bloody one earth here in Troy; nor any more estate In my return hath Peleüs or Thetis; but because I last must undergo the ground, I'll keep no fun'ral laws, O my Patroclus, for thy corse, before I hither bring The arms of Hector and his head to thee for offering. Twelve youths, the most renown'd of Troy, I'll sacrifice beside, Before thy heap of funeral, to thee unpacified. In mean time, by our crooked sterns lie, drawing tears from me, And round about thy honour'd corse, these dames of Dardanie, And Ilion, with the ample breasts (whom our long spears and pow'rs And labours purchas'd from the rich and by-us-ruin'd tow'rs, And cities strong and populous with divers-languag'd men) Shall kneel, and neither day nor night be licens'd to abstain From solemn watches, their toil'd eyes held ope with endless tears." This passion past, he gave command to his near soldiers To put a tripod to the fire, to cleanse the fester'd gore From off the person. They obey'd, and presently did pour Fresh water in it, kindled wood, and with an instant flame The belly of the tripod girt, till fire's hot quality came Up to the water. Then they wash'd, and fill'd the mortal wound With wealthy oil of nine years old; then wrapp'd the body round In largeness of a fine white sheet, and put it then in bed; When all watch'd all night with their lord, and spent sighs on the dead. Then Jove ask'd Juno: "If at length she had sufficed her spleen, Achilles being won to arms? Or if she had not been The natural mother of the Greeks, she did so still prefer Their quarrel?" She, incens'd, ask'd: "Why he still was taunting her, For doing good to those she lov'd? since man to man might show Kind offices, though thrall to death, and though they did not know Half such deep counsels as disclos'd beneath her far-seeing state, She, reigning queen of Goddesses, and being in generate Of one stock with himself, besides the state of being his wife And must her wrath, and ill to Troy, continue such a strife From time to time 'twixt him and her?" This private speech they had. And now the Silver-footed Queen had her ascension made To that incorruptible house, that starry golden court Of fi'ry Vulcan, beautiful amongst th' immortal sort, Which yet the lame God built himself. She found him in a sweat About his bellows, and in haste had twenty tripods beat. To set for stools about the sides of his well-builded hall, To whose feet little wheels of gold he put, to go withal, And enter his rich dining room, alone, their motion free, And back again go out alone, miraculous to see. And thus much he had done of them, yet handles were to add, For which he now was making studs. And while their fashion had Employment of his skilful hand, bright Thetis was come near; Whom first fair well-hair'd Charis saw, that was the nuptial fere Of famous Vulcan, who the hand of Thetis took, and said: "Why, fair-train'd, lov'd, and honour'd dame, are we thus visited By your kind presence? You, I think, were never here before. Come near, that I may banquet you, and make you visit more." She led her in, and in a chair of silver (being the fruit Of Vulcan's hand) she made her sit, a footstool of a suit Apposing to her crystal feet; and call'd the God of fire, For Thetis was arriv'd, she said, and entertain'd desire Of some grace that his art might grant. "Thetis to me," said he, "Is mighty, and most reverend, as one that nourish'd me, When grief consum'd me, being cast from heaven by want of shame In my proud mother, who, because she brought me forth so lame, Would have me made away; and then, had I been much distress'd Had Thetis and Eurynome in either's silver breast Not rescu'd me; Eurynome that to her father had Reciprocal Oceanus. Nine years with them I made A number of well-arted things, round bracelets, buttons brave, Whistles, and carquenets. My forge stood in a hollow cave, About which, murmuring with foam, th' unmeasur'd ocean Was ever beating; my abode known nor to God nor man, But Thetis and Eurynome, and they would see me still, They were my loving guardians. Now then the starry hill, And our particular roof, thus grac'd with bright-hair'd Thetis here, It fits me always to repay, a recompense as dear To her thoughts, as my life to me. Haste, Charis, and appose Some dainty guest-rites to our friend, while I my bellows loose From fire, and lay up all my tools." Then from an anvil rose Th' unwieldy monster, halt'd down, and all awry he went. He took his bellows from the fire, and ev'ry instrument Lock'd safe up in a silver chest. Then with a sponge he drest His face all over, neck and hands, and all his hairy breast; Put on his coat, his sceptre took, and then went halting forth, Handmaids of gold attending him, resembling in all worth Living young damsels, fill'd with minds and wisdom, and were train'd In all immortal ministry, virtue and voice contain'd, And mov'd with voluntary pow'rs; and these still wait'd on Their fi'ry sov'reign, who (not apt to walk) sate near the throne Of fair-hair'd Thetis, took her hand, and thus he court'd her: "For what affair, O fair-train'd queen, rev'rend to me, and dear, Is our court honour'd with thy state, that hast not heretofore Perform'd this kindness? Speak thy thoughts, thy suit can be no more Than my mind gives me charge to grant. Can my pow'r get it wrought? Or that it have not only pow'r of only act in thought?" She thus: "O Vulcan, is there one, of all that are of heav'n, That in her never-quiet mind Saturnius hath giv'n So much affliction as to me: whom only he subjects, Of all the sea-nymphs, to a man; and makes me bear th' affects Of his frail bed; and all against the freedom of my will; And he worn to his root with age? From him another ill Ariseth to me; Jupiter, you know, hath giv'n a son, The excellent'st of men, to me; whose education On my part well hath answered his own worth, having grown As in a fruitful soil a tree, that puts not up alone His body to a naked height, but jointly gives his growth A thousand branches; yet to him so short a life I brought, That never I shall see him more return'd to Peleus' court. And all that short life he hath spent in most unhappy sort; For first he won a lovely dame, and had her by the hands Of all the Grecians, yet this dame Atrides countermands; For which in much disdain he mourn'd, and almost pin'd away. And yet for this wrong he receiv'd some honour, I must say; The Greeks, being shut up at their ships, not suffer'd to advance A head out of their batter'd sterns; and mighty suppliance By all their grave men hath been made, gifts, honours, all propos'd For his reflection; yet he still kept close, and saw enclos'd Their whole host in this gen'ral plague. But now his friend put on His arms, being sent by him to field, and many a Myrmidon In conduct of him. All the day, they fought before the gates Of Scæa, and, most certainly, that day had seen the dates Of all Troy's honours in her dust, if Phœbus (having done Much mischief more) the envied life of good Menœtius' son Had not with partial hands enforc'd, and all the honour giv'n To Hector, who hath pris'd his arms. And therefore I am driv'n T' embrace thy knees for new defence to my lov'd son. Alas! His life, prefix'd so short a date, had need spent that with grace. A shield then for him, and a helm, fair greaves, and curets, such As may renown thy workmanship, and honour him as much, I sue for at thy famous hands." "Be confident," said he, "Let these wants breed thy thoughts no care. I would it lay in me To hide him from his heavy death, when fate shall seek for him, As well as with renownéd arms to fit his goodly limb; Which thy hands shall convey to him; and all eyes shall admire, See, and desire again to see, thy satisfied desire." This said, he left her there, and forth did to his bellows go, Appos'd them to the fire again, commanding them to blow. Through twenty holes made to his hearth at once blew twenty pair, That fir'd his coals, sometimes with soft, sometimes with vehement, air, As he will'd, and his work requir'd. Amids the flame he cast Tin, silver, precious gold, and brass; and in a stock he plac'd A mighty anvil; his right hand a weighty hammer held, His left his tongs. And first he forg'd a strong and spacious shield Adorn'd with twenty sev'ral hues; about whose verge he beat A ring, three-fold and radiant, and on the back he set A silver handle; five-fold were the equal lines he drew About the whole circumference, in which his hand did shew (Directed with a knowing mind) a rare variety; For in it he presented Earth; in it the Sea and Sky; In it the never-wearied Sun, the Moon exactly round, And all those Stars with which the brows of ample heav'n are crown'd, Orion, all the Pleiades, and those sev'n Atlas got, The close-beam'd Hyades, the Bear, surnam'd the Chariot, That turns about heav'n's axle-tree, holds ope a constant eye Upon Orion, and, of all the cressets in the sky, His golden forehead never bows to th' Ocean empery. Two cities in the spacious shield he built, with goodly state Of divers-languag'd men. The one did nuptials celebrate, Observing at them solemn feasts, the brides from forth their bow'rs With torches usher'd through the streets, a world of paramours Excited by them; youths and maids in lovely circles danc'd, To whom the merry pipe and harp their spritely sounds advanc'd, The matrons standing in their doors admiring. Other where A solemn court of law was kept, where throngs or people were. The case in question was a fine, impos'd on one that slew The friend of him that follow'd it, and for the fine did sue; Which th' other pleaded he had paid. The adverse part denied, And openly affirm'd he had no penny satisfied. Both put it to arbitrement. The people cried 'twas best For both parts, and th' assistants too gave their dooms like the rest. The heralds made the people peace. The seniors then did bear The voiceful heralds' sceptres, sat within a sacred sphere, On polish'd stones, and gave by turns their sentence. In the court Two talents' gold were cast, for him that judg'd in justest sort. The other city other wars employ'd as busily; Two armies glittering in arms, of one confed'racy, Besieg'd it; and a parlè had with those within the town. Two ways they stood resolv'd; to see the city overthrown, Or that the citizens should heap in two parts all their wealth, And give them half. They neither lik'd, but arm'd themselves by stealth, Left all their old men, wives, and boys, behind to man their walls, And stole out to their enemy's town. The Queen of martials, And Mars himself, conducted them; both which, being forg'd of gold, Must needs have golden furniture, and men might so behold They were presented Deities. The people, Vulcan forg'd Of meaner metal. When they came, where that was to be urg'd For which they went, within a vale close to a flood, whose stream Us'd to give all their cattle drink, they there enambush'd them, And sent two scouts out to descry, when th' enemy's herds and sheep Were setting out. They straight came forth, with two that us'd to keep Their passage always; both which pip'd, and went on merrily, Nor dream'd of ambuscadoes there. The ambush then let fly, Slew all their white-fleec'd sheep, and neat, and by them laid their guard. When those in siege before the town so strange an uproar heard, Behind, amongst their flocks and herds (being then in council set) They then start up, took horse, and soon their subtle enemy met, Fought with them on the river's shore, where both gave mutual blows With well-pil'd darts. Amongst them all perverse Contention rose, Amongst them Tumult was enrag'd, amongst them ruinous Fate Had her red-finger; some they took in an unhurt estate, Some hurt yet living, some quite slain, and those they tugg'd to them By both the feet, stripp'd off and took their weeds, with all the stream Of blood upon them that their steels had manfully let out. They far'd as men alive indeed drew dead indeed about. To these the fi'ry Artizan did add a new-ear'd field, Large and thrice plough'd, the soil being soft, and of a wealthy yield; And many men at plough he made, that drave earth here and there, And turn'd up stitches orderly; at whose end when they were, A fellow ever gave their hands full cups of luscious wine; Which emptied, for another stitch, the earth they undermine, And long till th' utmost bound be reach'd of all the ample close. The soil turn'd up behind the plough, all black like earth arose, Though forg'd of nothing else but gold, and lay in show as light As if it had been plough'd indeed, miraculous to sight. There grew by this a field of corn, high, ripe, where reapers wrought, And let thick handfuls fall to earth, for which some bought Bands, and made sheaves. Three binders stood, and took the handfuls reap'd From boys that gather'd quickly up, and by them armfuls heap'd. Amongst these at furrow's end, the king stood pleas'd at heart, Said no word, but his sceptre show'd. And from him, much apart, His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar'd And having kill'd a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar'd Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress'd, And many white wheat-cakes bestow'd, to make it up a feast. He set near this a vine of gold, that crack'd beneath the weight Of bunches black with being ripe; to keep which at the height, A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow'd An azure moat, and to this guard, a quickset was bestow'd Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came In time of vintage. Youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame Of manly Hymen, baskets bore, of grapes and mellow fruit. A lad that sweetly touch'd a harp, to which his voice did suit, Center'd the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do The wanton's pleasure to their minds, that danc'd, sung, whistled too. A herd of oxen then he carv'd, with high rais'd heads, forg'd all Of gold and tin, for colour mix'd, and bellowing from their stall Rush'd to their pastures at a flood, that echo'd all their throats, Exceeding swift, and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats Four herdsmen follow'd; after whom, nine mastiffs went. In head Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowéd, Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz'd, and tugg'd off bellowing still; Both men and dogs came; yet they tore the hide, and lapp'd their fill Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay'd To set their dogs on; none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay'd In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled. Then in a passing pleasant vale, the famous Artsman fed, Upon a goodly pasture ground, rich flocks of white-fleec'd sheep, Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep From wind and weather. Next to these, he cut a dancing place, All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze For fair-hair'd Ariadne made, by cunning Dædalus; And in it youths and virgins danc'd, all young and beauteous, And glewéd in another's palms. Weeds that the wind did toss The virgins wore; the youths wov'n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too, the virgins' temples crown'd; The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound. Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run, While he is set; and out again, as full of speed they wound, Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round, Delighted with their nimble sport; to end which two begun, Mids all, a song, and turning sung the sports conclusión, All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about, In all his rage, the Ocean, that it might never out. This shield thus done, he forg'd for him, such curets as outshin'd The blaze of fire. A helmet then (through which no steel could find Forc'd passage) he compos'd, whose hue a hundred colours took, And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr'd, he stuck. All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her. She took them all, and like t' the hawk, surnam'd the osspringer, From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show, Stoop'd from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow. THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK. THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Thetis presenting armour to her son, He calls a court, with full reflection Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men Free-offer'd gifts. All take their breakfast then; He only fasting, arms, and brings abroad The Grecian host, and (hearing the abode Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied) The horse, for his so bold presage, doth chide. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Ταυ̑ gives the anger period, And great Achilles comes abroad.

The morn arose, and from the ocean, in her saffron robe, Gave light to all, as well to Gods, as men of th' under globe. Thetis stoop'd home, and found the prostrate person of her son About his friend, still pouring out himself in passión; A number more being heavy consorts to him in his cares. Amongst them all Thetis appear'd and, sacred comforters, Made these short words: "Though we must grieve, yet bear it thus, my son, It was no man that prostrated, in this sad fashión, Thy dearest friend; it was a God that first laid on his hand, Whose will is law. The Gods' decrees, no human must withstand. Do thou embrace this fabric of a God, whose hand before Ne'er forg'd the like; and such as yet, no human shoulder wore." Thus, setting down, the precious metal of the arms was such That all the room rung with the weight of every slend'rest touch. Cold tremblings took the Myrmidons; none durst sustain, all fear'd T' oppose their eyes; Achilles yet, as soon as they appear'd, Stern Anger enter'd. From his eyes, as if the day-star rose, A radiance terrifying men did all the state enclose. At length he took into his hands the rich gift of the God, And, much pleas'd to behold the art that in the shield he show'd, He brake forth into this applause: "O mother, these right well Show an immortal finger's touch; man's hand must never deal With arms again. Now I will arm; yet, that no honour make My friend forgotten, I much fear, lest with the blows of flies His brass-inflicted wounds are fil'd; life gone, his person lies All apt to putrefactión." She bade him doubt no harm Of those offences, she would care, to keep the petulant swarm Of flies, that usually taint the bodies of the slain, From his friend's person. Though a year, the earth's top should sustain His slaughter'd body, it should still rest sound, and rather hold A better state than worse, since time that death first made him cold. And so bade call a council, to dispose of new alarms, Where, to the king, that was the pastor of that flock in arms, He should depose all anger, and put on a fortitude Fit for his arms. All this his pow'rs with dreadful strength indued. She, with her fair hand, still'd into the nostrils of his friend Red nectar and ambrosia; with which she did defend The corse from putrefactión. He trod along the shore, And summon'd all th' heroic Greeks, with all that spent before The time in exercise with him, the masters, pilots too, Vict'lers, and all. All, when they saw Achilles summon so, Swarm'd to the council, having long left the laborious wars. To all these came two halting kings, true servitors of Mars, Tydides and wise Ithacus, both leaning on their spears, Their wounds still painful; and both these sat first of all the peers. The last come was the king of men, sore wounded with the lance Of Coon Antenorides. All set, the first in utterance Was Thetis' son, who rose and said: "Atrides, had not this Conferr'd most profit to us both, when both our enmities Consum'd us so, and for a wench, whom, when I choos'd for prise, In laying Lyrnessus' ruin'd walls amongst our victories, I would to heav'n, as first she set her dainty foot aboard, Diana's hand had tumbled off, and with a jav'lin gor'd! For then th' unmeasurable earth had not so thick been gnawn, In death's convulsions, by our friends, since my affects were drawn To such distemper. To our foe, and to our foe's chief friend, Our jar brought profit; but the Greeks will never give an end To thought of what it prejudic'd them. Past things yet past our aid; Fit grief for what wrath rul'd in them, must make th' amends repaid With that necessity of love, that now forbids our ire; Which I with free affects obey. 'Tis for the senseless fire Still to be burning, having stuff; but men must curb rage still, Being fram'd with voluntary pow'rs, as well to check the will As give it reins. Give you then charge, that for our instant fight The Greeks may follow me to field, to try if still the night Will bear out Trojans at our ships. I hope there is some one, Amongst their chief encouragers, will thank me to be gone, And bring his heart down to his knees in that submissión." The Greeks rejoic'd to hear the heart of Peleus' mighty son So qualified. And then the king (not rising from his throne For his late hurt) to get good ear, thus order'd his reply: "Princes of Greece, your states shall suffer no indignity, If, being far off, ye stand and hear; nor fits it such as stand At greater distance, to disturb the council now in hand By uproar, in their too much care of hearing. Some, of force, Must lose some words; for hard it is, in such a great concourse (Though hearers' ears be ne'er so sharp) to touch at all things spoke; And in assemblies of such thrust, how can a man provoke Fit pow'r to hear, or leave to speak? Best auditors may there Lose fittest words, and the most vocal orator fit ear. My main end then, to satisfy Pelides with reply, My words shall prosecute; to him my speech especially Shall bear direction. Yet I wish, the court in general Would give fit ear; my speech shall need attentión of all. Oft have our peers of Greece much blam'd my forcing of the prise Due to Achilles; of which act, not I, but destinies, And Jove himself, and black Erinnys (that casts false mists still Betwixt us and our actions done, both by her pow'r and will) Are authors. What could I do then? The very day and hour Of our debate, that Fury stole in that act on my pow'r. And more; all things are done by strife; that ancient seed of Jove, Ate, that hurts all, perfects all, her feet are soft, and move Not on the earth, they bear her still aloft men's heads, and there The harmful hurts them. Nor was I alone her prisoner, Jove, best of men and Gods, hath been; not he himself hath gone Beyond her fetters, no, she made a woman put them on; For when Alcmena was to vent the force of Hercules In well-wall'd Thebes, thus Jove triumph'd: 'Hear, Gods and Goddesses, The words my joys urg'd: In this day, Lucina, bringing pain To labouring women, shall produce into the light of men A man that all his neighbour kings shall in his empire hold, And vaunt that more than manly race whose honour'd veins enfold My eminent blood.' Saturnia conceiv'd a present sleight, And urg'd confirmance of his vaunt t' infringe it; her conceit In this sort urg'd: 'Thou wilt not hold thy word with this rare man; Or, if thou wilt, confirm it with the oath Olympian, That whosoever falls this day betwixt a woman's knees, Of those men's stocks that from thy blood derive their pedigrees, Shall all his neighbour towns command.' Jove, ignorant of fraud, Took that great oath, which his great ill gave little cause t' applaud. Down from Olympus' top she stoop'd, and quickly reach'd the place In Argos where the famous wife of Sthenelus, whose race He fetch'd from Jove by Perseus, dwelt. She was but sev'n months gone With issue, yet she brought it forth; Alcmena's matchless son Delay'd from light, Saturnia repress'd the teeming throes Of his great mother. Up to heav'n she mounts again, and shows, In glory, her deceit to Jove. 'Bright-light'ning Jove,' said she, 'Now th' Argives have an emperor; a son deriv'd from thee Is born to Persean Sthenelus, Eurystheus his name, Noble and worthy of the rule thou swor'st to him.' This came Close to the heart of Jupiter; and Ate, that had wrought This anger by Saturnia, by her bright hair he caught, Held down her head, and over her made this infallible vow: 'That never to the cope of stars should reascend that brow, Being so infortunate to all.' Thus, swinging her about, He cast her from the fi'ry heav'n; who ever since thrust out Her fork'd sting in th' affairs of men. Jove ever since did grieve, Since his dear issue Hercules did by his vow achieve The unjust toils of Eurystheus. Thus fares it now with me, Since under Hector's violence the Grecian progeny Fell so unfitly by my spleen; whose falls will ever stick In my griev'd thoughts: my weakness yet (Saturnius making sick The state my mind held) now recur'd, th' amends shall make ev'n weight With my offence. And therefore rouse thy spirits to the fight With all thy forces; all the gifts, propos'd thee at thy tent Last day by royal Ithacus, my officers shall present. And, if it like thee, strike no stroke, though never so on thorns Thy mind stands to thy friend's revenge, till my command adorns Thy tents and coffers with such gifts, as well may let thee know How much I wish thee satisfied." He answer'd: "Let thy vow, Renown'd Atrides, at thy will be kept, as justice would, Or keep thy gifts; 'tis all in thee. The council now we hold Is for repairing our main field with all our fortitude. My fair show made brooks no retreat, nor must delays delude Our deed's expectance. Yet undone the great work is. All eyes Must see Achilles in first fight depeopling enemies, As well as counsel it in court; that ev'ry man set on May choose his man to imitate my exercise upon." Ulysses answer'd: "Do not yet, thou man made like the Gods, Take fasting men to field. Suppose, that whatsoever odds It brings against them with full men, thy boundless eminence Can amply answer, yet refrain to tempt a violence. The conflict wearing out our men was late, and held as long, Wherein, though most Jove stood for Troy, he yet made our part strong To bear that most. But 'twas to bear, and that breeds little heart. Let wine and bread then add to it; they help the twofold part, The soul and body, in a man, both force and fortitude. All day men cannot fight and fast, though never so indued With minds to fight, for, that suppos'd, there lurks yet secretly Thirst, hunger, in th' oppresséd joints, which no mind can supply. They take away a marcher's knees. Men's bodies throughly fed, Their minds share with them in their strength; and, all day combated, One stirs not, till you call off all. Dismiss them then to meat, And let Atrides tender here, in sight of all this seat, The gifts he promis'd. Let him swear before us all, and rise To that oath, that he never touch'd in any wanton wise The lady he enforc'd. Besides, that he remains in mind As chastely satisfied; not touch'd, or privily inclin'd With future vantages. And last, 'tis fit he should approve All these rites at a solemn feast in honour of your love, That so you take no mangled law for merits absolute. And thus the honours you receive, resolving the pursuit Of your friend's quarrel, well will quit your sorrow for your friend. And thou, Atrides, in the taste of so severe an end, Hereafter may on others hold a juster government; Nor will it aught impair a king, to give a sound content To any subject soundly wrong'd." "I joy," replied the king, "O Laertiades, to hear thy lib'ral counselling; In which is all decorum kept, nor any point lacks touch That might be thought on to conclude a reconcilement such As fits example, and us two. My mind yet makes me swear, Not your impulsion; and that mind shall rest so kind and clear, That I will not forswear to God. Let then Achilles stay, Though never so inflam'd for fight, and all men here I pray To stay, till from my tents these gifts be brought here, and the truce At all parts finish'd before all. And thou of all I choose, Divine Ulysses, and command to choose of all your host Youths of most honour, to present, to him we honour most, The gifts we late vow'd, and the dames. Mean space about our tents Talthybius shall provide a boar, to crown these kind events With thankful sacrifice to Jove, and to the God of Light." Achilles answer'd: "These affairs will show more requisite, Great king of men, some other time, when our more free estates Yield fit cessation from the war, and when my spleen abates; But now, to all our shames besides, our friends by Hector slain (And Jove to friend) lie unfetch'd off. Haste, then, and meat your men; Though, I must still say, my command would lead them fasting forth, And all together feast at night. Meat will be something worth, When stomachs first have made it way with venting infamy, And other sorrows late sustain'd, with long'd-for wreaks, that lie Heavy upon them, for right's sake. Before which load be got From off my stomach, meat nor drink, I vow, shall down my throat, My friend being dead, who digg'd with wounds, and bor'd through both his feet, Lies in the entry of my tent, and in the tears doth fleet Of his associates. Meat and drink have little merit then To comfort me; but blood, and death, and deadly groans of men." The great in counsels yet made good his former counsels thus: "O Peleus' son, of all the Greeks by much most valorous, Better and mightier than myself no little with thy lance I yield thy worth; in wisdom, yet, no less I dare advance My right above thee, since above in years, and knowing more. Let then thy mind rest in thy words. We quickly shall have store And all satiety of fight, whose steel heaps store of straw And little corn upon a floor, when Jove, that doth withdraw And join all battles, once begins t' incline his balances, In which he weighs the lives of men. The Greeks you must not press To mourning with the belly; death hath nought to do with that In healthful men that mourn for friends. His steel we stumble at, And fall at, ev'ry day, you see, sufficient store, and fast. What hour is it that any breathes? We must not use; more haste, Than speed holds fit for our revenge. Nor should we mourn too much. Who dead is, must be buriéd. Men's patience should be such, That one day's moan should serve one man. The dead must end with death, And life last with what strengthens life. All those that held their breath From death in fight the more should eat, that so they may supply Their fellows that have stuck in field, and fight incessantly. Let none expect reply to this, nor stay; for this shall stand Or fall with some offence to him that looks for new command, Whoever in dislike holds back. All join then, all things fit Allow'd for all; set on a charge, at all parts answering it." This said, he chose, for noblest youths to bear the presents, these: The sons of Nestor, and with them renown'd Meriones, Phylides, Thoas, Lycomed, and Meges, all which went, And Menalippus, following Ulysses to the tent Of Agamemnon. He but spake, and with the word the deed Had join'd effect. The fitness well was answer'd in the speed. The presents, added to the dame the Gen'ral did enforce, Were twenty caldrons, tripods sev'n, twelve young and goodly horse; Sev'n ladies excellently seen in all Minerva's skill, The eighth Briseis who had pow'r to ravish ev'ry will; Twelve talents of the finest gold, all which Ulysses weigh'd And carried first; and after him, the other youths convey'd The other presents, tender'd all in face of all the court. Up rose the king. Talthybius, whose voice had a report Like to a God, call'd to the rites. There having brought the boar, Atrides with his knife took say upon the part before, And lifting up his sacred hands, to Jove to make his vows, Grave silence strook the cómplete court; when, casting his high brows Up to the broad heav'n, thus he spake: "Now witness, Jupiter, First, highest, and thou best of Gods; thou Earth that all dost bear; Thou Sun; ye Furies under earth that ev'ry soul torment Whom impious perjury distains; that nought incontinent In bed, or any other act to any slend'rest touch Of my light vows, hath wrong'd the dame; and, let my plagues be such As are inflicted by the Gods, in all extremity Of whomsoever perjur'd men, if godless perjury In least degree dishonour me." This said, the bristled throat Of the submitted sacrifice, with ruthless steel he cut; Which straight into the hoary sea Talthybius cast, to feed The sea-born nation. Then stood up the half-celestial seed Of fair-hair'd Thetis, strength'ning thus Atrides' innocence: "O father Jupiter, from thee descends the confluence Of all man's ill; for now I see the mighty king of men At no hand forc'd away my prise, nor first inflam'd my spleen With any set ill in himself, but thou, the King of Gods, Incens'd with Greece, made that the mean to all their periods. Which now amend we as we may, and give all suffrages To what wise Ithacus advis'd; take breakfasts, and address For instant conflict." Thus he rais'd the court, and all took way To sev'ral ships. The Myrmidons the presents did convey T' Achilles' fleet, and in his tents dispos'd them; doing grace Of seat and all rights to the dames; the horses put in place With others of Æacides. When, like love's golden Queen, Briseis all in ghastly wounds had dead Patroclus seen, She fell about him, shrieking out, and with her white hands tore Her hair, breasts, radiant cheeks, and, drown'd in warm tears, did deplore His cruel destiny. At length she gat pow'r to express Her violent passion, and thus spake this like-the-goddesses: "O good Patroclus, to my life the dearest grace it had, I, wretched dame, departing hence, enforc'd, and dying sad, Left thee alive, when thou hadst cheer'd my poor captivity, And now return'd I find thee dead; misery on misery Ever increasing with my steps. The lord to whom my sire And dearest mother gave my life in nuptials, his life's fire I saw before our city gates extinguish'd: and his fate Three of my worthy brothers' lives, in one womb generate, Felt all in that black day of death. And when Achilles' hand Had slain all these, and ras'd the town Mynetes did command, (All cause of never-ending griefs presented) thou took'st all On thy endeavour to convert to joy as general, Affirming, he that hurt should heal, and thou wouldst make thy friend, Brave captain that thou wert, supply my vowéd husband's end, And in rich Phthia celebrate, amongst his Myrmidons, Our nuptial banquets; for which grace, with these most worthy moans I never shall be satiate, thou ever being kind, Ever delightsome, one sweet grace fed still with one sweet mind." Thus spake she weeping; and with her, did th' other ladies moan Patroclus' fortunes in pretext, but in sad truth their own. About Æacides himself the kings of Greece were plac'd, Entreating him to food; and he entreated them as fast, Still intermixing words and sighs, if any friend were there Of all his dearest, they would cease, and offer him no cheer But his due sorrows; for before the sun had left that sky He would not eat, but of that day sustain th' extremity. Thus all the kings, in res'lute grief and fasting, he dismiss'd; But both th' Atrides, Ithacus, and war's old Martialist, Idomenëus and his friend, and Phœnix, these remain'd Endeavouring comfort, but no thought of his vow'd woe restrain'd. Nor could, till that day's bloody fight had calm'd his blood; he still Remember'd something of his friend, whose good was all his ill. Their urging meat the diligent fashion of his friend renew'd In that excitement: "Thou," said he, "when this speed was pursued Against the Trojans, evermore apposedst in my tent A pleasing breakfast; being so free, and sweetly diligent, Thou mad'st all meat sweet. Then the war was tearful to our foe But now to me; thy wounds so wound me, and thy overthrow; For which my ready food I fly, and on thy longings feed. Nothing could more afflict me; Fame relating the foul deed Of my dear father's slaughter, blood drawn from my sole son's heart, No more could wound me. Curséd man, that in this foreign part (For hateful Helen) my true love, my country, sire, and son, I thus should part with. Scyros now gives educatión, [1] O Neoptolemus, to thee, if living yet; from whence I hop'd, dear friend, thy longer life safely return'd from hence, And my life quitting thine, had pow'r to ship him home, and show His young eyes Phthia, subjects, court; my father being now Dead, or most short-liv'd, troublous age oppressing him, and fear Still of my death's news." These sad words, he blew into the ear Of ev'ry visitant with sighs, all echo'd by the peers, Rememb'ring who they left at home. All whose so humane tears Jove pitied; and, since they all would in the good of one Be much reviv'd, he thus bespake Minerva: "Thetis' son, Now, daughter, thou hast quite forgot. O, is Achilles care Extinguish'd in thee? Prostrated in most extreme ill fare, He lies before his high-sail'd fleet, for his dead friend; the rest Are strength'ning them with meat, but he lies desp'rately oppress'd With heartless fasting. Go thy ways, and to his breast instill Red nectar and ambrosia, that fast procure no ill To his near enterprise." This spur he added to the free, And, like a harpy, with a voice that shrieks so dreadfully, And feathers that like needles prick'd, she stoop'd through all the stars, Amongst the Grecians, all whose tents were now fill'd for the wars; Her seres strook through Achilles' tent, and closely she instill'd Heav'n's most-to-be-desired feast to his great breast, and fill'd His sinews with that sweet supply, for fear unsavoury fast Should creep into his knees. Herself the skies again enchas'd. The host set forth, and pour'd his steel waves far out of the fleet. And as from air the frosty north wind blows a cold thick sleet, That dazzles eyes, flakes after flakes incessantly descending; So thick, helms, curets, ashen darts, and round shields, never ending, Flow'd from the navy's hollow womb. Their splendours gave heav'n's eye His beams again. Earth laugh'd to see her face so like the sky; Arms shin'd so hot, and she such clouds made with the dust she cast, She thunder'd, feet of men and horse importun'd her so fast. In midst of all, divine Achilles his fair person arm'd, His teeth gnash'd as he stood, his eyes so full of fire they warm'd, Unsuffer'd grief and anger at the Trojans so combin'd. His greaves first us'd, his goodly curets on his bosom shin'd, His sword, his shield that cast a brightness from it like the moon. And as from sea sailors discern a harmful fire let run By herdsmen's faults, till all their stall flies up in wrestling flame; Which being on hills is seen far off; but being alone, none came To give it quench, at shore no neighbours, and at sea their friends Driv'n off with tempests; such a fire, from his bright shield extends His ominous radiance, and in heav'n impress'd his fervent blaze. His crested helmet, grave and high, had next triumphant place On his curl'd head, and like a star it cast a spurry ray, About which a bright thicken'd bush of golden hair did play, Which Vulcan forg'd him for his plume. Thus cómplete arm'd, he tried How fit they were, and if his motion could with ease abide Their brave instruction; and so far they were from hind'ring it, That to it they were nimble wings, and made so light his spirit, That from the earth the princely captain they took up to air. Then from his armoury he drew his lance, his father's spear, Huge, weighty, firm, that not a Greek but he himself alone Knew how to shake; it grew upon the mountain Pelion, From whóse height Chiron hew'd it for his sire, and fatal 'twas To great-soul'd men, of Peleus and Pelion surnam'd Pelias. Then from the stable their bright horse, Automedon withdraws And Alcymus; put poitrils on, and cast upon their jaws Their bridles, hurling back the reins, and hung them on the seat. The fair scourge then Automedon takes up, and up doth get To guide the horse. The fight's seat last, Achilles took behind; Who look'd so arm'd as if the sun, there fall'n from heav'n, had shin'd, And terribly thus charg'd his steeds: "Xanthus and Balius, Seed of the Harpy, in the charge ye undertake of us, Discharge it not as when Patroclus ye left dead in field, But, when with blood, for this day's fast observ'd, revenge shall yield Our heart satiety, bring us off." Thus, since Achilles spake As if his aw'd steeds understood, 'twas Juno's will to make Vocal the palate of the one; who, shaking his fair head, (Which in his mane, let fall to earth, he almost buried) Thus Xanthus spake: "Ablest Achilles, now, at least, our care Shall bring thee off; but not far hence the fatal minutes are Of thy grave ruin. Nor shall we be then to be reprov'd, But mightiest Fate, and the great God. Nor was thy best belov'd Spoil'd so of arms by our slow pace, or courage's impair; The best of Gods, Latona's son, that wears the golden hair, Gave him his death's wound; though the grace he gave to Hector's hand. We, like the spirit of the west, that all spirits can command For pow'r of wing, could run him off; but thou thyself must go, So fate ordains; God and a man must give thee overthrow." This said, the Furies stopp'd his voice. Achilles, far in rage, Thus answer'd him: "It fits not thee, thus proudly to presage My overthrow. I know myself, it is my fate to fall Thus far from Phthia; yet that fate shall fail to vent her gall, Till mine vent thousands." These words us'd, he fell to horrid deeds, Gave dreadful signal, and forthright made fly his one-hoof'd steeds. THE END OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK.

[1] Scyros was an isle in the sea Ægeum, where Achilles himself was brought up, as well as his son. THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

By Jove's permission, all the Gods descend To aid on both parts. For the Greeks contend Juno, Minerva, Neptune, Mulciber, And Mercury. The Deities that prefer The Trojan part are Phœbus, Cyprides, Phœbe, Latona, and the Foe to peace, With bright Scamander. Neptune in a mist Preserves Æneas daring to resist Achilles; by whose hand much scathe is done; Besides the slaughter of old Priam's son Young Polydor, whose rescue Hector makes; Him flying, Phœbus to his rescue takes. The rest, all shunning their importun'd fates, Achilles beats even to the Ilian gates. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

In Upsilon, Strife stirs in heav'n; The day's grace to the Greeks is giv'n.

The Greeks thus arm'd, and made insatiate with desire of fight, About thee, Peleus' son, the foe, in ground of greatest height, Stood opposite, rang'd. Then Jove charg'd Themis from Olympus' top To call a court. She ev'ry way dispers'd, and summon'd up All Deities; not any flood, besides Oceanus, But made appearance; not a nymph (that arbours odorous, The heads of floods, and flow'ry meadows, make their sweet abodes) Was absent there; but all at his court, that is King of Gods, Assembled, and, in lightsome seats of admirable frame, Perform'd for Jove by Vulcan, sat. Ev'n angry Neptune came, Nor heard the Goddess with unwilling ear, but with the rest Made free ascension from the sea, and did his state invest In midst of all, began the council, and inquir'd of Jove His reason for that sessión, and on what point did move His high intention for the foes; he thought the heat of war Was then near breaking out in flames? To him the Thunderer: "Thou knowest this council by the rest of those fore-purposes That still inclin'd me; my cares still must succour the distress Of Troy; though in the mouth of Fate, yet vow I not to stir One step from off this top of heav'n, but all th' affair refer To anyone. Here I'll hold state, and freely take the joy Of either's fate. Help whom ye please; for 'tis assur'd that Troy Not one day's conflict can sustain against Æacides, If Heav'n oppose not. His mere looks threw darts enow t' impress Their pow'rs with trembling; but when blows, sent from his fi'ry hand, (Thrice heat by slaughter of his friend) shall come and countermand Their former glories, we have fear, that though Fate keep their wall, He'll overturn it. Then descend; and cease not till ye all Add all your aids; mix earth and heav'n together with the fight Achilles urgeth." These his words did such a war excite As no man's pow'r could wrastle down; the Gods with parted hearts Departed heav'n, and made earth war. To guide the Grecian darts, Juno and Pallas, with the God that doth the earth embrace, And most-for-man's-use Mercury (whom good wise inwards grace) Were partially and all employ'd; and with them halted down (Proud of his strength) lame Mulciber, his walkers quite misgrown, But made him tread exceeding sure. To aid the Ilian side, The changeable in arms went, Mars; and him accompanied Diana that delights in shafts, and Phœbus never shorn, And Aphrodite laughter-pleas'd, and She of whom was born Still young Apollo, and the Flood that runs on golden sands Bright Xanthus. All these aided Troy; and, till these lent their hands, The Grecians triumph'd in the aid Æacides did add; The Trojans trembling with his sight; so gloriously clad He overshin'd the field, and Mars no harmfuller than he, He bore the iron stream on clear. But when Jove's high decree Let fall the Gods amongst their troops, the field swell'd, and the fight Grew fierce and horrible. The Dame, that armies doth excite, Thunder'd with clamour, sometimes set at dike without the wall, And sometimes on the bellowing shore. On th' other side, the call Of Mars to fight was terrible, he cried out like a storm, Set on the city's pinnacles; and there he would inform Sometimes his heart'nings, other times where Simois pours on His silver current at the foot of high Callicolon. And thus the bless'd Gods both sides urg'd; they all stood in the mids, And brake contention to the hosts. And over all their heads The Gods' King in abhorréd claps his thunder rattled out. Beneath them Neptune toss'd the earth; the mountains round about Bow'd with affright and shook their heads; Jove's hill the earthquake felt, (Steep Ida) trembling at her roots, and all her fountains spilt, Their brows all crannied; Troy did nod; the Grecian navy play'd As on the sea; th' Infernal King, that all things frays, was fray'd, And leap'd affrighted from his throne, cried out, lest over him Neptune should rend in two the earth, and so his house, so dim, So loathsome, filthy, and abhorr'd of all the Gods beside, Should open both to Gods and men. Thus all things shook and cried, When this black battle of the Gods was joining. Thus array'd 'Gainst Neptune, Phœbus with wing'd shafts; 'gainst Mars, the blue-ey'd Maid; 'Gainst Juno, Phœbe, whose white hands bore singing darts of gold, Her side arm'd with a sheaf of shafts, and (by the birth twofold Of bright Latona) sister twin to Him that shoots so far. Against Latona, Hermes stood, grave guard, in peace and war, Of human beings. 'Gainst the God, whose empire is in fire, The wat'ry Godhead, that great Flood, to show whose pow'r entire In spoil as th' other, all his stream on lurking whirlpits trod, Xanthus by Gods, by men Scamander, call'd. Thus God 'gainst God Enter'd the field. Æacides sustain'd a fervent mind To cope with Hector; past all these, his spirit stood inclin'd To glut Mars with the blood of him. And at Æacides Apollo sent Anchises' son; but first he did impress A more than natural strength in him, and made him feel th' excess Infus'd from heav'n; Lycaon's shape gave show to his address, (Old Priam's son) and thus he spake: "Thou counsellor of Troy, Where now fly out those threats that late put all our peers in joy Of thy fight with Æacides? Thy tongue once, steep'd in wine, Durst vaunt as much." He answer'd him: "But why wouldst thou incline My pow'rs 'gainst that proud enemy, and 'gainst my present heat? I mean not now to bid him blows. That fear sounds my retreat, That heretofore discourag'd me, when after he had ras'd Lyrnessus, and strong Pedasus, his still breath'd fury chas'd Our oxen from th' Idæan hill, and set on me; but Jove Gaveve strength and knees, and bore me off, that had not walk'd above This centre now but propp'd by him; Minerva's hand (that held A light to this her favourite, whose beams show'd and impell'd His pow'rs to spoil) had ruin'd me, for these ears heard her cry: 'Kill, kill the seed of Ilion, kill th' Asian Lelegi.' Mere man then must not fight with him that still hath Gods to friend, Averting death on others' darts, and giving his no end But with the ends of men. If God like fortune in the fight Would give my forces, not with ease wing'd victory should light On his proud shoulders, nor he 'scape, though all of brass he boasts His plight consisteth." He replied: "Pray thou those Gods of hosts, Whom he implores, as well as he; and his chance may be thine; Thou cam'st of Gods like him; the Queen that reigns in Salamine Fameme sounds thy mother; he deriv'd of lower Deity, Old Nereus' daughter bearing him. Bear then thy heart as high, And thy unwearied steel as right; nor utterly be beat With only cruelty of words, not proof against a threat." This strengthen'd him, and forth he rush'd; nor could his strength'ning fly White-wristed Juno, nor his drifts. She ev'ry Deity Of th' Achive faction called to her, and said: "Ye must have care, Neptune and Pallas, for the frame of this important war Ye undertake here. Venus' son, by Phœbus being impell'd, Runs on Achilles; turn him back, or see our friend upheld By one of us. Let not the spirit of Æacides Be over-dar'd, but make him know the mightiest Deities Stand kind to him; and that the Gods, protectors of these tow'rs That fight against Greece, and were here before our eminent pow'rs, Bear no importance. And besides, that all we stoop from heav'n, To curb this fight, that no impair be to his person giv'n By any Trojans, nor their aids, while this day bears the sun. Hereafter, all things that are wrapp'd in his birth-thread, and spun By Parcas in that point of time his mother gave him air, He must sustain. But if report perform not the repair Of all this to him, by the voice of some Immortal State, He may be fearful (if some God should set on him) that Fate Makes him her minister. The Gods, when they appear to men, And manifest their proper forms, are passing dreadful then." Neptune replied: "Saturnia, at no time let your care Exceed your reason; 'tis not fit. Where only humans are, We must not mix the hands of Gods, our odds is too extreme. Sit we by, in some place of height, where we may see to them, And leave the wars of men to men. But if we see from thence Or Mars or Phœbus enter fight, or offer least offence To Thetis' son, not giving free way to his conqu'ring rage, Then comes the conflict to our cares; we soon shall disengage Achilles, and send them to heav'n, to settle their abode With equals, flying under-strifes." This said, the black-hair'd God Led to the tow'r of Hercules, built circular and high By Pallas and the Ilians, for fit security To Jove's divine son 'gainst the whale, that drave him from the shore To th' ample field. There Neptune sat, and all the Gods that bore The Greeks good meaning, casting all thick mantles made of clouds On their bright shoulders. Th' oppos'd Gods sat hid in other shrouds On top of steep Callicolon, about thy golden sides, O Phœbus, brandisher of darts, and thine, whose rage abides No peace in cities. In this state, these Gods in council sate, All ling'ring purpos'd fight, to try who first would elevate His heav'nly weapon. High-thron'd Jove cried out to set them on, Said, all the field was full of men, and that the earth did groan With feet of proud encounterers, burn'd with the arms of men And barbed horse. Two champions for both the armies then Met in their midst prepar'd for blows; divine Æacides, And Venus' son. Æneas first stepp'd threat'ning forth the prease, His high helm nodding, and his breast barr'd with a shady shield, And shook his jav'lin. Thetis' son did his part to the field. As when the harmful king of beasts (sore threaten'd to be slain By all the country up in arms) at first makes coy disdain Prepare resistance, but at last, when anyone hath led Bold charge upon him with his dart, he then turns yawning head, Fell anger lathers in his jaws, his great heart swells, his stern Lasheth his strength up, sides and thighs waddled with stripes to learn Their own pow'r, his eyes glow, he roars, and in he leaps to kill, Secure of killing; so his pow'r then rous'd up to his will Matchless Achilles, coming on to meet Anchises' son. Both near, Achilles thus inquir'd: "Why stand'st thou thus alone, Thou son of Venus? Calls thy heart to change of blows with me? Sure Troy's whole kingdom is propos'd: some one hath promis'd thee The throne of Priam for my life; but Priam's self is wise, And, for my slaughter, not so mad to make his throne thy prise. Priam hath sons to second him. Is't then some piece of land, Past others fit to set and sow, that thy victorious hand The Ilians offer for my head? I hope that prise will prove No easy conquest. Once, I think, my busy jav'lin drove, With terror, those thoughts from your spleen. Retain'st thou not the time, When single on th' Idæan hill I took thee with the crime Of runaway, thy oxen left, and when thou hadst no face That I could see; thy knees bereft it, and Lyrnessus was The mask for that? Then that mask, too, I open'd to the air (By Jove and Pallas' help) and took the free light from the fair, Your ladies bearing prisoners; but Jove and th' other Gods Then saft thee. Yet again I hope, they will not add their odds To save thy wants, as thou presum'st. Retire then, aim not at Troy's throne by me; fly ere thy soul flies; fools are wise too late." He answer'd him: "Hope not that words can child-like terrify My stroke-proof breast. I well could speak in this indecency, And use tart terms; but we know well what stock us both put out, Too gentle to bear fruits so rude. Our parents ring about The world's round bosom, and by fame their dignities are blown To both our knowledges, by sight neither to either known, Thine to mine eyes, nor mine to thine. Fame sounds thy worthiness From famous Peleus; the sea-nymph, that hath the lovely tress, Thetis, thy mother; I myself affirm my sire to be Great-soul'd Anchises; she that holds the Paphian Deity, My mother. And of these this light is now t' exhale the tears For their lov'd issue; thee or me; childish, unworthy, dares Are not enough to part our pow'rs; for if thy spirits want Due excitation, by distrust of that desert I vaunt, To set up all rests for my life, I'll lineally prove (Which many will confirm) my race. First, cloud-commanding Jove Was sire to Dardanus, that built Dardania; for the walls Of sacred Ilion spread not yet these fields; those fair-built halls Of divers-languag'd men, not rais'd; all then made populous The foot of Ida's fountful hill. This Jove-got Dardanus Begot king Erichthonius, for wealth past all compares Of living mortals; in his fens he fed three thousand mares, All neighing by their tender foals, of which twice-six were bred By lofty Boreas, their dams lov'd by him as they fed, He took the brave form of a horse that shook an azure mane, And slept with them. These twice-six colts had pace so swift, they ran Upon the top-ayles of corn-ears, nor bent them any whit; And when the broad back of the sea their pleasure was to sit, The superficies of his waves they slid upon, their hoves Not dipp'd in dank sweat of his brows. Of Erichthonius' loves Sprang Tros, the king of Trojans. Tros three young princes bred, Ilus, renown'd Assaracus, and heav'nly Ganymed The fairest youth of all that breath'd, whom, for his beauty's love, The Gods did ravish to their state, to bear the cup to Jove. Ilus begot Laomedon, God-like Laomedon Got Tithonon, Priam, Clytius, Mars-like Hycetaon, And Lampus. Great Assaracus, Capys begot; and he Anchises. Prince Anchises, me. King Priam, Hector. We Sprang both of one high family. Thus fortunate men give birth, But Jove gives virtue; he augments, and he impairs the worth Of all men; and his will their rule; he, strong'st, all strength affords. Why then paint we, like dames, the face of conflict with our words? Both may give language that a ship, driv'n with a hundred oars, Would overburthen. A man's tongue is voluble, and pours Words out of all sorts ev'ry way. Such as you speak you hear. What then need we vie calumnies, like women that will wear Their tongues out, being once incens'd, and strive for strife to part (Being on their way) they travel so? From words, words may avert; From virtue, not. It is your steel, divine Æacides, Must prove my proof, as mine shall yours." Thus amply did he ease His great heart of his pedigree; and sharply sent away A dart that caught Achilles' shield, and rung so it did fray The son of Thetis, his fair hand far-thrusting out his shield, For fear the long lance had driv'n through. O fool, to think 'twould yield, And not to know the God's firm gifts want want to yield so soon To men's poor pow'rs. The eager lance had only conquest won Of two plates, and the shield had five, two forg'd of tin, two brass, One, that was centre-plate, of gold; and that forbad the pass Of Anchisiades's lance. Then sent Achilles forth His lancece, that through the first fold strook, where brass of little worth And no great proof of hides was laid; through all which Pelias ran His iron head, and after it his ashen body wan Pass to the earth, and there it stuck, his top on th' other side, And hung the shield up; which hard down Æneas pluck'd, to hide His breast from sword blows, shrunk up round, and in his heavy eye Was much grief shadow'd, much afraid that Pelias stuck so nigh. Then prompt Achilles rushing in, his sword drew; and the field Rung with his voice. Æneas now, left and let hang his shield, And all-distracted, up he snatch'd a two-men's strength of stone, And either at his shield or casque he set it rudely gone, Nor car'd where, so it strook a place that put on arms for death. But he (Achilles came so close) had doubtless sunk beneath His own death had not Neptune seen and interpos'd the odds Of his divine pow'r, utt'ring this to the Achaian Gods: "I grieve for this great-hearted man; he will be sent to hell, Ev'n instantly, by Peleus' son, being only mov'd to deal By Phœbus' words. What fool is he! Phœbus did never mean To add to his great words his guard against the ruin then Summon'd against him. And what cause, hath he to head him on To others' mis'ries, he being clear of any trespass done Against the Grecians? Thankful gifts he oft hath giv'n to us. Let us then quit him, and withdraw this combat; for if thus Achilles end him, Jove will rage; since his escape in fate Is purpos'd, lest the progeny of Dardanus take date, Whom Jove, past all his issue, lov'd, begot of mortal dames. All Priam's race he hates; and this must propagate the names Of Trojans, and their sons' sons' rule, to all posterity." Saturnia said: "Make free your pleasure. Save, or let him die. Pallas and I have taken many, and most public, oaths, That th' ill day never shall avert her eye, red with our wroths, From hated Troy; no, not when all in studied fire she flames The Greek rage, blowing her last coal." This nothing turn'd his aims From present rescue, but through all the whizzing spears he pass'd, And came where both were combating; when instantly he cast A mist before Achilles' eyes, drew from the earth and shield His lance, and laid it at his feet; and then took up and held Aloft the light Anchises' son, who pass'd, with Neptune's force, Whole orders of heroës' heads, and many a troop of horse Leap'd over, till the bounds he reach'd of all the fervent broil, Where all the Caucons' quarters lay. Thus, far freed from the toil, Neptune had time to use these words: "Æneas, who was he Of all the Gods, that did so much neglect thy good and thee To urge thy fight with Thetis' son, who in immortal rates Is better and more dear than thee? Hereafter, lest, past fates, Hell be thy headlong home, retire, make bold stand never near Where he advanceth. But his fate once satisfied, then bear A free and full sail; no Greek else shall end thee." This reveal'd, He left him, and dispers'd the cloud, that all this act conceal'd From vex'd Achilles; who again had clear light from the skies, And, much disdaining the escape, said: "O ye Gods, mine eyes Discover miracles! My lance submitted, and he gone At whom I sent it with desire of his confusion! Æneas sure was lov'd of heav'n. I thought his vaunt from thence Had flow'd from glory. Let him go, no more experience Will his mind long for of my hands, he flies them now so clear. Cheer then the Greeks, and others try." Thus rang'd he ev'rywhere The Grecian orders; ev'ry man (of which the most look'd on To see their fresh lord shake his lance) he thus put charge upon: "Divine Greeks, stand not thus at gaze, but man to man apply Your sev'ral valours. 'Tis a task laid too unequally On me left to so many men, one man oppos'd to all. Not Mars, immortal and a God, not war's She-General, A field of so much fight could chase, and work it out with blows. But what a man may execute, that all limbs will expose, And all their strength to th' utmost nerve (though now I lost some play By some strange miracle) no more shall burn in vain the day To any least beam. All this host, I'll ransack, and have hope, Of all not one again will scape, whoever gives such scope To his adventure, and so near dares tempt my angry lance." Thus he excited. Hector then as much strives to advance The hearts of his men, adding threats, affirming he would stand In combat with Æacides: "Give fear," said he, "no hand Of your great hearts, brave Ilians, for Peleus' talking son, I'll fight with any God with words; but when their spears put on, The work runs high, their strength exceeds mortality so far, And they may make works crown their words; which holds not in the war Achilles makes; his hands have bounds; this word he shall make good, And leave another to the field. His worst shall be withstood With sole objection of myself; though in his hands he bear A rage like fire, though fire itself his raging fingers were, And burning steel flew in his strength." Thus he incited his; And they rais'd lances, and to work with mixéd courages; And up flew Clamour. But the heat in Hector, Phœbus gave This temper: "Do not meet," said he, "in any single brave The man thou threaten'st, but in press; and in thy strength impeach His violence; for, far off, or near, his sword or dart will reach." The God's voice made a difference in Hector's own conceit Betwixt his and Achilles' words, and gave such over-weight As weigh'd him back into his strength, and curb'd his flying out. At all threw fierce Æacides, and gave a horrid shout. The first, of all he put to dart, was fierce Iphition, Surnam'd Otryntides, whom Nais the water-nymph made son To town-destroy'r Otrynteüs. Beneath the snowy hill Of Tmolus, in the wealthy town of Hyda, at his will Were many able men at arms. He, rushing in, took full Pelides' lance in his head's midst, that cleft in two his skull. Achilles knew him one much fam'd, and thus insulted then: "Th' art dead, Otryntides, though call'd the terriblest of men. Thy race runs at Gygæus' lake, there thy inheritance lay, Near fishy Hyllus and the gulfs of Hermus; but this day Removes it to the fields of Troy." Thus left he night to seize His closéd eyes, his body laid in course of all the prease, Which Grecian horse broke with the strakes nail'd to their chariot wheels. Next, through the temples, the burst eyes his deadly jav'lin seels Of great-in-Troy Antenor's son, renown'd Demoleon, A mighty turner of a field. His overthrow set gone Hippodamas; who leap'd from horse, and, as he fled before Æacides's turnéd back, he made fell Pelias gore, And forth he puff'd his flying soul. And as a tortur'd bull, To Neptune brought for sacrifice, a troop of youngsters pull Down to the earth, and drag him round about the hallow'd shore, To please the wat'ry Deity with forcing him to roar, And forth he pours his utmost throat; so bellow'd this slain friend Of flying Ilion, with the breath that gave his being end. Then rush'd he on, and in his eye had heav'nly Polydore, Old Priam's son, whom last of all his fruitful princess bore, And for his youth, being dear to him, the king forbad to fight. Yet (hot of unexperienc'd blood, to show how exquisite He was of foot, for which of all the fifty sons he held The special name) he flew before the first heat of the field, Ev'n till he flew out breath and soul; which, through the back, the lance Of swift Achilles put in air, and did his head advance Out at his navel. On his knees the poor prince crying fell, And gather'd with his tender hands his entrails, that did swell Quite through the wide wound, till a cloud as black as death conceal'd Their sight, and all the world from him. When Hector had beheld His brother tumbled so to earth, his entrails still in hand, Dark sorrow overcast his eyes; nor far off could he stand A minute longer, but like fire he brake out of the throng, Shook his long lance at Thetis' son; and then came he along To feed th' encounter: "O," said he, "here comes the man that most Of all the world destroys my mind, the man by whom I lost My dear Patroclus. Now not long the crooked paths of war Can yield us any privy scapes. 'Come, keep not off so far,' He cried to Hector, 'make the pain of thy sure death as short, As one so desp'rate of his life hath reason.'" In no sort This frighted Hector, who bore close, and said: "Æacides, Leave threats for children. I have pow'r to thunder calumnies As well as others, and well know thy strength superior far To that my nerves hold; but the Gods, not nerves, determine war. And yet, for nerves, there will be found a strength of pow'r in mine To drive a lance home to thy life. My lance as well as thine Hath point and sharpness, and 'tis this." Thus brandishing his spear, He set it flying; which a breath of Pallas back did bear From Thetis' son to Hector's self, and at his feet it fell. Achilles us'd no dart, but close flew in; and thought to deal With no strokes but of sure dispatch, but, what with all his blood He labour'd, Phœbus clear'd with ease, as being a God, and stood For Hector's guard, as Pallas did, Æacides, for thine. He rapt him from him, and a cloud of much night cast between His person and the point oppos'd. Achilles then exclaim'd: "O see, yet more Gods are at work. Apollo's hand hath fram'd, Dog that thou art, thy rescue now; to whom go pay thy vows Thy safety owes him, I shall vent in time those fatal blows That yet beat in my heart on thine, if any God remain My equal fautor. In mean time, my anger must maintain His fire on other Ilians." Then laid he at his feet Great Demuchus, Philetor's son; and Dryope did greet With like encounter. Dardanus and strong Laogonus, Wise Bias' sons, he hurl'd from horse; of one victorious With his close sword, the other's life he conquer'd with his lance. Then Tros, Alastor's son, made in, and sought to scape their chance With free submission. Down he fell, and pray'd about his knees He would not kill him, but take ruth, as one that destinies Made to that purpose, being a man born in the self same year That he himself was. O poor fool, to sue to him to bear A ruthful mind! He well might know, he could not fashion him In ruth's soft mould, he had no spirit to brook that interim In his hot fury, he was none of these remorseful men, Gentle and affable, but fierce at all times, and mad then. He gladly would have made a pray'r, and still so hugg'd his knee He could not quit him; till at last his sword was fain to free His fetter'd knees, that made a vent for his white liver's blood That caus'd such pitiful affects; of which it pour'd a flood About his bosom, which it fill'd, ev'n till it drown'd his eyes, And all sense fail'd him. Forth then flew this prince of tragedies; Who next stoop'd Mulius ev'n to death with his insatiate spear; One ear it enter'd, and made good his pass to th' other ear. Echeclus then, Agenor's son, he strook betwixt the brows; Whose blood set fire upon his sword, that cool'd it till the throes Of his then labouring brain let out his soul to fixéd fate, And gave cold entry to black death. Deucalion then had state In these men's beings, where the nerves about the elbow knit, Down to his hand his spear's steel pierc'd, and brought such pain to it As led death jointly; whom he saw before his fainting eyes, And in his neck felt, with a stroke, laid on so, that off flies His head. One of the twice-twelve bones, that all the backbone make, Let out his marrow; when the head he, helm and all, did take, And hurl'd amongst the Ilians; the body stretch'd on earth. Rhigmus of fruitful Thrace next fell. He was the famous birth Of Pireüs; his belly's midst the lance took, whose stern force Quite tumbled him from chariot. In turning back the horse, Their guider Areithous receiv'd another lance That threw him to his lord. No end was put to the mischance Achilles enter'd. But as fire, fall'n in a flash from heav'n, Inflames the high woods of dry hills, and with a storm is driv'n Through all the sylvan deeps; and raves, till down goes ev'rywhere The smother'd hill; so ev'ry way Achilles and his spear Consum'd the champain, the black earth flow'd with the veins he tore. And look how oxen, yok'd and driv'n about the circular floor Of some fair barn, tread suddenly the thick sheaves thin of corn, And all the corn consum'd with chaff; so mix'd and overborne, Beneath Achilles' one-hoof'd horse, shields, spears, and men, lay trod, His axle-trees and chariot wheels, all spatter'd with the blood Hurl'd from the steeds' hooves and the strakes. Thus, to be magnified, His most inaccessible hands in human blood he dyed. THE END OF THE TWENTIETH BOOK. THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

In two parts Troy's host parted; Thetis' son One to Scamander, one to Ilion, Pursues. Twelve lords he takes alive, to end In sacrifice for vengeance to his friend. Asteropæus dies by his fierce hand, And, Priam's son, Lycaon. Over land The Flood breaks where Achilles being engag'd, Vulcan preserves him, and with spirit enrag'd Sets all the champain and the floods on fire. Contention then doth all the Gods inspire. Apollo in Agenor's shape doth stay Achilles' fury, and, by giving way, Makes him pursue, till the deceit gives leave That Troy in safety might her friends receive. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Phy at the flood's shore doth express The labours of Æacides.

And now they reach'd the goodly swelling channel of the flood, Gulf-eating Xanthus, whom Jove mix'd with his immortal brood; And there Achilles cleft the host of Ilion; one side fell On Xanthus, th' other on the town; and that did he impell The same way that the last day's rage put all the Greeks in rout, When Hector's fury reign'd; these now Achilles pour'd about The scatter'd field. To stay the flight, Saturnia cast before Their hasty feet a standing fog; and then flight's violence bore The other half full on the flood. The silver-gulféd deep Receiv'd them with a mighty cry, the billows vast and steep Roar'd at their armours, which the shores did round about resound; This way and that they swum, and shriek'd as in the gulfs they drown'd And as in fir'd fields locusts rise, as the unwearied blaze Plies still their rising, till in swarms all rush as in amaze, For scape into some neighbour flood; so th' Achilleian stroke Here drave the foe, the gulfy flood with men and horse did choke. Then on the shore the Worthy hid and left his horrid lance Amids the tamarisks, and sprite-like did with his sword advance Up to the river; ill affairs took up his furious brain For Troy's engagements; ev'ry way he doubled slain on slain. A most unmanly noise was made, with those he put to sword, Of groans and outcries. The flood blush'd, to be so much engor'd With such base souls. And as small fish the swift-finn'd dolphin fly, Filling the deep pits in the ports, on whose close strength they lie, And there he swallows them in shoals; so here, to rocks and holes About the flood, the Trojans fled, and there most lost their souls, Ev'n till he tir'd his slaught'rous arm. Twelve fair young princes then He chose of all to take alive, to have them freshly slain On that most solemn day of wreak, resolv'd on for his friend. These led he trembling forth the flood, as fearful of their end As any hind calves. All their hands he pinioned behind With their own girdles worn upon their rich weeds, and resign'd Their persons to his Myrmidons to bear to fleet; and he Plung'd in the stream again to take more work of tragedy. He met, then issuing the flood with all intent of flight, Lycaon, Dardan Priam's son; whom lately in the night He had surpris'd, as in a wood of Priam's he had cut The green arms of a wild fig-tree, to make him spokes to put In naves of his new chariot. An ill then, all unthought, Stole on him in Achilles' shape, who took him thence, and brought To well-built Lemnos, selling him to famous Jason's son. From whom a guest then in his house (Imbrius Eetion) Redeem'd at high rate, and sent home t' Arisba, whence he fled, And saw again his father's court; elev'n days banqueted Amongst his friends; the twelfth God thrust his hapless head again In t' hands of stern Æacides, who now must send him slain To Pluto's court, and 'gainst his will. Him, when Achilles knew, Naked of helmet, shield, sword, lance (all which for ease he threw To earth, being overcome with sweat, and labour wearying His flying knees) he storm'd, and said: "O heav'n, a wondrous thing Invades mine eyes! Those Ilians, that heretofore I slew, Rise from the dark dead quick again. This man Fate makes eschew Her own steel fingers. He was sold in Lemnos, and the deep Of all seas 'twixt this Troy, and that (that many a man doth keep From his lov'd country) bars not him. Come then, he now shall taste The head of Pelias, and try if steel will down as fast As other fortunes, or kind earth can any surer seize On his sly person, whose strong arms have held down Hercules." His thoughts thus mov'd, while he stood firm, to see if he, he spied, Would offer flight (which first he thought) but when he had descried He was descried and flight was vain, fearful, he made more nigh, With purpose to embrace his knees, and now long'd much to fly His black fate and abhorréd death by coming in. His foe Observ'd all this, and up he rais'd his lance as he would throw; And then Lycaon close ran in, fell on his breast, and took Achilles' knees; whose lance, on earth now staid, did overlook His still turn'd back, with thirst to glut his sharp point with the blood That lay so ready. But that thirst Lycaon's thirst withstood To save his blood; Achilles' knee in his one hand he knit, His other held the long lance hard, and would not part with it, But thus besought: "I kiss thy knees, divine Æacides! Respect me, and my fortunes rue. I now present th' access Of a poor suppliant for thy ruth; and I am one that is Worthy thy ruth, O Jove's belov'd. First hour my miseries Fell into any hand, 'twas thine. I tasted all my bread By thy gift since, O since that hour that thy surprisal led From forth the fair wood my sad feet, far from my lov'd allies, To famous Lemnos, where I found a hundred oxen's prize To make my ransom; for which now I thrice the worth will raise. This day makes twelve, since I arriv'd in Ilion, many days Being spent before in sufferance; and now a cruel fate Thrusts me again into thy hands. I should haunt Jove with hate, That with such set malignity gives thee my life again. There were but two of us for whom Laothoe suffer'd pain, Laothoe, old Alte's seed; Alte, whose palace stood In height of upper Pedasus, near Satnius' silver flood, And rul'd the war-like Lelegi. Whose seed (as many more) King Priam married, and begot the god-like Polydore, And me accurs'd. Thou slaughter'dst him; and now thy hand on me Will prove as mortal. I did think, when here I met with thee, I could not 'scape thee; yet give ear, and add thy mind to it: I told my birth to intimate, though one sire did beget Yet one womb brought not into light Hector that slew thy friend, And me. O do not kill me then, but let the wretched end Of Polydore excuse my life. For half our being bred Brothers to Hector, he (half) paid, no more is forfeited." Thus sued he humbly; but he heard, with this austere reply: "Fool, urge not ruth nor price to me, till that solemnity, Resolv'd on for Patroclus' death, pay all his rites to fate. Till his death I did grace to Troy, and many lives did rate At price of ransom; but none now, of all the brood of Troy, (Whoever Jove throws to my hands) shall any breath enjoy That death can beat out, specially that touch at Priam's race. Die, die, my friend. What tears are these? What sad looks spoil thy face? Patroclus died, that far pass'd thee. Nay, seest thou not beside, Myself, ev'n I, a fair young man, and rarely magnified, And, to my father being a king, a mother have that sits In rank with Goddesses; and yet, when thou hast spent thy spirits, Death and as violent a fate must overtake ev'n me, By twilight, morn-light, day, high noon, whenever destiny Sets on her man to hurl a lance, or knit out of his string An arrow that must reach my life." This said, a languishing Lycaon's heart bent like his knees, yet left him strength t' advance Both hands for mercy as he kneel'd. His foe yet leaves his lance, And forth his sword flies, which he hid in furrow of a wound Driv'n through the jointure of his neck; flat fell he on the ground, Stretch'd with death's pangs, and all the earth imbru'd with timeless blood. Then gript Æacides his heel, and to the lofty flood Flung, swinging, his unpitied corse, to see it swim, and toss Upon the rough waves, and said; "Go, feed fat the fish with loss Of thy left blood, they clean will suck thy green wounds; and this saves Thy mother tears upon thy bed. Deep Xanthus on his waves Shall hoise thee bravely to a tomb, that in her burly breast The sea shall open, where great fish may keep thy fun'ral feast With thy white fat, and on the waves dance at thy wedding fate, Clad in black horror, keeping close inaccessible state, So perish Ilians, till we pluck the brows of Ilion Down to her feet, you flying still, I flying still upon Thus in the rear, and (as my brows were fork'd with rabid horns) [1] Toss ye together. This brave flood, that strengthens and adorns Your city with his silver gulfs, to whom so many bulls Your zeal hath offer'd, which blind zeal his sacred current gulls, With casting chariots and horse quick to his pray'd-for aid, Shall nothing profit. Perish then, till cruell'st death hath laid All at the red feet of Revenge for my slain friend, and all With whom the absence of my hands made yours a festival." This speech great Xanthus more enrag'd, and made his spirit contend For means to shut up the op'd vein against him, and defend The Trojans in it from his plague. In mean time Peleus' son, And now with that long lance he hid, for more blood set upon Asteropæus, the descent of Pelegon, and he Of broad-stream'd Axius, and the dame, of first nativity To all the daughters that renown'd Acesamenus' seed, Bright Peribœa, whom the Flood, arm'd thick with lofty reed, Compress'd. At her grandchild now went Thetis' great son, whose foe Stood arm'd with two darts, being set on by Xanthus anger'd so For those youths' blood shed in his stream by vengeful Thetis' son Without all mercy. Both being near, great Thetides begun With this high question; "Of what race art thou that dar'st oppose Thy pow'r to mine thus? Curséd wombs they ever did disclose, That stood my anger." He replied: "What makes thy fury's heat Talk, and seek pedigrees? Far hence lies my innative seat, In rich Pæonia. My race from broad-stream'd Axius runs; Axius, that gives earth purest drink, of all the wat'ry sons Of great Oceanus, and got the famous for his spear, Pelegonus, that father'd me; and these Pæonians here, Arm'd with long lances, here I lead; and here th' elev'nth fair light Shines on us since we enter'd Troy. Come now, brave man, let's fight." Thus spake he, threat'ning; and to him Pelides made reply With shaken Pelias; but his foe with two at once let fly, For both his hands were dexterous. One jav'lin strook the shield Of Thetis' son, but strook not through; the gold, God's gift, repell'd The eager point; the other lance fell lightly on the part Of his fair right hand's cubit; forth the black blood spun; the dart Glanc'd over, fast'ning on the earth, and there his spleen was spent That wish'd the body. With which wish Achilles his lance sent, That quite miss'd, and infix'd itself fast in steep-up shore; Ev'n to the midst it enter'd it. Himself then fiercely bore Upon his enemy with his sword. His foe was tugging hard To get his lance out; thrice he pluck'd, and thrice sure Pelias barr'd His wish'd evulsion; the fourth pluck, he bow'd and meant to break The ashen plant, but, ere that act, Achilles' sword did check His bent pow'r, and brake out his soul. Full in the navel-stead He ripp'd his belly up, and out his entrails fell, and dead His breathless body; whence his arms Achilles drew, and said: "Lie there, and prove it dangerous to lift up adverse head Against Jove's sons, although a Flood were ancestor to thee. Thy vaunts urg'd him, but I may vaunt a higher pedigree From Jove himself. King Peleüs was son to Æacus, Infernal Æacus to Jove, and I to Peleüs. Thunder-voic'd Jove far passeth floods, that only murmurs raise With earth and water as they run with tribute to the seas; And his seed theirs exceeds as far. A Flood, a mighty Flood, Rag'd near thee now, but with no aid; Jove must not be withstood. King Achelous yields to him, and great Oceanus, Whence all floods, all the sea, all founts, wells, all deeps humorous, Fetch their beginnings; yet ev'n he fears Jove's flash, and the crack His thunder gives, when out of heav'n it tears atwo his rack." [2] Thus pluck'd he from the shore his lance, and left the waves to wash The wave-sprung entrails, about which fausens and other fish Did shoal, to nibble at the fat which his sweet kidneys hid. This for himself. Now to his men, the well-rode Pæons, did His rage contend, all which cold fear shook into flight, to see Their captain slain. At whose maz'd flight, as much enrag'd, flew he. And then fell all these, Thrasius, Mydon, Astypylus, Great Ophelestes, Ænius, Mnesus, Thersilochus. And on these many more had fall'n, unless the angry Flood Had took the figure of a man, and in a whirlpit stood, Thus speaking to Æacides: "Past all, pow'r feeds thy will, Thou great grandchild of Æacus, and, past all, th' art in ill, And Gods themselves confederates, and Jove, the best of Gods, All deaths gives thee, all places not. Make my shores periods To all shore service. In the field let thy field-acts run high, Not in my waters. My sweet streams choke with mortality Of men slain by thee. Carcasses so glut me, that I fail To pour into the sacred sea my waves; yet still assail Thy cruel forces. Cease, amaze affects me with thy rage, Prince of the people." He replied: "Shall thy command assuage, Gulf-fed Scamander, my free wrath? I'll never leave pursu'd Proud Ilion's slaughters, till this hand in her fill'd walls conclude Her flying forces, and hath tried in single fight the chance Of war with Hector; whose event with stark death shall advance One of our conquests." Thus again he like a fury flew Upon the Trojans; when the flood his sad plaint did pursue To bright Apollo, telling him he was too negligent Of Jove's high charge, importuning by all means vehement His help of Troy till latest even should her black shadows pour On Earth's broad breast. In all his worst, Achilles yet from shore Leapt to his midst. Then swell'd his waves, then rag'd, then boil'd again Against Achilles. Up flew all, and all the bodies slain In all his deeps (of which the heaps made bridges to his waves) He belch'd out, roaring like a bull. The unslain yet he saves In his black whirlpits vast and deep. A horrid billow stood About Achilles. On his shield the violence of the Flood Beat so, it drave him back, and took his feet up, his fair palm Enforc'd to catch into his stay a broad and lofty elm, Whose roots he toss'd up with his hold, and tore up all the shore. With this then he repell'd the waves, and those thick arms it bore He made a bridge to bear him off; (for all fell in) when he Forth from the channel threw himself. The rage did terrify [3] Ev'n his great spirit, and made him add wings to his swiftest feet, And tread the land. And yet not there the Flood left his retreat, But thrust his billows after him, and black'd them all at top, To make him fear, and fly his charge, and set the broad field ope For Troy to 'scape in. He sprung out a dart's cast, but came on Again with a redoubled force. As when the swiftest flown, And strong'st of all fowls, Jove's black hawk, the huntress, stoops upon A much lov'd quarry; so charg'd he; his arms with horror rung Against the black waves. Yet again he was so urg'd, he flung His body from the Flood, and fled; and after him again The waves flew roaring. As a man that finds a water-vein, And from some black fount is to bring his streams through plants and groves, Goes with his mattock, and all checks, set to his course, removes; When that runs freely, under it the pebbles all give way, And, where it finds a fall, runs swift; nor can the leader stay His current then, before himself full-pac'd it murmurs on; So of Achilles evermore the strong Flood vantage won; Though most deliver, Gods are still above the pow'rs of men. As oft as th' able god-like man endeavour'd to maintain His charge on them that kept the flood, and charg'd as he would try If all the Gods inhabiting the broad unreachéd sky Could daunt his spirit; so oft still, the rude waves charg'd him round, Rampt on his shoulders; from whose depth his strength and spirit would bound Up to the free air, vex'd in soul. And now the vehement Flood Made faint his knees; so overthwart his waves were, they withstood All the denied dust, which he wish'd, and now was fain to cry, Casting his eyes to that broad heav'n, that late he long'd to try, And said: "O Jove, how am I left! No God vouchsafes to free Me, miserable man. Help now, and after torture me With any outrage. "Would to heaven, Hector, the mightiest Bred in this region, had imbru'd his jav'lin in my breast, That strong may fall by strong! Where now weak water's luxury Must make my death blush, one, heav'n-born, shall like a hog-herd die, Drown'd in a dirty torrent's rage. Yet none of you in heav'n I blame for this, but She alone by whom this life was giv'n That now must die thus. She would still delude me with her tales, Affirming Phœbus' shafts should end within the Trojan walls My curs'd beginning." In this strait, Neptune and Pallas flew, To fetch him off. In men's shapes both close to his danger drew, And, taking both both hands, thus spake the Shaker of the world: "Pelides, do not stir a foot, nor these waves, proudly curl'd Against thy bold breast, fear a jot; thou hast us two thy friends, Neptune and Pallas, Jove himself approving th' aid we lend. 'Tis nothing as thou fear'st with Fate; she will not see thee drown'd. This height shall soon down, thine own eyes shall see it set aground. Be rul'd then, we'll advise thee well; take not thy hand away From putting all, indiff'rently, to all that it can lay Upon the Trojans, till the walls of haughty Ilion Conclude all in a desp'rate flight. And when thou hast set gone The soul of Hector, turn to fleet; our hands shall plant a wreath Of endless glory on thy brows." Thus to the free from death Both made retreat. He, much impell'd by charge the Godheads gave, The field, that now was overcome with many a boundless wave, He overcame. On their wild breasts they toss'd the carcasses, And arms, of many a slaughter'd man. And now the wingéd knees Of this great captain bore aloft; against the Flood he flies With full assault; nor could that God make shrink his rescu'd thighs. Nor shrunk the Flood, but, as his foe grew pow'rful, he grew mad, Thrust up a billow to the sky, and crystal Simoïs bad To his assistance: "Simoïs, ho, brother," out he cried, "Come, add thy current, and resist this man half-deified, Or Ilion he will pull down straight; the Trojans cannot stand A minute longer. Come, assist, and instantly command All fountains in thy rule to rise, all torrents to make in, And stuff thy billows; with whose height, engender such a din, With trees torn up and justling stones, as so immane a man May shrink beneath us; whose pow'r thrives do my pow'r all it can; He dares things fitter for a God. But, nor his form, nor force, Nor glorious arms shall profit it; all which, and his dead corse, I vow to roll up in my sands, nay, bury in my mud, Nay, in the very sinks of Troy, that, pour'd into my flood, Shall make him drowning work enough; and, being drown'd, I'll set A fort of such strong filth on him, that Greece shall never get His bones from it. There, there shall stand Achilles' sepulchre, And save a burial for his friends." This fury did transfer His high-ridg'd billows on the prince, roaring with blood and foam And carcasses. The crimson stream did snatch into her womb Surpris'd Achilles; and her height stood, held up by the hand Of Jove himself. Then Juno cried, and call'd (to countermand This wat'ry Deity) the God that holds command in fire, Afraid lest that gulf-stomach'd Flood would satiate his desire On great Achilles: "Mulciber, my best lov'd son!" she cried, "Rouse thee, for all the Gods conceive this Flood thus amplified Is rais'd at thee, and shows as if his waves would drown the sky, And put out all the sphere of fire. Haste, help thy empery. Light flames deep as his pits. Ourself the west wind and the south Will call out of the sea, and breathe in either's full-charg'd mouth A storm t' enrage thy fires 'gainst Troy; which shall (in one exhal'd) Blow flames of sweat about their brows, and make their armours scald. Go thou then, and, 'gainst these winds rise, make work on Xanthus' shore, With setting all his trees on fire, and in his own breast pour A fervor that shall make it burn; nor let fair words or threats Avert thy fury till I speak, and then subdue the heats Of all thy blazes." Mulciber prepar'd a mighty fire, First in the field us'd; burning up the bodies that the ire Of great Achilles reft of souls; the quite-drown'd field it dried, And shrunk the flood up. And as fields, that have been long time cloy'd With catching weather, when their corn lies on the gavel heap, Are with a constant north wind dried, with which for comfort leap Their hearts that sow'd them; so this field was dried, the bodies burn'd, And ev'n the flood into a fire as bright as day was turn'd. Elms, willows, tam'risks, were inflam'd; the lote trees, sea-grass reeds, And rushes, with the galingale roots, of which abundance breeds About the sweet flood, all were fir'd; the gliding fishes flew Upwards in flames; the grov'lling eels crept upright; all which slew Wise Vulcan's unresisted spirit. The Flood out of a flame Cried to him: "Cease, O Mulciber, no Deity can tame Thy matchless virtue; nor would I, since thou art thus hot, strive. Cease then thy strife; let Thetis' son, with all thy wish'd haste, drive Ev'n to their gates these Ilians. What toucheth me their aid, Or this contention?" Thus in flames the burning River pray'd. And as a caldron, underput with store of fire, and wrought With boiling of a well-fed brawn, up leaps his wave aloft, Bavins of sere wood urging it, and spending flames apace, Till all the caldron be engirt with a consuming blaze; So round this Flood burn'd, and so sod his sweet and tortur'd streams, Nor could flow forth, bound in the fumes of Vulcan's fi'ry beams; Who, then not mov'd, his mother's ruth by all his means he craves, And ask'd, why Vulcan should invade and so torment his waves Past other floods, when his offence rose not to such degree As that of other Gods for Troy; and that himself would free Her wrath to it, if she were pleas'd; and pray'd her, that her son Might be reflected; adding this, that he would ne'er be won To help keep off the ruinous day, in which all Troy should burn, Fir'd by the Grecians. This vow heard, she charg'd her son to turn His fi'ry spirits to their homes, and said it was not fit A God should suffer so for men. Then Vulcan did remit His so unmeasur'd violence, and back the pleasant Flood Ran to his channel. Thus these Gods she made friends; th' other stood At weighty diff'rence; both sides ran together with a sound, That earth resounded, and great heav'n about did surrebound, Jove heard it, sitting on his hill, and laugh'd to see the Gods Buckle to arms like angry men; and, he pleas'd with their odds, They laid it freely. Of them all, thump-buckler Mars began, And at Minerva with a lance of brass he headlong ran, These vile words ushering his blows: "Thou dog-fly, what's the cause Thou mak'st Gods fight thus? Thy huge heart breaks all our peaceful laws With thy insatiate shamelessness, Rememb'rest thou the hour When Diomed charg'd me, and by thee, and thou with all thy pow'r Took'st lance thyself, and, in all sights, rush'd on me with a wound? Now vengeance falls on thee for all." This said, the shield fring'd round With fighting adders, borne by Jove, that not to thunder yields, He clapt his lance on; and this God, that with the blood of fields Pollutes his godhead, that shield pierc'd, and hurt the arméd Maid, But back she leapt, and with her strong hand rapt a huge stone, laid Above the champain, black and sharp, that did in old time break Partitions to men's lands; and that she dusted in the neck Of that impetuous challenger. Down to the earth he sway'd, And overlaid sev'n acres' land. His hair was all beray'd With dust and blood mix'd; and his arms rung out. Minerva laugh'd, And thus insulted: "O thou fool, yet hast thou not been taught To know mine eminence? Thy strength opposest thou to mine? So pay thy mother's furies then, who for these aids of thine, (Ever afforded perjur'd Troy, Greece ever left) takes spleen, And vows thee mischief." Thus she turn'd her blue eyes, when love's Queen The hand of Mars took, and from earth rais'd him with thick-drawn breath, His spirits not yet got up again. But from the press of death Kind Aphrodite was his guide. Which Juno seeing, exclaim'd: "Pallas, see, Mars is help'd from field! Dog-fly, his rude tongue nam'd Thyself ev'n now; but that his love, that dog-fly, will not leave Her old consort. Upon her fly." Minerva did receive This excitation joyfully, and at the Cyprian flew, Strook with her hard hand her soft breast, a blow that overthrew Both her and Mars; and there both lay together in broad field. When thus she triumph'd: "So lie all, that any succours yield To these false Trojans 'gainst the Greeks; so bold and patient As Venus, shunning charge of me; and no less impotent Be all their aids, than hers to Mars. So short work would be made In our depopulating Troy, this hardiest to invade Of all earth's cities." At this wish, white-wristed Juno smil'd. Next Neptune and Apollo stood upon the point of field, And thus spake Neptune: "Phœbus! Come, why at the lance's end Stand we two thus? 'Twill be a shame, for us to re-ascend Jove's golden house, being thus in field and not to fight. Begin; For 'tis no graceful work for me; thou hast the younger chin, I older and know more. O fool, what a forgetful heart Thou bear'st about thee, to stand here, prest to take th' Ilian part, And fight with me! Forgett'st thou then, what we two, we alone Of all the Gods, have suffer'd here, when proud Laomedon Enjoy'd our service a whole year, for our agreed reward? Jove in his sway would have it so; and in that year I rear'd This broad brave wall about this town, that (being a work of mine) It might be inexpugnable. This service then was thine, In Ida, that so many hills and curl'd-head forests crown, To feed his oxen, crooked-shank'd, and headed like the moon. But when the much-joy-bringing Hours brought term for our reward, The terrible Laomedon dismiss'd us both, and scar'd Our high deservings, not alone to hold our promis'd fee, But give us threats too. Hands and feet he swore to fetter thee, And sell thee as a slave, dismiss'd far hence to foreign isles. Nay more, he would have both our ears. His vow's breach, and reviles, Made us part angry with him then; and dost thou gratulate now Such a king's subjects? Or with us not their destruction vow, Ev'n to their chaste wives and their babes?" He answer'd: "He might hold, His wisdom little, if with him, a God, for men he would Maintain contention; wretched men that flourish for a time Like leaves, eat some of that earth yields, and give earth in their prime Their whole selves for it. Quickly then, let us fly fight for them, Nor show it offer'd. Let themselves bear out their own extreme." Thus he retir'd, and fear'd to change blows with his uncle's hands; His sister therefore chid him much, the Goddess that commands In games of hunting, and thus spake: "Fly'st thou, and leav'st the field To Neptune's glory, and no blows? O fool, why dost thou wield Thy idle bow? No more my ears shall hear thee vaunt in skies Dares to meet Neptune, but I'll tell thy coward's tongue it lies." He answer'd nothing; yet Jove's wife could put on no such reins, But spake thus loosely: "How dar'st thou, dog, whom no fear contains, Encounter me? 'Twill prove a match of hard conditión. Though the great Lady of the bow and Jove hath set thee down For lion of thy sex, with gift to slaughter any dame Thy proud will envies; yet some dames will prove th' had'st better tame Wild lions upon hills than them. But if this question rests Yet under judgment in thy thoughts, and that thy mind contests, I'll make thee know it." Suddenly with her left hand she catch'd Both Cynthia's palms, lock'd fingers fast, and with her right she snatch'd From her fair shoulders her gilt bow, and, laughing, laid it on About her ears, and ev'ry way her turnings seiz'd upon, Till all her arrows scatter'd out, her quiver emptied quite. And as a dove, that, flying a hawk, takes to some rock her flight, And in his hollow breasts sits safe, her fate not yet to die; So fled she mourning, and her bow left there. Then Mercury His opposite thus undertook: "Latona, at no hand Will I bide combat. 'Tis a work right dangerous to stand At diff'rence with the wives of Jove. Go, therefore, freely vaunt Amongst the Deities, th' hast subdu'd, and made thy combatant Yield with plain pow'r." She answer'd not, but gather'd up the bow And shafts fall'n from her daughter's side, retiring. Up did go Diana to Jove's starry hall, her incorrupted veil Trembling about her so she shook. Phœbus, lest Troy should fail Before her fate, flew to her walls; the other Deities flew Up to Olympus, some enrag'd, some glad. Achilles slew Both men and horse of Ilion. And as a city fir'd Casts up a heat that purples heav'n, clamours and shrieks expir'd In ev'ry corner, toil to all, to many misery, Which fire th' incenséd Gods let fall; Achilles so let fly Rage on the Trojans, toils and shrieks as much by him impos'd. Old Priam in his sacred tow'r stood, and the flight disclos'd Of his forc'd people, all in rout, and not a stroke return'd By fled resistance. His eyes saw in what a fury burn'd The son of Peleüs, and down went weeping from the tow'r To all the port-guards, and their chiefs told of his flying pow'r. Commanding th' op'ning of the ports, but not to let their hands Stir from them, for Æacides would pour in with his bands. "Destruction comes, O shut them strait, when we are in," he pray'd, "For not our walls I fear will check this violent man." This said, Off lifted they the bars, the ports hal'd open, and they gave Safety her entry with the host; which yet they could not save, Had not Apollo sallied out, and strook destructión, Brought by Achilles in their necks, back; when they right upon The ports bore all, dry, dusty, spent; and on their shoulders rode Rabid Achilles with his lance, still glory being the goad That prick'd his fury. Then the Greeks high-ported Ilion Had seiz'd, had not Apollo stirr'd Antenor's famous son, Divine Agenor, and cast in an undertaking spirit To his bold bosom, and himself stood by to strengthen it, And keep the heavy hand of death from breaking in. The God Stood by him, leaning on a beech, and cover'd his abode. With night-like darkness; yet for all the spirit he inspir'd, When that great city-razer's force his thoughts strook, he retir'd, Stood, and went on; a world of doubts still falling in his way; When, angry with himself, he said: "Why suffer I this stay In this so strong need to go on? If, like the rest, I fly, 'Tis his best weapon to give chace, being swift, and I should die Like to a coward. If I stand, I fall too. These two ways Please not my purpose; I would live. What if I suffer these Still to be routed, and, my feet affording further length, Pass all these fields of Ilion, till Ida's sylvan strength And steep heights shroud me, and at even refresh me in the flood, And turn to Ilion? O my soul? why drown'st thou in the blood Of these discourses? If this course, that talks of further flight, I give my feet, his feet more swift have more odds. Get he sight Of that pass, I pass least; for pace, and length of pace, his thighs Will stand out all men. Meet him then; my steel hath faculties Of pow'r to pierce him; his great breast but one soul holds, and that Death claims his right in, all men say; but he holds special state In Jove's high bounty; that's past man, that ev'ry way will hold, And that serves all men ev'ry way." This last heart made him bold To stand Achilles, and stirr'd up a mighty mind to blows. And as a panther, having heard the hounds' trail, doth disclose Her freckled forehead, and stares forth from out some deep-grown wood To try what strength dares her abroad; and when her fi'ry blood The hounds have kindled, no quench serves of love to live or fear, Though strook, though wounded, though quite through she feels the mortal spear, But till the man's close strength she tries, or strows earth with his dart, She puts her strength out; so it far'd with brave Agenor's heart, And till Achilles he had prov'd, no thoughts, no deeds, once stirr'd His fixéd foot. To his broad breast his round shield he preferr'd, And up his arm went with his aim, his voice out with this cry: "Thy hope is too great, Peleus' son, this day to show thine eye Troy's Ilion at thy foot. O fool! the Greeks with much more woes, More than are suffer'd yet, must buy great Ilion's overthrows. We are within her many strong, that for our parents' sakes, Our wives and children, will save Troy; and thou, though he that makes Thy name so terrible, shalt make a sacrifice to her With thine own ruins." Thus he threw, nor did his jav'lin err, But strook his foe's leg near his knee; the fervent steel did ring Against his tin greaves, and leapt back; the fire's strong-handed king Gave virtue of repulse. And then Æacides assail'd Divine Agenor; but in vain, Apollo's pow'r prevail'd, And rapt Agenor from his reach; whom quietly he plac'd Without the skirmish, casting mists to save from being chac'd His tender'd person; and (he gone) to give his soldiers 'scape, The Deity turn'd Achilles still, by putting on the shape Of him he thirsted; evermore he fed his eye, and fled, And he with all his knees pursu'd. So cunningly he led, That still he would be near his reach, to draw his rage, with hope, Far from the conflict; to the flood maintaining still the scope Of his attraction. In mean time, the other frighted pow'rs Came to the city, comforted; when Troy and all her tow'rs Strooted with fillers; none would stand to see who stay'd without, Who scap'd, and who came short. The ports cleft to receive the rout That pour'd itself in. Ev'ry man was for himself. Most fleet Most fortunate. Whoever scap'd, his head might thank his feet. THE END OF THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK.

[1] The word is κεραίζων, which they translate cædens, but properly signifies dissipans, ut boves infestis cornibus.

[2] The rack or motion of the clouds, for the clouds.

[3] Note the continued height and admired expression of Achilles' glory. THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

All Trojans hous'd but Hector, only he Keeps field, and undergoes th' extremity. Æacides assaulting, Hector flies, Minerva stays him, he resists, and dies. Achilles to his chariot doth enforce, And to the naval station drags his corse. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Hector, in Chi, to death is done, By pow'r of Peleus' angry son.

Thus, chas'd like hinds, the Ilians took time to drink and eat, And to refresh them, getting off the mingled dust and sweat, And good strong rampires on instead. The Greeks then cast their shields Aloft their shoulders; and now Fate their near invasion yields Of those tough walls, her deadly hand compelling Hector's stay Before Troy at the Scæan ports. Achilles still made way At Phœbus, who his bright head turn'd, and ask'd: "Why, Peleus' son, Pursu'st thou, being a man, a God? Thy rage hath never done. Acknowledge not thine eyes my state? Esteems thy mind no more Thy honour in the chase of Troy, but puts my chase before Their utter conquest? They are all now hous'd in Ilion, While thou hunt'st me. What wishest thou? My blood will never run On thy proud jav'lin." "It is thou," replied Æacides, "That putt'st dishonour thus on me, thou worst of Deities. Thou turn'dst me from the walls, whose ports had never entertain'd Numbers now enter'd, over whom thy saving hand hath reign'd, And robb'd my honour; and all is, since all thy actions stand Past fear of reck'ning. But held I the measure in my hand, It should afford thee dear-bought scapes." Thus with elated spirits, Steed-like, that at Olympus' games wears garlands for his merits, And rattles home his chariot, extending all his pride, Achilles so parts with the God. When aged Priam spied The great Greek come, spher'd round with beams and showing as if the star, Surnam'd Orion's hound, that springs in autumn, and sends far His radiance through a world of stars, of all whose beams his own Cast greatest splendour, the midnight that renders them most shown Then being their foil; and on their points, cure-passing fevers then Come shaking down into the joints of miserable men; As this were fall'n to earth, and shot along the field his rays Now towards Priam, when he saw in great Æacides, Out flew his tender voice in shrieks, and with rais'd hands he smit His rev'rend head, then up to heav'n he cast them, showing it What plagues it sent him, down again then threw them to his son, To make him shun them. He now stood without steep Ilion, Thirsting the combat; and to him thus miserably cried The kind old king: "O Hector, fly this man, this homicide, That straight will stroy thee. He's too strong, and would to heav'n he were As strong in heav'n's love as in mine! Vultures and dogs should tear His prostrate carcass, all my woes quench'd with his bloody spirits. He has robb'd me of many sons and worthy, and their merits Sold to far islands. Two of them, ah me! I miss but now, They are not enter'd, nor stay here. Laothoe, O 'twas thou, O queen of women, from whose womb they breath'd. O did the tents Detain them only, brass and gold would purchase safe events To their sad durance; 'tis within; old Altes, young in fame, Gave plenty for his daughter's dow'r; but if they fed the flame Of this man's fury, woe is me, woe to my wretched queen! But in our state's woe their two deaths will nought at all be seen, So thy life quit them. Take the town, retire, dear son, and save Troy's husbands and her wives, nor give thine own life to the grave For this man's glory. Pity me, me, wretch, so long alive, Whom in the door of age Jove keeps: that so he may deprive My being, in fortune's utmost curse, to see the blackest thread Of this life's mis'ries, my sons slain, my daughters ravishéd, Their resting chambers sack'd, their babes, torn from them, on their knees Pleading for mercy, themselves dragg'd to Grecian slaveries, And all this drawn through my red eyes. Then last of all kneel I, Alone, all helpless at my gates, before my enemy, That ruthless gives me to my dogs, all the deformity Of age discover'd; and all this thy death, sought wilfully, Will pour on me. A fair young man at all parts it beseems, Being bravely slain, to lie all gash'd, and wear the worst extremes Of war's most cruelty; no wound, of whatsoever ruth, But is his ornament; but I, a man so far from youth, White head, white-bearded, wrinkled, pin'd, all shames must show the eye. Live, prevent this then, this most shame of all man's misery." Thus wept the old king, and tore off his white hair; yet all these Retir'd not Hector. Hecuba then fell upon her knees, Stripp'd nak'd her bosom, show'd her breasts, and bad him rev'rence them, And pity her. If ever she had quieted his exclaim, He would cease hers, and take the town, not tempting the rude field When all had left it: "Think," said she, 'I gave thee life to yield My life recomfort; thy rich wife shall have no rites of thee, Nor do thee rites; our tears shall pay thy corse no obsequy, Being ravish'd from us, Grecian dogs nourish'd with what I nurs'd." Thus wept both these, and to his ruth propos'd the utmost worst Of what could chance them; yet he stay'd. And now drew deadly near Mighty Achilles; yet he still kept deadly station there. Look how a dragon, when she sees a traveller bent upon Her breeding den, her bosom fed with full contagión, Gathers her forces, sits him firm, and at his nearest pace Wraps all her cavern in her folds, and thrusts a horrid face Out at his entry; Hector so, with unextinguish'd spirit, Stood great Achilles, stirr'd no foot, but at the prominent turret Bent to his bright shield, and resolv'd to bear fall'n heav'n on it. Yet all this resolute abode did not so truly fit His free election; but he felt a much more galling spur To the performance, with conceit of what he should incur Ent'ring, like others, for this cause; to which he thus gave way: "O me, if I shall take the town, Polydamas will lay This flight and all this death on me; who counsell'd me to lead My pow'rs to Troy this last black night, when so I saw make head Incens'd Achilles. I yet stay'd, though, past all doubt, that course Had much more profited than mine; which; being by so much worse As comes to all our flight and death, my folly now I fear Hath bred this scandal, all our town now burns my ominous ear With whisp'ring: 'Hector's self-conceit hath cast away his host.' And, this true, this extremity that I rely on most Is best for me: stay, and retire with this man's life; or die Here for our city with renown, since all else fled but I. And yet one way cuts both these ways: What if I hang my shield My helm and lance here on these walls, and meet in humble field Renown'd Achilles, off'ring him Helen and all the wealth, Whatever in his hollow keels bore Alexander's stealth For both th' Atrides? For the rest, whatever is possess'd In all this city, known or hid, by oath shall be confess'd Of all our citizens; of which one half the Greeks shall have, One half themselves. But why, lov'd soul, would these suggestions save Thy state still in me? I'll not sue; nor would he grant, but I, Mine arms cast off, should be assur'd a woman's death to die. To men of oak and rock, no words; virgins and youths talk thus, Virgins and youths that love and woo; there's other war with us; What blows and conflicts urge, we cry, hates and defiances, And, with the garlands these trees bear, try which hand Jove will bless." These thoughts employ'd his stay; and now Achilles comes, now near His Mars-like presence terribly came brandishing his spear, His right arm shook it, his bright arms like day came glitt'ring on, Like fire-light, or the light of heav'n shot from the rising sun, This sight outwrought discourse, cold fear shook Hector from his stand; No more stay now; all ports were left; he fled in fear the hand Of that Fear-Master; who, hawk-like, air's swiftest passenger, That holds a tim'rous dove in chase, and with command doth bear His fi'ry onset, the dove hastes, the hawk comes whizzing on, This way and that he turns and winds, and cuffs the pigeón, And, till he truss it, his great spirit lays hot charge on his wing; So urg'd Achilles Hector's flight; so still fear's point did sting His troubled spirit, his knees wrought hard, along the wall he flew, In that fair chariot-way that runs, beneath the tow'r of view, And Troy's wild fig-tree, till they reach'd where those two mother-springs Of deep Scamander pour'd abroad their silver murmurings; One warm and casts out fumes as fire; the other cold as snow, Or hail dissolv'd. And when the sun made ardent summer glow, There water's concrete crystal shin'd; near which were cisterns made, All pav'd and clear, where Trojan wives and their fair daughters had Laundry for their fine linen weeds, in times of cleanly peace, Before the Grecians brought their siege. These captains noted these, One flying, th' other in pursuit; a strong man flew before, A stronger follow'd him by far, and close up to him bore; Both did their best, for neither now ran for a sacrifice, Or for the sacrificer's hide, our runners' usual prize; These ran for tame-horse Hector's soul. And as two running steeds, Back'd in some set race for a game, that tries their swiftest speeds, (A tripod, or a woman, giv'n for some man's funerals) Such speed made these men, and on foot ran thrice about the walls. [1] The Gods beheld them, all much mov'd; and Jove said: "O ill sight! A man I love much, I see forc'd in most unworthy flight About great Ilion. My heart grieves; he paid so many vows, With thighs of sacrificéd beeves, both on the lofty brows Of Ida, and in Ilion's height. Consult we, shall we free His life from death, or give it now t' Achilles' victory?" Minerva answer'd: "Alter Fate? One long since mark'd for death? Now take from death? Do thou; but know, he still shall run beneath Our other censures." "Be it then," replied the Thunderer, "My lov'd Tritonia, at thy will; in this I will prefer Thy free intention, work it all." Then stoop'd She from the sky To this great combat. Peleus' son pursu'd incessantly Still-flying Hector. As a hound that having rous'd a hart, Although he tappish ne'er so oft, and ev'ry shrubby part Attempts for strength, and trembles in, the hound doth still pursue So close that not a foot he fails, but hunts it still at view; So plied Achilles Hector's steps; as oft as he assay'd The Dardan ports and tow'rs for strength (to fetch from thence some aid With wingéd shafts) so oft forc'd he amends of pace, and stept 'Twixt him and all his hopes, and still upon the field he kept His utmost turnings to the town. And yet, as in a dream, One thinks he gives another chase, when such a fain'd extreme Possesseth both, that he in chase the chaser cannot fly, Nor can the chaser get to hand his flying enemy; [2] So nor Achilles' chase could reach the flight of Hector's pace, Nor Hector's flight enlarge itself of swift Achilles' chace. But how chanc'd this? How, all this time, could Hector bear the knees Of fierce Achilles with his own, and keep off destinies, If Phœbus, for his last and best, through all that course had fail'd To add his succours to his nerves, and, as his foe assail'd Near and within him, fed his 'scape? Achilles yet well knew His knees would fetch him, and gave signs to some friends (making shew Of shooting at him) to forbear, lest they detracted so From his full glory in first wounds, and in the overthrow Make his hand last. But when they reach'd the fourth time the two founts, Then Jove his golden scales weigh'd up, and took the last accounts Of fate for Hector, putting in for him and Peleus' son Two fates of bitter death; of which high heav'n receiv'd the one, The other hell; so low declin'd the light of Hector's life. Then Phœbus left him, when war's Queen came to resolve the strife In th' other's knowledge: "Now," said she, "Jove-lov'd Æacides, I hope at last to make renown perform a brave access To all the Grecians; we shall now lay low this champion's height, Though never so insatiate was his great heart of fight. Nor must he 'scape our púrsuit still, though at the feet of Jove Apollo bows into a sphere, soliciting more love To his most favour'd. Breathe thee then, stand firm, myself will haste And hearten Hector to change blows." She went, and he stood fast, Lean'd on his lance, and much was joy'd that single strokes should try This fadging conflict. Then came close the changéd Deity To Hector, like Deiphobus in shape and voice, and said: "O brother, thou art too much urg'd to be thus combated About our own walls; let us stand, and force to a retreat Th' insulting chaser." Hector joy'd at this so kind deceit, And said: "O good Deiphobus, thy love was most before (Of all my brothers) dear to me, but now exceeding more It costs me honour, that, thus urg'd, thou com'st to part the charge Of my last fortunes; other friends keep town, and leave at large My rack'd endeavours." She replied: "Good brother, 'tis most true, One after other, king and queen, and all our friends, did sue, Ev'n on their knees, to stay me there, such tremblings shake them all With this man's terror; but my mind so griev'd to see our wall Girt with thy chases, that to death I long'd to urge thy stay. Come, fight we, thirsty of his blood; no more let's fear to lay Cost on our lances, but approve, if, bloodied with our spoils, He can bear glory to their fleet, or shut up all their toils In his one suff'rance on thy lance." With this deceit she led, And, both come near, thus Hector spake: "Thrice have I compasséd This great town, Peleus' son, in flight, with aversation That out of fate put off my steps; but now all flight is flown, The short course set up, death or life. Our resolutions yet Must shun all rudeness, and the Gods before our valour set For use of victory; and they being worthiest witnesses Of all vows, since they keep vows best, before their Deities Let vows of fit respect pass both, when conquest hath bestow'd Her wreath on either. Here I vow no fury shall be show'd, That is not manly, on thy corse, but, having spoil'd thy arms, Resign thy person; which swear thou." These fair and temp'rate terms Far fled Achilles; his brows bent, and out flew this reply: "Hector, thou only pestilence in all mortality To my sere spirits, never set the point 'twixt thee and me Any conditions; but as far as men and lions fly All terms of cov'nant, lambs and wolves; in so far opposite state, Impossible for love t' atone, stand we, till our souls satiate The God of soldiers. Do not dream that our disjunction can Endure condition. Therefore now, all worth that fits a man Call to thee, all particular parts that fit a soldier, And they all this include (besides the skill and spirit of war) Hunger for slaughter, and a hate that eats thy heart to eat Thy foe's heart. This stirs, this supplies in death the killing heat; And all this need'st thou. No more flight. Pallas Athenia Willll quickly cast thee to my lance. Now, now together draw All griefs for vengeance, both in me, and all my friends late dead That bled thee, raging with thy lance." This said, he brandishéd His long lance, and away it sung; which Hector giving view, Stoop'd low, stood firm, foreseeing it best, and quite it overflew, Fast'ning on earth. Athenia drew it, and gave her friend, Unseen of Hector. Hector then thus spake: "Thou want'st thy end, God-like Achilles. Now I see, thou hast not learn'd my fate Of Jove at all, as thy high words would bravely intimate. Much tongue affects thee. Cunning words well serve thee to prepare Thy blows with threats, that mine might faint with want of spirit to dare. But my back never turns with breath; it was not born to bear Burthens of wounds; strike home before; drive at my breast thy spear, As mine at thine shall, and try then if heav'n's will favour thee With scape of my lance. O would Jove would take it after me, And make thy bosom take it all! An easy end would crown Our difficult wars, were thy soul fled, thou most bane of our town." Thus flew his dart, touch'd at the midst of his black shield, and flew A huge way from it; but his heart wrath enter'd with the view Of that hard scape, and heavy thoughts strook through him, when he spied His brother vanish'd, and no lance beside left; out he cried: "Deiphobus, another lance." Lance nor Deiphobus Stood near his call. And then his mind saw all things ominous, And thus suggested: "Woe is me, the Gods have call'd, and I Must meet death here! Deiphobus I well hop'd had been by With his white shield; but our strong walls shield him, and this deceit Flows from Minerva. Now, O now, ill death comes, no more flight, No more recovery. O Jove, this hath been otherwise; Thy bright son and thyself have set the Greeks a greater prize Of Hector's blood than now; of which, ev'n jealous, you had care, But Fate now conquers; I am hers; and yet not she shall share In my renown; that life is left to every noble spirit, And that some great deed shall beget that all lives shall inherit." Thus, forth his sword flew, sharp and broad, and bore a deadly weight, With which he rush'd in. And look how an eagle from her height Stoops to the rapture of a lamb, or cuffs a tim'rous hare; So fell in Hector; and at him Achilles; his mind's fare Was fierce and mighty, his shield cast a sun-like radiance, Helm nodded, and his four plumes shook, and, when he rais'd his lance, Up Hesp'rus rose 'mongst th' evening stars. His bright and sparkling eyes Look'd through the body of his foe, and sought through all that prise The next way to his thirsted life. Of all ways, only one Appear'd to him, and that was where th' unequal winding bone, That joins the shoulders and the neck, had place, and where there lay The speeding way to death; and there his quick eye could display The place it sought, e'en through those arms his friend Patroclus wore When Hector slew him. There he aim'd, and there his jav'lin tore Stern passage quite through Hector's neck; yet miss'd it so his throat It gave him pow'r to change some words; but down to earth it got His fainting body. Then triumph'd divine Æacides: "Hector," said he, "thy heart suppos'd that in my friend's decease Thy life was safe; my absent arm not car'd for. Fool! he left One at the fleet that better'd him, and he it is that reft Thy strong knees thus; and now the dogs and fowls in foulest use Shall tear thee up, thy corse expos'd to all the Greeks' abuse." He, fainting, said: "Let me implore, ev'n by thy knees and soul, And thy great parents, do not see a cruelty so foul Inflicted on me. Brass and gold receive at any rate, And quit my person, that the peers and ladies of our state May tomb it, and to sacred fire turn thy profane decrees." "Dog," he replied, "urge not my ruth, by parents, soul, nor knees. I would to God that any rage would let me eat thee raw, Slic'd into pieces, so beyond the right of any law I taste thy merits! And, believe, it flies the force of man To rescue thy head from the dogs. Give all the gold they can, If ten or twenty times so much as friends would rate thy price Were tender'd here, with vows of more, to buy the cruelties I here have vow'd, and after that thy father with his gold Would free thyself; all that should fail to let thy mother hold Solemnities of death with thee, and do thee such a grace To mourn thy whole corse on a bed; which piecemeal I'll deface With fowls and dogs." He, dying, said: "I, knowing thee well, foresaw Thy now tried tyranny, nor hop'd for any other law, Of nature, or of nations; and that fear forc'd much more Than death my flight, which never touch'd at Hector's foot before. A soul of iron informs thee. Mark, what vengeance th' equal fates Will give me of thee for this rage, when in the Scæan gates Phœbus and Paris meet with thee." Thus death's hand clos'd his eyes, His soul flying his fair limbs to hell, mourning his destinies, To part so with his youth and strength. Thus dead, thus Thetis' son His prophecy answer'd: "Die thou now. When my short thread is spun, I'll bear it as the will of Jove." This said, his brazen spear He drew, and stuck by; then his arms, that all embruéd were, He spoil'd his shoulders of. Then all the Greeks ran in to him, To see his person, and admir'd his terror-stirring limb; Yet none stood by that gave no wound to his so goodly form; When each to other said: "O Jove, he is not in the storm He came to fleet in with his fire, he handles now more soft." "O friends," said stern Æacides, "now that the Gods have brought This man thus down, I'll freely say, he brought more bane to Greece Than all his aiders. Try we then, thus arm'd at ev'ry piece, And girding all Troy with our host, if now their hearts will leave Their city clear, her clear stay slain, and all their lives receive, Or hold yet, Hector being no more. But why use I a word Of any act but what concerns my friend? Dead, undeplor'd, Unsepulchred, he lies at fleet, unthought on! Never hour Shall make his dead state, while the quick enjoys me, and this pow'r To move these movers. Though in hell, men say, that such as die Oblivion seizeth, yet in hell in me shall Memory Hold all her forms still of my friend. Now, youths of Greece, to fleet Bear we this body, pæans sing, and all our navy greet With endless honour; we have slain Hector, the period Of all Troy's glory, to whose worth all vow'd as to a God." This said, a work not worthy him he set to; of both feet He bor'd the nerves through from the heel to th' ankle, and then knit Both to his chariot with a thong of whitleather, his head [3] Trailing the centre. Up he got to chariot, where he laid The arms repurchas'd, and scourg'd on his horse that freely flew. A whirlwind made of startled dust drave with them as they drew, With which were all his black-brown curls knotted in heaps and fil'd. And there lay Troy's late Gracious, by Jupiter exil'd To all disgrace in his own land, and by his parents seen; When, like her son's head, all with dust Troy's miserable queen Distain'd her temples, plucking off her honour'd hair, and tore Her royal garments, shrieking out. In like kind Priam bore His sacred person, like a wretch that never saw good day, Broken with outcries. About both the people prostrate lay, Held down with clamour; all the town veil'd with a cloud of tears. Ilion, with all his tops on fire, and all the massacres, Left for the Greeks, could put on looks of no more overthrow Than now fraid life. And yet the king did all their looks outshow. The wretched people could not bear his sov'reign wretchedness, Plaguing himself so, thrusting out, and praying all the press To open him the Dardan ports, that he alone might fetch His dearest son in, and (all fil'd with tumbling) did beseech Each man by name, thus: "Lov'd friends, be you content, let me, Though much ye grieve, be that poor mean to our sad remedy Now in our wishes; I will go and pray this impious man, Author of horrors, making proof if age's rev'rence can Excite his pity. His own sire is old like me; and he That got him to our griefs, perhaps, may, for my likeness, be Mean for our ruth to him. Alas, you have no cause of cares, Compar'd with me! I many sons, grac'd with their freshest years, Have lost by him, and all their deaths in slaughter of this one (Afflicted man) are doubled. This will bitterly set gone My soul to hell. O would to heav'n, could but hold him dead In these pin'd arms, then tears on tears might fall, till all were shed In common fortune! Now amaze their natural course doth stop, And pricks a mad vein." Thus he mourn'd, and with him all break ope Their store of sorrows. The poor Queen amongst the women wept Turn'd into anguish: "O my son," she cried out, "why still kept Patient of horrors is my life, when thine is vanishéd? My days thou glorifi'dst, my nights rung of some honour'd deed Done by thy virtues, joy to me, profit to all our care. All made a God of thee, and thou mad'st them all that they are, Now under fate, now dead." These two thus vented as they could There sorrow's furnace; Hector's wife not having yet been told So much as of his stay without. She in her chamber close Sat at her loom; a piece of work, grac'd with a both sides' gloss, Strew'd curiously with varied flowers, her pleasure was; her care, To heat a caldron for her lord, to bathe him turn'd from war, Of which she chief charge gave her maids. Poor dame, she little knew How much her cares lack'd of his case! But now the clamour flew Up to her turret; then she shook, her work fell from her hand, And up she started, call'd her maids, she needs must understand That ominous outcry: "Come," said she, I hear through all this cry My mother's voice shriek; to my throat my heart bounds; ecstasy Utterly alters me; some fate is near the hapless sons Of fading Priam. Would to God my words' suspicións No ear had heard yet! O I fear, and that most heartily, That, with some stratagem, the son of Peleus hath put by The wall of Ilion my lord, and, trusty of his feet, Obtain'd the chase of him alone, and now the curious heat Of his still desp'rate spirit is cool'd. It let him never keep In guard of others; before all his violent foot must step, Or his place forfeited he held." Thus fury-like she went, Two women, as she will'd, at hand; and made her quick ascent Up to the tow'r and press of men, her spirit in uproar. Round She cast her greedy eye, and saw her Hector slain, and bound T' Achilles' chariot, manlessly dragg'd to the Grecian fleet. Black night strook through her, under her trance took away her feet, And back she shrunk with such a sway that off her head-tire flew, Her coronet, caul, ribands, veil that golden Venus threw On her white shoulders that high day when warlike Hector won Her hand in nuptials in the court of king Eetion, And that great dow'r then giv'n with her. About her, on their knees, Her husband's sisters, brothers' wives, fell round, and by degrees Recover'd her. Then, when again her respirations found Free pass (her mind and spirit met) these thoughts her words did sound: "O Hector, O me, curséd dame, both born beneath one fate, Thou here, I in Cilician Thebes, where Placus doth elate His shady forehead, in the court where king Eetion, Hapless, begot unhappy me; which would he had not done, To live past thee! Thou now art div'd to Pluto's gloomy throne, Sunk through the coverts of the earth; I, in a hell of moan, Left here thy widow; one poor babe born to unhappy both, Whom thou leav'st helpless as he thee, he born to all the wroth Of woe and labour. Lands left him will others seize upon; The orphan day of all friends' helps robs ev'ry mother's son. An orphan all men suffer sad; his eyes stand still with tears; Need tries his father's friends, and fails; of all his favourers, If one the cup gives, 'tis not long, the wine he finds in it Scarce moists his palate; if he chance to gain the grace to sit, Surviving fathers' sons repine, use contumelies, strike, Bid, 'leave us, where's thy father's place?' He, weeping with dislike, Retires to me, to me, alas! Astyanax is he Born to these mis'ries; he that late fed on his father's knee, To whom all knees bow'd, daintiest fare appos'd him; and when sleep Lay on his temples, his cries still'd, his heart ev'n laid in steep Of all things precious, a soft bed, a careful nurse's arms, Took him to guardiance. But now as huge a world of harms Lies on his suff'rance; now thou want'st thy father's hand to friend, O my Astyanax; O my lord, thy hand that did defend These gates of Ilion, these long walls by thy arm measur'd still Amply and only. Yet at fleet thy naked corse must fill Vile worms, when dogs are satiate, far from thy parents' care, Far from those fun'ral ornaments that thy mind would prepare (So sudden being the chance of arms) ever expecting death. Which task, though my heart would not serve t' employ my hands beneath, I made my women yet perform. Many, and much in price, Were those integuments they wrought t' adorn thy exsequies; Which, since they fly thy use, thy corse not laid in their attire, Thy sacrifice they shall be made; these hands in mischievous fire Shall vent their vanities. And yet, being consecrate to thee, They shall be kept for citizens, and their fair wives, to see." Thus spake she weeping; all the dames endeavouring to cheer Her desert state, fearing their own, wept with her tear for tear. THE END OF THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK.

[1] Up and down the walls, it is to be understood.

[2] A most ingenious simile, used (as all our Homer besides) by Virgil, but this as a translator merely.

[3] Achilles' tyranny to Hector's person, which we lay on his fury and love to his slain friend, for whom himself living suffered so much. THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Achilles orders justs of exsequies For his Patroclus; and doth sacrifice Twelve Trojan princes, most lov'd hounds and horse, And other off'rings, to the honour'd corse. He institutes, besides, a Funeral Game; Where Diomed, for horse-race, wins the fame; For foot, Ulysses; others otherwise Strive, and obtain; and end the Exsequies. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Psi sings the rites of the decease, Ordain'd by great Æacides.

Thus mourn'd all Troy. But when at fleet and Hellespontus' shore The Greeks arriv'd, each to his ship; only the Conqueror Kept undispers'd his Myrmidons, and said, "Lov'd countrymen Disjoin not we chariots and horse, but, bearing hard our rein, With state of both, march soft and close, and mourn about the corse; 'Tis proper honour to the dead. Then take we out our horse, When with our friends' kind woe our hearts have felt delight to do A virtuous soul right, and then sup." This said, all full of woe Circled the corse; Achilles led, and thrice, about him close, All bore their goodly-coated horse. Amongst all Thetis rose, And stirr'd up a delight in grief, till all their arms with tears, And all the sands, were wet; so much they lov'd that Lord of Fears. Then to the centre fell the prince; and, putting in the breast Of his slain friend his slaught'ring hands, began to all the rest Words to their tears: "Rejoice, said he, "O my Patroclus, thou Courted by Dis now. Now I pay to thy late overthrow All my revenges vow'd before. Hector lies slaughter'd here Dragg'd at my chariot, and our dogs shall all in pieces tear His hated limbs. Twelve Trojan youths, born of their noblest strains, I took alive; and, yet enrag'd, will empty all their veins Of vital spirits, sacrific'd before thy heap of fire." This said, a work unworthy him he put upon his ire, And trampled Hector under foot at his friend's feet. The rest Disarm'd, took horse from chariot, and all to sleep address'd At his black vessel. Infinite were those that rested there. Himself yet sleeps not, now his spirits were wrought about the cheer Fit for so high a funeral. About the steel us'd then Oxen in heaps lay bellowing, preparing food for men; Bleating of sheep and goats fill'd air; numbers of white-tooth'd swine, Swimming in fat, lay singeing there. The person of the slain Was girt with slaughter. All this done, all the Greek kings convey'd Achilles to the King of men; his rage not yet allay'd For his Patroclus. Being arriv'd at Agamemnon's tent, Himself bade heralds put to fire a caldron, and present The service of it to the prince, to try if they could win His pleasure to admit their pains to cleanse the blood soak'd in About his conqu'ring hands and brows. "Not by the King of Heav'n," He swore. "The laws of friendship damn this false-heart licence giv'n To men that lose friends. Not a drop shall touch me till I put Patroclus in the fun'ral pile, before these curls be cut, His tomb erected. 'Tis the last of all care I shall take, While I consort the careful. Yet, for your entreaties' sake, And though I loathe food, I will eat. But early in the morn, Atrides, use your strict command that loads of wood be borne To our design'd place, all that fits to light home such a one As is to pass the shades of death, that fire enough set gone His person quickly from our eyes, and our diverted men May ply their business." This all ears did freely entertain, And found observance. Then they supp'd with all things fit, and all Repair'd to tents and rest. The friend the shores maritimal Sought for his bed, and found a place, fair, and upon which play'd The murmuring billows. There his limbs to rest, not sleep, he laid, Heavily sighing. Round about, silent and not too near, Stood all his Myrmidons; when straight, so over-labour'd were His goodly lineaments with chase of Hector, that, beyond His resolution not to sleep, Sleep cast his sudden bond Over his sense, and loos'd his care. Then of his wretched friend The Soul appear'd; at ev'ry part the form did comprehend His likeness; his fair eyes, his voice, his stature, ev'ry weed His person wore, it fantasied; and stood above his head, This sad speech utt'ring: "Dost thou sleep? Æacides, am I Forgotten of thee? Being alive, I found thy memory Ever respectful; but now, dead, thy dying love abates. Inter me quickly, enter me in Pluto's iron gates, For now the souls (the shades) of men, fled from this being, beat My spirit from rest, and stay my much-desir'd receipt Amongst souls plac'd beyond the flood. Now ev'ry way I err About this broad-door'd house of Dis. O help then to prefer My soul yet further! Here I mourn, but, had the fun'ral fire Consum'd my body, never more my spirit should retire From hell's low región; from thence souls never are retriev'd To talk with friends here; nor shall I; a hateful fate depriv'd My being here, that at my birth was fix'd; and to such fate Ev'n thou, O god-like man, art mark'd; the deadly Ilion gate Must entertain thy death. O then, I charge thee now, take care That our bones part not; but as life combin'd in equal fare Our loving beings, so let death. When from Opunta's tow'rs My father brought me to your roofs (since, 'gainst my will, my pow'rs Incens'd, and indiscreet at dice, slew fair Amphidamas) Then Peleus entertain'd me well; then in thy charge I was By his injunction and thy love; and therein let me still Receive protection. Both our bones, provide in thy last will, That one urn may contain; and make that vessel all of gold, That Thetis gave thee, that rich urn." This said, Sleep ceas'd to hold Achilles' temples, and the Shade thus he receiv'd: "O friend, What needed these commands? My care, before, meant to commend My bones to thine, and in that urn. Be sure thy will is done. A little stay yet, let's delight, with some full passión Of woe enough, either's affects; embrace we." Op'ning thus His greedy arms, he felt no friend; like matter vaporous The Spirit vanish'd under earth, and murmur'd in his stoop. Achilles started, both his hands he clapp'd, and lifted up, In this sort wond'ring: "O ye Gods, I see we have a soul In th' under-dwellings, and a kind of man-resembling idol; The soul's seat yet, all matter felt, stays with the carcass here. O friends, hapless Patroclus' soul did all this night appear Weeping and making moan to me, commanding ev'rything That I intended towards him; so truly figuring Himself at all parts, as was strange." This accident did turn To much more sorrow, and begat a greediness to mourn In all that heard. When mourning thus, the rosy Morn arose, And Agamemnon through the tents wak'd all, and did dispose Both men and mules for carriage of matter for the fire; Of all which work Meriones, the Cretan sov'reign's squire, Was captain; and abroad they went. Wood-cutting tools they bore Of all hands, and well-twisted cords. The mules march'd all before. Uphill, and down hill, overthwarts, and break-neck cliffs they pass'd; But, when the fountful Ida's tops they scal'd with utmost haste, All fell upon the high-hair'd oaks, and down their curléd brows, Fell bustling to the earth, and up went all the boles and boughs Bound to the mules; and back again they parted the harsh way Amongst them through the tangling shrubs, and long they thought the day Till in the plain field all arriv'd, for all the woodmen bore Logs on their necks; Meriones would have it so. The shore At last they reach'd yet, and then down their carriages they cast, And sat upon them, where the son of Peleüs had plac'd The ground for his great sepulchre, and for his friend's, in one. They rais'd a huge pile, and to arms went ev'ry Myrmidon, Charg'd by Achilles; chariots and horse were harnesséd. Fighters and charioteers got up, and they the sad march led, A cloud of infinite foot behind. In midst of all was borne Patroclus' person by his peers. On him were all heads shorn, Ev'n till they cover'd him with curls. Next to him march'd his friend Embracing his cold neck all sad, since now he was to send His dearest to his endless home. Arriv'd all where the wood Was heap'd for fun'ral, they set down. Apart Achilles stood, And when enough wood was heap'd on, he cut his golden hair, Long kept for Sperchius the flood, in hope of safe repair To Phthia by that river's pow'r; but now left hopeless thus, Enrag'd, and looking on the sea, he cried out: "Sperchius, In vain my father's piety vow'd, at my implor'd return To my lov'd country, that these curls should on thy shores be shorn, Besides a sacred hecatomb, and sacrifice beside Of fifty wethers, at those founts, where men have edified A lofty temple, and perfum'd an altar to thy name. There vow'd he all these offerings; but fate prevents thy fame, His hopes not suff'ring satisfied. And since I never more Shall see my lov'd soil, my friend's hands shall to the Stygian shore Convey these tresses." Thus he put in his friend's hands the hair; And this bred fresh desire of moan; and in that sad affair The sun had set amongst them all, had Thetis' son not spoke Thus to Atrides: "King of men, thy aid I still invoke, Since thy command all men still hear. Dismiss thy soldiers now, And let them victual; they have mourn'd sufficient; 'tis we owe The dead this honour; and with us let all the captains stay." This heard, Atrides instantly the soldiers sent away; The fun'ral officers remain'd, and heap'd on matter still, Till of an hundred foot about they made the fun'ral pile, In whose hot height they cast the corse, and then they pour'd on tears. Numbers of fat sheep, and like store of crooked-going steers, They slew before the solemn fire; stripp'd off their hides and dress'd. Of which Achilles took the fat, and cover'd the deceas'd From head to foot; and round about he made the officers pile The beasts' nak'd bodies, vessels full of honey and of oil Pour'd in them, laid upon a bier, and cast into the fire. Four goodly horse; and of nine hounds, two most in the desire Of that great prince, and trencher-fed; all fed that hungry flame. Twelve Trojan princes last stood forth, young, and of toward fame, All which (set on with wicked spirits) there strook he, there he slew, And to the iron strength of fire their noble limbs he threw. Then breath'd his last sighs, and these words: "Again rejoice, my friend, Ev'n in the joyless depth of hell. Now give I cómplete end To all my vows. Alone thy life sustain'd not violence, Twelve Trojan princes wait on thee, and labour to incense Thy glorious heap of funeral. Great Hector I'll excuse, The dogs shall eat him." These high threats perform'd not their abuse; Jove's daughter, Venus, took the guard of noble Hector's corse, And kept the dogs off, night and day applying sov'reign force Of rosy balms, that to the dogs were horrible in taste, And with which she the body fill'd. Renown'd Apollo cast A cloud from heav'n, lest with the sun the nerves and lineaments Might dry and putrefy. And now some Pow'rs denied consents To this solemnity; the Fire (for all the oily fuel It had injected) would not burn; and then the loving Cruel Studied for help, and, standing off, invok'd the two fair Winds, Zephyr and Boreas, to afford the rage of both their kinds To aid his outrage. Precious gifts his earnest zeal did vow Pour'd from' a golden bowl much wine, and pray'd them both to blow, That quickly his friend's corse might burn, and that heap's sturdy breast Embrace consumption. Iris heard. The Winds were at a feast, All in the court of Zephyrus, that boist'rous blowing Air, Gather'd together. She that wears the thousand-colour'd hair Flew thither, standing in the porch. They, seeing her, all arose, Call'd to her, ev'ry one desir'd she would awhile repose, And eat with them. She answer'd: "No, no place of seat is here; Retreat calls to the Ocean and Æthiopia, where A hecatomb is off'ring now to heav'n, and there must I Partake the feast of sacrifice. I come to signify That Thetis' son implores your aids, princes of North and West, With vows of much fair sacrifice, if each will set his breast Against his heap of funeral, and make it quickly burn; Patroclus lies there, whose decease all the Achaians mourn." She said, and parted; and out rush'd, with an unmeasur'd roar, Those two Winds, tumbling clouds in heaps, ushers to either's blore, And instantly they reach'd the sea; up flew the waves; the gale Was strong; reach'd fruitful Troy; and full upon the fire they fall. The huge heap thunder'd. All night long from his chok'd breast they blew A lib'ral flame up; and all night swift-foot Achilles threw Wine from a golden bowl on earth, and steep'd the soil in wine, Still calling on Patroclus' soul. No father could incline More to a son most dear, nor more mourn at his burnéd bones, Than did the great prince to his friend at his combustións, Still creeping near and near the heap, still sighing, weeping still. But when the Day-star look'd abroad, and promis'd from hi hill Light, which the saffron Morn made good, and sprinkled on the seas, Then languish'd the great pile, then sunk the flames, and then calm Peace Turn'd back the rough Winds to their homes; the Thracian billow rings. Their high retreat, ruffled with cuffs of their triumphant wings. Pelides then forsook the pile, and to his tired limb Choos'd place of rest; where laid, sweet sleep fell to his wish on him. When all the king's guard (waiting then, perceiving will to rise In that great session) hurried in, and op'd again his eyes With tumult of their troop, and haste. A little then he rear'd His troubled person, sitting up, and this affair referr'd To wish'd commandment of the kings: "Atrides, and the rest Of our commanders general, vouchsafe me this request Before your parting: Give in charge the quenching with black wine Of this heap's relics, ev'ry brand the yellow fire made shine; And then let search Patroclus' bones, distinguishing them well; As well ye may, they kept the midst, the rest at random fell About th' extreme part of the pile; men's bones and horses' mixed. Being found, I'll find an urn of gold t' enclose them, and betwixt The air and them two kels of fat lay on them, and to rest Commit them, till mine own bones seal our love, my soul deceas'd. The sepulchre I have not charg'd to make of too much state, But of a model something mean, that you of younger fate, When I am gone, may amplify with such a breadth and height As fits your judgments and our worths." This charge receiv'd his weight In all observance. First they quench'd with sable wine the heap, As far as it had fed the flame. The ash fell wondrous deep, In which his consorts, that his life religiously lov'd, Search'd, weeping, for his bones; which found, they conscionably prov'd His will made to Æacides, and what his love did add. A golden vessel, double fat, contain'd them. All which, clad In veils of linen, pure and rich, were solemnly convey'd T' Achilles' tent. The platform then about the pile they laid Of his fit sepulchre, and rais'd a heap of earth, and then Offer'd departure. But the prince retain'd there still his men, Employing them to fetch from fleet rich tripods for his games, Caldrons, horse, mules, broad-headed beeves, bright steel, and brighter dames, The best at horse-race he ordain'd a lady for his prize, Gen'rally praiseful, fair and young, and skill'd in housewif'ries Of all kinds fitting; and withal a trivet, that inclos'd Twenty-two measures' room, with ears. The next prize he propos'd Was (that which then had high respect) a mare of six years old, Unhandled, horséd with a mule, and ready to have foal'd. The third game was a caldron, new, fair, bright, and could for size Contain two measures. For the fourth, two talents' quantities Of finest gold. The fifth game was a great new standing bowl, To set down both ways. These brought in, Achilles then stood up, And said: "Atrides and my lords, chief horsemen of our host, These games expect ye. If myself should interpose my most For our horse-race, I make no doubt that I should take again These gifts propos'd. Ye all know well, of how divine a strain My horse are, and how eminent. Of Neptune's gift they are To Peleus, and of his to me. Myself then will not share In gifts giv'n others, nor my steeds breathe any spirit to shake Their airy pasterns; so they mourn for their kind guider's sake, Late lost; that us'd with humorous oil to slick their lofty manes, Clear water having cleans'd them first; and, his bane being their banes, Those lofty manes now strew the earth, their heads held shaken down. You then that trust in chariots, and hope with horse to crown Your conqu'ring temples, gird yourselves; now, fame and prize stretch for, All that have spirits." This fir'd all. The first competitor Was king Eumelus, whom the art of horsemanship did grace, Son to Admetus. Next to him rose Diomed to the race, That under reins rul'd Trojan horse, of late forc'd from the son Of lord Anchises, himself freed of near confusion By Phœbus. Next to him set forth the yellow-headed king Of Lacedæmon, Jove's high seed; and, in his managing, Podargus and swift Æthe trod, steeds to the King of men; Æthe giv'n by Echepolus, the Anchisiaden, As bribe to free him from the war resolv'd for Ilion; So Delicacy feasted him, whom Jove bestow'd upon A mighty wealth; his dwelling was in broad Sicyone. Old Nestor's son, Antilochus, was fourth for chivalry In this contention; his fair horse were of the Pylian breed, And his old father, coming near, inform'd him, for good speed, With good race notes, in which himself could good instruction give: "Antilochus, though young thou art, yet thy grave virtues live Belov'd of Neptune and of Jove. Their spirits have taught thee all The art of horsemanship, for which the less thy merits fall In need of doctrine. Well thy skill can wield a chariot In all fit turnings, yet thy horse their slow feet handle not As fits thy manage, which makes me cast doubts of thy success. I well know all these are not seen in art of this address More than thyself; their horses yet superior are to thine For their parts, thine want speed to make discharge of a design To please an artist. But go on, show but thy art and heart At all points, and set them against their horses' heart and art; Good judges will not see thee lose. A carpenter's desert Stands more in cunning than in pow'r. A pilot doth avert His vessel from the rock, and wrack, tost with the churlish winds, By skill, not strength. So sorts it here; one charioteer that finds Want of another's pow'r in horse must in his own skill set An overplus of that to that; and so the proof will get Skill, that still rests within a man, more grace; than pow'r without. He that in horse and chariots trusts, is often hurl'd about This way and that, unhandsomely, all-heaven wide of his end. He, better skill'd, that rules worse horse, will all observance bend Right on the scope still of a race, bear near, know ever when to rein, When give rein, as his foe before, well noted in his vein Of manage and his steeds' estate, presents occasion. I'll give thee instance now, as plain as if thou saw'st it done: Here stands a dry stub of some tree, a cubit from the ground; [1] (Suppose the stub of oak or larch, for either are so sound That neither rots with wet) two stones, white (mark you), white for view, Parted on either side the stub; and these lay where they drew The way into a strait; the race betwixt both lying clear. Imagine them some monument of one long since tomb'd there, Or that they had been lists of race for men of former years, As now the lists Achilles sets may serve for charioteers Many years hence. When near to these the race grows, then as right Drive on them as thy eye can judge; then lay thy bridle's weight Most of thy left side; thy right horse then switching, all thy throat, Spent in encouragements, give him, and all the rein let float About his shoulders; thy near horse will yet be he that gave Thy skill the prize, and him rein so his head may touch the nave Of thy left wheel; but then take care thou runn'st not on the stone (With wrack of horse and chariot) which so thou bear'st upon. Shipwrack within the hav'n avoid, by all means; that will breed Others delight, and thee a shame. Be wise then, and take heed, My lov'd son, get but to be first at turning in the course, He lives not that can cote thee then, not if he back'd the horse The Gods bred, and Adrastus ow'd; divine Arion's speed Could not outpace thee, or the horse Laomedon did breed, Whose race is famous, and fed here." Thus sat Neleides, When all that could be said was said. And then Meriones; [2] Set fifthly forth his fair-man'd horse. All leap'd to chariot; And ev'ry man then for the start cast in his proper lot. Achilles drew; Antilochus the lot set foremost forth; Eumelus next; Atrides third; Meriones the fourth; The fifth and last was Diomed, far first in excellence. All stood in order, and the lists Achilles fix'd far thence In plain field; and a seat ordain'd fast by, in which he set Renownéd Phœnix, that in grace of Peleus was so great, To see the race, and give a truth of all their passages. All start together, scourg'd, and cried, and gave their business Study and order. Through the field they held a wingéd pace. Beneath the bosom of their steeds a dust so dimm'd the race, It stood above their heads in clouds, or like to storms amaz'd. Manes flew like ensigns with the wind. The chariots sometime graz'd, And sometimes jump'd up to the air; yet still sat fast the men, Their spirits ev'n panting in their breasts with fervour to obtain. But when they turn'd to fleet again, then all men's skills were tried, Then stretch'd the pasterns of their steeds. Eumelus' horse in pride Still bore their sov'reign. After them came Diomed's coursers close, Still apt to leap their chariot, and ready to repose Upon the shoulders of their king their heads; his back ev'n burned With fire that from their nostrils flew; and then their lord had turn'd The race for him, or giv'n it doubt, if Phœbus had not smit The scourge out of his hands, and tears of helpless wrath with it From forth his eyes, to see his horse for want of scourge made slow, And th' others, by Apollo's help, with much more swiftness go. Apollo's spite Pallas discern'd, and flew to Tydeus' son, His scourge reach'd, and his horse made fresh. Then took her angry run At king Eumelus, brake his gears; his mares on both sides flew, His draught-tree fell to earth, and him the toss'd-up chariot threw Down to the earth, his elbows torn, his forehead, all his face Strook at the centre, his speech lost. And then the turnéd race Fell to Tydides; before all his conqu'ring horse he drave, And first he glitter'd in the race; divine Athenia gave Strength to his horse, and fame to him. Next him drave Sparta's king. Antilochus his father's horse then urg'd with all his sting Of scourge and voice: "Run low," said he, "stretch out your limbs, and fly; With Diomed's horse I bid not strive, nor with himself strive I; Athenia wings his horse, and him renowns; Atrides' steeds Are they ye must not fail but reach; and soon, lest soon succeeds The blot of all your fames, to yield in swiftness to a mare, To female Æthe. What's the cause, ye best that ever were, That thus ye fail us? Be assur'd, that Nestor's love ye lose For ever, if ye fail his son. Through both your both sides goes His hot steel, if ye suffer me to bring the last prize home. Haste, overtake them instantly; we needs must overcome. This harsh way next us, this my mind will take, this I despise For peril, this I'll creep through. Hard the way to honour lies, And that take I, and that shall yield." His horse by all this knew He was not pleas'd, and fear'd his voice, and for a while they flew. But straight more clear appear'd the strait Antilochus foresaw, It was a gasp the earth gave, forc'd by humours cold and raw, Pour'd out of Winter's wat'ry breast, met there, and cleaving deep All that near passage to the lists. This Nestor's son would keep, And left the roadway, being about. Atrides fear'd, and cried: [3] "Antilochus, thy course is mad; contain thy horse, we ride A way most dangerous; turn head, betime take larger field, We shall be splitted." Nestor's son with much more scourge impell'd His horse for this, as if not heard; and got as far before As any youth can cast a quoit. Atrides would no more; He back again, for fear himself, his goodly chariot, And horse together, strew'd the dust, in being so dusty hot Of thirsted conquest. But he chid, at parting, passing sore: "Antilochus," said he, "a worse than thee earth never bore. Farewell, we never thought thee wise that were wise; but not so Without oaths shall the wreath, be sure, crown thy mad temples. Go." Yet he bethought him, and went too, thus stirring up his steeds: "Leave me not last thus, nor stand vex'd. Let these fail in the speeds Of feet and knees, not you. Shall these, these old jades, past the flow'r Of youth that you have, pass you?" This the horse fear'd, and more pow'r Put to their knees, straight getting ground. Both flew, and so the rest. All came in smokes, like spirits. The Greeks, set, to see who did best, Without the race, aloft, now made a new discovery, Other than that they made at first. Idomenëus' eye Distinguish'd all, he knew the voice of Diomed, seeing a horse Of special mark, of colour bay, and was the first in course, His forehead putting forth a star, round like the moon, and white. Up stood the Cretan, utt'ring this: "Is it alone my sight, Princes and captains, that discerns another lead the race With other horse than led of late? Eumelus made most pace With his fleet mares, and he began the flexure as we thought; Now all the field I search, and find nowhere his view; hath nought Befall'n amiss to him? Perhaps he hath not with success Perform'd his flexure; his reins lost, or seat, or with the tress His chariot fail'd him, and his mares have outray'd with affright. Stand up, try you your eyes, for mine hold with the second sight; This seems to me th' Ætolian king, the Tydean Diomed." "To you it seems so," rusticly Ajax Oïleus said, "Your words are suited to your eyes. Those mares lead still that led, Eumelus owes them, and he still holds reins and place that did, Not fall'n as you hop'd. You must prate before us all, though last In judgment of all. Y' are too old, your tongue goes still too fast, You must not talk so. Here are those that better thee, and look For first place in the censure." This Idomenëus took In much disdain, and thus replied: "Thou best in speeches worst, Barbarous-languag'd, others here might have reprov'd me first, Not thou, unfitt'st of all. I bold a tripod with thee here, Or caldron, and our Gen'ral make our equal arbiter, Those horse are first, that when thou pay'st thou then may'st know." This fir'd Oïliades more, and more than words this quarrel had inspir'd, Had not Achilles rose, and us'd this pacifying speech: "No more. Away with words in war. It toucheth both with breach Of that which fits ye. Your deserts should others reprehend That give such foul terms. Sit ye still, the men themselves will end The strife betwixt you instantly, and either's own load bear On his own shoulders. Then to both the first horse will appear, And which is second." These words us'd, Tydides was at hand, His horse ran high, glanc'd on the way, and up they toss'd the sand Thick on their coachman; on their pace their chariot deck'd with gold Swiftly attended, no wheel seen, nor wheel's print in the mould. Impress'd behind them. These horse flew a flight, not ran a race. Arriv'd, amids the lists they stood, sweat trickling down apace Their high manes and their prominent breasts; and down jumped Diomed, Laid up his scourge aloft the seat, and straight his prize was led Home to his tent. Rough Sthenelus laid quick hand on the dame, And handled trivet, and sent both home by his men. Next came Antilochus, that won with wiles, not swiftness of his horse, Precedence of the gold-lock'd king, who yet maintained the course So close, that not the king's own horse gat more before the wheel Of his rich chariot, that might still the insecution feel With the extreme hairs of his tail (and that sufficient close Held to his leader, no great space it let him interpose Consider'd in so great a field) that Nestor's wily son Gat of the king, now at his heels, though at the breach he won A quoit's cast of him, which the king again at th' instant gain'd. Æthe Agamemnonides, that was so richly man'd, Gat strength still as she spent; which words her worth had prov'd with deeds, Had more ground been allow'd the race; and coted far his steeds, No question leaving for the prize. And now Meriones A dart's cast came behind the king, his horse of speed much less, Himself less skill'd t' importune them, and give a chariot wing. Admetus' son was last, whose plight Achilles pitying Thus spake: "Best man comes last; yet right must see his prize not least, The second his deserts must bear, and Diomed the best." He said, and all allow'd; and sure the mare had been his own, Had not Antilochus stood forth, and in his answer shown Good reason for his interest: "Achilles," he replied, "I should be angry with you much to see this ratified. Ought you to take from me my right, because his horse had wrong, Himself being good? He should have us'd, as good men do, his tongue In pray'r to Their pow'rs that bless good, not trusting to his own, Not to have been in this good last. His chariot overthrown O'erthrew not me. Who's last? Who's first? Men's goodness without these Is not our question. If his good you pity yet, and please Princely to grace it, your tents hold a goodly deal of gold, Brass, horse, sheep, women; out of these your bounty may be bold, To take a much more worthy prize than my poor merit seeks, And give it here before my face, and all these, that the Greeks May glorify your lib'ral hands. This prize I will not yield. Who bears this, whatsoever man, he bears a triéd field. His hand and mine must change some blows." Achilles laugh'd, and said: "If thy will be, Antilochus, I'll see Eumelus paid Out of my tents. I'll give him th' arms, which late I conquer'd in Asteropæus, forg'd of brass, and wav'd about with tin; 'Twill be a present worthy him." This said, Automedon He sent for them. He went and brought; and to Admetus' son Achilles gave them. He, well pleas'd, receiv'd them. Then arose Wrong'd Menelaus, much incens'd with young Antilochus. He bent to speak, a herald took his sceptre and gave charge Of silence to the other Greeks; then did the king enlarge The spleen he prison'd, utt'ring this: "Antilochus, till now [4] We grant thee wise, but in this act what wisdom utter'st thou? Thou hast disgrac'd my virtue, wrong'd my horse, preferring thine Much their inferiors. But go to, Princes, nor his nor mine Judge of with favour, him nor me; lest any Grecian use This scandal: 'Menelaus won, with Nestor's son's abuse, The prize in question, his horse worst; himself yet wan the best By pow'r and greatness.' Yet, because I would not thus contest To make parts taking, I'll be judge; and I suppose none here Will blame my judgment, I'll do right: Antilochus, come near, Come, noble gentleman, 'tis your place, swear by th' earth-circling God, (Standing before your chariot and horse, and that self rod With which you scourg'd them in your hand) if both with will and wile You did not cross my chariot." He thus did reconcile Grace with his disgrace, and with wit restor'd him to his wit: "Now crave I patience. O king, whatever was unfit; [5] Ascribe to much more youth in me than you. You, more in age And more in excellence, know well, the outrays that engage All young men's actions; sharper wits, but duller wisdoms, still From us flow than from you; for which, curb, with your wisdom, will. The prize I thought mine, I yield yours, and, if you please, a prize Of greater value to my tent I'll send for, and suffice Your will at full, and instantly; for, in this point of time, I rather wish to be enjoin'd your favour's top to climb, Than to be falling all my time from height of such a grace. [6] O Jove-lov'd king, and of the Gods receive a curse in place." This said, he fetch'd his prize to him; and it rejoic'd him so, That as corn-ears shine with the dew, yet having time to grow, When fields set all their bristles up; in such a ruff wert thou. [7] O Menelaus, answ'ring thus: "Antilochus, I now, Though I were angry, yield to thee, because I see th' hadst wit, When I thought not; thy youth hath got the mast'ry of thy spirit. And yet, for all this, 'tis more safe not to abuse at all Great men, than, vent'ring, trust to wit to take up what may fall; For no man in our host beside had eas'ly calm'd my spleen, Stirr'd with like tempest. But thyself hast a sustainer been Of much affliction in my cause; so thy good father too, And so thy brother; at thy suit, I therefore let all go, Give thee the game here, though mine own, that all these may discern King Menelaus bears a mind at no part proud or stern." The king thus calm'd, Antilochus receiv'd, and gave the steed To lov'd Noemon to lead thence; and then receiv'd beside The caldron. Next, Meriones, for fourth game, was to have Two talents' gold. The fifth, unwon, renown'd Achilles gave To rev'rend Nestor, being a bowl to set on either end; Which through the press he carried him: "Receive," said he, "old friend, This gift as fun'ral monument of my dear friend deceas'd, Whom never you must see again. I make it his bequest To you as, without any strife, obtaining it from all. Your shoulders must not undergo the churlish whoorlbat's fall, Wrastling is past you, strife in darts, the foot's celerity; Harsh age in his years fetters you, and honour sets you free." Thus gave he it. He took, and joy'd; but, ere he thank'd, he said: "Now sure, my honourable son, in all points thou hast play'd The comely orator; no more must I contend with nerves; Feet fail, and hands; arms want that strength, that this and that swing serves Under your shoulders. Would to heav'n, I were so young chinn'd now, And strength threw such a many of bones, to celebrate this show, As when the Epians brought to fire, actively honouring thus, King Amaryncea's funerals in fair Buprasius! His sons put prizes down for him; where not a man match'd me Of all the Epians, or the sons of great-soul'd Ætolie, No, nor the Pylians themselves, my countrymen. I beat Great Clytomedeus, Enops' son, at buffets. At the feat Of wrastling, I laid under me one that against me rose, Ancæus, call'd Pleuronius. I made Iphiclus lose The foot-game to me. At the spear, I conquer'd Polydore, And strong Phylëus. Actor's sons, of all men, only bore The palm at horse-race, conquering with lashing on more horse, And envying my victory, because, before their course, All the best games were gone with me. These men were twins; one was A most sure guide, a most sure guide; the other gave the pass With rod and mettle. This was then. But now young men must wage These works, and my joints undergo the sad defects of age; Though then I was another man. At that time I excell'd [8] Amongst th' heroes. But forth now; let th' other rites be held For thy deceas'd friend; this thy gift in all kind part I take, And much it joys my heart, that still, for my true kindness' sake, You give me mem'ry. You perceive, in what fit grace I stand Amongst the Grecians; and to theirs you set your graceful hand. The Gods give ample recompense of grace again to thee, For this and all thy favours!" Thus, back through the thrust drave he, When he had stay'd out all the praise of old Neleides. [9] And now for buffets, that rough game, he order'd passages; Proposing a laborious mule, of six years old, untam'd, And fierce in handling, brought, and bound, in that place where they gam'd; And, to the conquer'd, a round cup. Both which he thus proclaims: "Atrides and all friends of Greece, two men, for these two games, I bid stand forth. Who best can strike, with high contracted fists, (Apollo giving him the wreath) know all about these lists, Shall win a mule, patient of toil; the vanquish'd, this round cup." This utter'd; Panopëus' son, Epëus, straight stood up, A tall huge man, that to the nail knew that red sport of hand, And, seizing the tough mule, thus spake: "Now let some other stand Forth for the cup; this mule is mine, at cuffs I boast me best. Is't not enough I am no soldier? Who is worthiest At all works? None; not possible. At this yet this I say, And will perform this: Who stands forth, I'll burst him, I will bray His bones as in a mortar. Fetch surgeons enow to take [10] His corse from under me." This speech did all men silent make. At last stood forth Euryalus, a man god-like, and son To king Mecisteus, the grandchild of honour'd Talaon. He was so strong that, coming once to Thebes, when Œdipus Had like rites solemniz'd for him, he went victorious From all the Thebans. This rare man Tydides would prepare, Put on his girdle, oxhide cords, fair wrought; and spent much care That he might conquer, hearten'd him, and taught him tricks. Both dress'd Fit for th' affair, both forth were brought; then breast oppos'd to breast, Fists against fists rose, and, they join'd, rattling of jaws was there, Gnashing of teeth, and heavy blows dash'd blood out ev'rywhere. At length Epëus spy'd clear way, rush'd in, and such a blow Drave underneath the other's ear, that his neat limbs did strow The knock'd earth, no more legs had he; but as a huge fish laid Near to the cold-weed-gath'ring shore, is with a north flaw fraid. Shoots back, and in the black deep hides; so, sent against the ground, Was foil'd Euryalus, his strength so bid in more profound Deeps of Epëus, who took up th' intranc'd competitor; About whom rush'd a crowd of friends, that through the clusters bore His falt'ring knees, he spitting up thick clods of blood, his head Totter'd of one side, his sense gone; when, to a by-place led, Thither they brought him the round cup. Pelides then set forth Prize for a wrastling; to the best a trivet, that was worth Twelve oxen, great and fit for fire; the conquer'd was t' obtain A woman excellent in works; her beauty, and her gain, Priz'd at four oxen. Up he stood, and thus proclaim'd: "Arise, You wrastlers, that will prove for these." Out stepp'd the ample size Of mighty Ajax, huge in strength; to him Laertes' son, The crafty one, as huge in sleight. Their ceremony done Of making ready, forth they stepp'd, catch elbows with strong hands, And as the beams of some high house crack with a storm, yet stands The house, being built by well-skill'd men; so crack'd their backbones, wrinch'd With horrid twitches; in their sides, arms, shoulders, all bepinch'd, Ran thick the wales, red with the blood, ready to start out. Both Long'd for the conquest and the prize; yet show'd no play, being loth To lose both. Nor could Ithacus stir Ajax; nor could he Hale down Ulysses, being more strong than with mere strength to be Hurl'd from all vantage of his sleight. Tir'd then with tugging play, Great Ajax Telamonius said: "Thou wisest man, or lay My face up, or let me lay thine; let Jove take care for these." This said, he hois'd him up to air; when Laertiades His wiles forgat not, Ajax' thigh he strook behind, and flat He on his back fell; on his breast Ulysses. Wonder'd at Was this of all; all stood amaz'd. Then the much-suff'ring man, Divine Ulysses, at next close the Telamonian A little rais'd from earth, not quite, but with his knee implied Lock'd legs; and down fell both on earth, close by each other's side, Both fil'd with dust; but starting up, the third close they had made, Had not Achilles' self stood up, restraining them, and bade: "No more tug one another thus, nor moil yourselves; receive Prize equal; conquest crowns ye both; the lists to others leave." They heard, and yielded willingly, brush'd off the dust, and on Put other vests. Pelides then, to those that swiftest run, Propos'd another prize; a bowl, beyond comparison, Both for the size and workmanship, past all the bowls of earth. It held six measures; silver all; but had his special worth For workmanship, receiving form from those ingenious men Of Sidon. The Phœnicians made choice, and brought it then Along the green sea, giving it to Thoas; by degrees It came t' Eunæus, Jason's son, who young Priamides, Lycaon, of Achilles' friend bought with it; and this here Achilles made best game for him, that best his feet could bear. For second he propos'd an ox, a huge one, and a fat; And half a talent gold for last. These thus he set them at: "Rise, you that will assay for these." Forth stepp'd Oïliades; Ulysses answer'd; and the third was, one esteem'd past these For footmanship, Antilochus. All rank'd, Achilles show'd The race-scope. From the start they glid. Oïliades bestow'd His feet the swiftest; close to him flew god-like Ithacus. And as a lady at her loom, being young and beauteous, Her silk-shuttle close to her breast, with grace that doth inflame, And her white hand, lifts quick and oft, in drawing from her frame Her gentle thread, which she unwinds with ever at her breast Gracing her fair hand; so close still, and with such interest In all men's likings, Ithacus unwound, and spent the race By him before, took out his steps with putting in their place Promptly and gracefully his own, sprinkled the dust before, And clouded with his breath his head. So facilie he bore His royal person, that he strook shouts from the Greeks, with thirst That he should conquer, though he flew: "Yet come, come, O come first," Ever they cried to him. And this ev'n his wise breast did move To more desire of victory; it made him pray, and prove, Minerva's aid, his fautress still: "O Goddess, hear," said he, "And to my feet stoop with thy help, now happy fautress be." She was, and light made all his limbs. And now, both near their crown, Minerva tripp'd up Ajax' heels, and headlong he fell down Amids the ordure of the beasts, there negligently left Since they were slain there; and by this, Minerva's friend bereft Oïliades of that rich bowl, and left his lips, nose, eyes, Ruthfully smear'd. The fat ox yet he seiz'd for second prize, Held by the horn, spit out the tail, and thus spake all-besmear'd: "O villainous chance! This Ithacus so highly is endear'd To his Minerva, that her hand is ever in his deeds. She, like his mother, nestles him; for from her it proceeds, I know, that I am us'd thus." This all in light laughter cast; Amongst whom quick Antilochus laugh'd out his coming last Thus wittily: "Know, all my friends, that all times past, and now, The Gods most honour most-liv'd men. Oïliades ye know More old than I, but Ithacus is of the foremost race, First generation of men. Give the old man his grace, They count him of the green-hair'd eld; they may; or in his flow'r; For not our greatest flourisher can equal him in pow'r Of foot-strife, but Æacides." Thus sooth'd he Thetis' son Who thus accepted it: "Well, youth, your praises shall not run With unrewarded feet on mine, your half a talent's prize I'll make a whole one. Take you, sir." He took, and joy'd. Then flies Another game forth. Thetis' son set in the lists a lance, A shield, and helmet, being th' arms Sarpedon did advance Against Patroclus, and he pris'd. And thus he nam'd th' address: "Stand forth two the most excellent, arm'd, and before all these Give mutual onset to the touch and wound of either's flesh. Who first shall wound, through other's arms his blood appearing fresh, Shall win this sword, silver'd, and hatch'd; the blade is right of Thrace; Asteropæus yielded it. These arms shall part their grace With either's valour; and the men I'll liberally feast At my pavilion." To this game the first man that address'd Was Ajax Telamonius; to him king Diomed. Both, in oppos'd parts of the press, full arm'd, both enteréd The lists amids the multitude, put looks on so austere, And join'd so roughly, that amaze surpris'd the Greeks in fear Of either's mischief. Thrice they threw their fierce darts, and clos'd thrice. Then Ajax strook through Diomed's shield, but did no prejudice, His curets saft him. Diomed's dart still over shoulders flew, Still mounting with the spirit it bore. And now rough Ajax grew So violent, that the Greeks cried: "Hold, no more. Let them no more. Give equal prize to either." Yet the sword, propos'd before For him did best, Achilles gave to Diomed. Then a stone, In fashion of a sphere, he show'd; of no inventión, But natural, only melted through with iron. 'Twas the bowl That king Eetion us'd to hurl; but he bereft of soul By great Achilles, to the fleet, with store of other prise, He brought it, and propos'd it now both for the exercise And prize itself. He stood, and said: "Rise you that will approve Your arms' strengths now in this brave strife. His vigour that can move This furthest, needs no game but this; for reach he ne'er so far With large fields of his own in Greece (and so needs for his car, His plough, or other tools of thrift, much iron) I'll able this For five revolvéd years; no need shall use his messages To any town to furnish him, this only bowl shall yield Iron enough for all affairs." This said; to try this field, First Polypœtes issuéd; next Leontëus; third Great Ajax; huge Epëus fourth, yet he was first that stirr'd That mine of iron. Up it went, and up he toss'd it so, That laughter took up all the field. The next man that did throw Was Leontëus; Ajax third, who gave it such a hand, That far past both their marks it flew. But now 'twas to be mann'd By Polypœtes, and, as far as at an ox that strays A herdsman can swing out his goad, so far did he outraise The stone past all men; all the field rose in a shout to see't; About him flock'd his friends, and bore the royal game to fleet. For archery he then set forth ten axes edg'd two ways, And ten of one edge. On the shore, far-off, he caus'd to raise A ship-mast; to whose top they tied a fearful dove by th' foot, At which all shot, the game put thus; He that the dove could shoot, Nor touch the string that fasten'd her, the two-edg'd tools should bear All to the fleet. Who touch'd the string, and miss'd the dove, should share The one-edg'd axes. This propos'd; king Teucer's force arose, And with him rose Meriones. And now lots must dispose Their shooting first; both which let fall into a helm of brass, First Teucer's came, and first he shot, and his cross fortune was To shoot the string, the dove untouch'd; Apollo did envy His skill, since not to him he vow'd, being God of archery, A first-fall'n lamb. The bitter shaft yet cut in two the cord, That down fell, and the dove aloft up to the welkin soar'd. The Greeks gave shouts. Meriones first made a hearty vow To sacrifice a first-fall'n lamb to Him that rules the bow, And then fell to his aim, his shaft being ready nock'd before. He spy'd her in the clouds that here, there, ev'rywhere, did soar, Yet at her height he reach'd her side, strook her quite through, and down The shaft fell at his feet; the dove the mast again did crown, There hung the head, and all her plumes were ruffled, she stark dead, And there, far off from him, she fell. The people wonderéd, And stood astonish'd; th' archer pleas'd. Æacides then shows A long lance, and a caldron new, engrail'd with twenty hues, Priz'd at an ox. These games were show'd for men at darts; and then Up rose the General of all, up rose the King of men, Up rose late-crown'd Meriones. Achilles, seeing the King Do him this grace, prevents more deed, his royal offering Thus interrupting: "King of men, we well conceive how far Thy worth superior is to all, how much most singular Thy pow'r is, and thy skill in darts! Accept then this poor prize Without contention, and (your will pleas'd with what I advise) Afford Meriones the lance." The King was nothing slow To that fit grace. Achilles then the brass lance did bestow On good Meriones. The King his present would not save, But to renown'd Talthybius the goodly caldron gave. THE END OF THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK.

[1] A comment might well be bestowed upon this speech of Nestor.

[2] When all, etc.—Nestor's aged love of speech was here briefly noted.

[3] Menelaus in fear to follow Antilochus, who ye may see played upon him.

[4] Note Menelaus' ridiculous speech for conclusion of his character.

[5] Antilochus's ironical reply.

[6] Ironicè.

[7] This simile likewise is merely ironical.

[8] His desire of praise pants still.

[9] Another note of Nestor's humour, not so much being to be plainly observed in all these Iliads as in this book.

[10] Note the sharpness of wit in our Homer; if where you look not for it you can find it. THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER'S ILIADS THE ARGUMENT

Jove, entertaining care of Hector's corse, Sends Thetis to her son for his remorse, And fit dismission of it. Iris then He sends to Priam; willing him to gain His son for ransom. He, by Hermes led, Gets through Achilles' guards; sleeps deep and dead Cast on them by his guide; when, with access And humble suit made to Æacides, He gains the body; which to Troy he bears, And buries it with feasts, buried in tears. ANOTHER ARGUMENT

Omega sings the Exsequies, And Hector's redemptory prise.

The games perform'd; the soldiers wholly dispers'd to fleet, Supper and sleep their only care. Constant Achilles yet Wept for his friend, nor sleep itself, that all things doth subdue, Could touch at him; this way and that he turn'd, and did renew His friend's dear memory, his grace in managing his strength, And his strength's greatness, how life rack'd into their utmost length Griefs, battles, and the wraths of seas, in their joint sufferance. Each thought of which turn'd to a tear. Sometimes he would advance, In tumbling on the shore, his side; sometimes his face: then turn Flat on his bosom; start upright. Although he saw the morn Show sea and shore his ecstasy, he left not, till at last Rage varied his distraction; horse, chariot, in haste He call'd for; and, those join'd, the corse was to his chariot tied, And thrice about the sepulchre he made his fury ride, Dragging the person. All this past; in his pavilion Rest seiz'd him, but with Hector's corse his rage had never done, Still suff'ring it t' oppress the dust. Apollo yet, ev'n dead, Pitied the prince, and would not see inhuman tyranny fed With more pollution of his limbs; and therefore cover'd round His person with his golden shield, that rude dogs might not wound His manly lineaments, which threat Achilles cruelly Had us'd in fury. But now Heav'n let fall a gen'ral eye Of pity on him; the blest Gods persuaded Mercury, Their good observer, to his stealth; and ev'ry Deity Stood pleas'd with it; Juno except, green Neptune, and the Maid Grac'd with the blue eyes, all their hearts stood hatefully appaid Long since, and held it, as at first, to Priam, Ilion, And all his subjects, for the rape of his licentious son, Proud Paris, that despis'd these Dames in their divine access Made to his cottage, and prais'd Her that his sad wantonness So costly nourish'd. The twelfth morn now shin'd on the delay Of Hector's rescue, and then spake the Deity of the Day Thus to th' Immortals: "Shameless Gods, authors of ill ye are To suffer ill. Hath Hector's life at all times show'd his care Of all your rights, in burning thighs of beeves and goats to you, And are your cares no more of him? Vouchsafe ye not ev'n now, Ev'n dead, to keep him, that his wife, his mother, and his son, Father, and subjects, may be mov'd to those deeds he hath done, Seeing you preserve him that serv'd you, and sending to their hands His person for the rites of fire? Achilles, that withstands All help to others, you can help; one that hath neither heart Nor soul within him, that will move or yield to any part That fits a man, but lion-like, uplandish, and mere wild, Slave to his pride, and all his nerves being naturally compil'd Of eminent strength, stalks out and preys upon a silly sheep. And so fares this man, that fit ruth that now should draw so deep In all the world being lost in him; and shame, a quality [1] Of so much weight, that both it helps and hurts excessively Men in their manners, is not known, nor hath the pow'r to be, In this man's being. Other men a greater loss than he Have undergone, a son, suppose, or brother of one womb; Yet, after dues of woes and tears, they bury in his tomb All their deplorings. Fates have giv'n to all that are true men True manly patience; but this man so soothes his bloody vein That no blood serves it, he must have divine-soul'd Hector bound To his proud chariot, and danc'd in a most barbarous round About his lov'd friend's sepulchre, when he is slain. 'Tis vile, And draws no profit after it. But let him now awhile Mark but our angers; he is spent; let all his strength take heed It tempts not our wraths; he begets, in this outrageous deed, The dull earth with his fury's hate." White-wristed Juno said, Being much incens'd, "This doom is one that thou wouldst have obey'd, Thou bearer of the silver bow, that we in equal care And honour should hold Hector's worth, with him that claims a share In our deservings. Hector suck'd a mortal woman's breast, Æacides a Goddess's; ourself had interest Both in his infant nourishment, and bringing up with state, And to the human Peleüs we gave his bridal mate, Because he had th' Immortals' love. To celebrate the feast Of their high nuptials, ev'ry God was glad to be a guest; And thou fedd'st of his father's cates, touching thy harp in grace Of that beginning of our friend, whom thy perfidious face, In his perfection, blusheth not to match with Priam's son, O thou that to betray and shame art still companion!" Jove thus receiv'd her: "Never give these broad terms to a God. Those two men shall not be compar'd; and yet, of all that trod The well-pav'd Ilion, none so dear to all the Deities As Hector was; at least to me, for off'rings most of prize His hands would never pretermit. Our altars ever stood Furnish'd with banquets fitting us, odours and ev'ry good Smok'd in our temples; and for this, foreseeing it, his fate We mark'd with honour, which must stand. But, to give stealth estate In his deliv'rance, shun we that; nor must we favour one To shame another. Privily, with wrong to Thetis' son, We must not work out Hector's right. There is a ransom due, And open course, by laws of arms; in which must humbly sue The friends of Hector. Which just mean if any God would stay, And use the other, 'twould not serve; for Thetis night and day Is guardian to him. But would one call Iris hither, I Would give directions that for gifts the Trojan king should buy His Hector's body, which the son of Thetis shall resign." This said, his will was done; the Dame that doth in vapours shine, Dewy and thin, footed with storms, jump'd to the sable seas 'Twixt Samos and sharp Imber's cliffs; the lake groan'd with the press Of her rough feet, and, plummet-like, put in an ox's horn That bears death to the raw-fed fish, she div'd, and found forlorn Thetis lamenting her son's fate, who was in Troy to have, Far from his country, his death serv'd. Close to her Iris stood, And said: "Rise, Thetis, prudent Jove, whose counsels thirst not blood, Calls for thee." Thetis answer'd her with asking: "What's the cause The great God calls? My sad pow'rs fear'd to break th' immortal laws, In going fil'd with griefs to heav'n. But He sets snares for none With colour'd counsels; not a word of him but shall be done." She said, and took a sable veil (a blacker never wore A heav'nly shoulder) and gave way. Swift Iris swum before. About both roll'd the brackish waves. They took their banks, and flew Up to Olympus; where they found Saturnius far-of-view Spher'd with heav'n's ever-being States. Minerva rose, and gave Her place to Thetis near to Jove; and Juno did receive Her entry with a cup of gold, in which she drank to her, Grac'd her with comfort, and the cup to her hand did refer. She drank, resigning it; and then the Sire of men and Gods Thus entertain'd her: "Com'st thou up to these our blest abodes, Fair Goddess Thetis, yet art sad; and that in so high kind As passeth suff'rance? This I know, and tried thee, and now find Thy will by mine rul'd, which is rule to all worlds' government. Besides this trial yet, this cause sent down for thy ascent, Nine days' contention hath been held amongst th' Immortals here For Hector's person and thy son; and some advices were To have our good spy Mercury steal from thy son the corse; But that reproach I kept far off, to keep in future force Thy former love and reverence. Haste then, and tell thy son The Gods are angry, and myself take that wrong he hath done To Hector in worst part of all, the rather since he still Detains his person. Charge him then, if he respect my will For any reason, to resign slain Hector. I will send Iris to Priam to redeem his son, and recommend Fit ransom to Achilles' grace, in which right he may joy And end his vain grief." To this charge bright Thetis did employ Instant endeavour. From heav'n's tops she reach'd Achilles' tent, Found him still sighing, and some friends with all their complement Soothing his humour; other some with all contentión Dressing his dinner, all their pains and skills consum'd upon A huge wool-bearer, slaughter'd there. His rev'rend mother then Came near, took kindly his fair hand, and ask'd him: "Dear son, when Will sorrow leave thee? How long time wilt thou thus eat thy heart, Fed with no other food, nor rest? 'Twere good thou wouldst divert Thy friend's love to some lady, cheer thy spirits with such kind parts As she can quit thy grace withal. The joy of thy deserts I shall not long have, death is near, and thy all-conqu'ring fate, Whose haste thou must not haste with grief, but understand the state Of things belonging to thy life, which quickly order. I Am sent from Jove t' advértise thee, that ev'ry Deity Is angry with thee, himself most, that rage thus reigns in thee Still to keep Hector. Quit him then, and, for fit ransom, free His injur'd person." He replied: "Let him come that shall give The ransom, and the person take. Jove's pleasure must deprive Men of all pleasures." This good speech, and many more, the son And mother us'd, in ear of all the naval statión. And now to holy Ilion Saturnius Iris sent: "Go, swift-foot Iris, bid Troy's king bear fit gifts, and content Achilles for his son's release; but let him greet alone The Grecian navy; not a man, excepting such a one As may his horse and chariot guide, a herald, or one old, Attending him; and let him take his Hector. Be he bold, Discourag'd nor with death nor fear, wise Mercury shall guide His passage till the prince be near; and, he gone, let him ride Resolv'd ev'n in Achilles' tent. He shall not touch the state Of his high person, nor admit the deadliest desperate Of all about him; for, though fierce, he is not yet unwise, Nor inconsid'rate, nor a man past awe of Deities, But passing free and curious to do a suppliant grace, This said, the Rainbow to her feet tied whirlwinds, and the place Reach'd instantly. The heavy court Clamour and Mourning fill'd; The sons all set about the sire; and there stood Grief, and still'd Tears on their garments. In the midst the old king sate, his weed All wrinkled, head and neck dust-fil'd; the princesses his seed, The princesses his sons' fair wives, all mourning by; the thought Of friends so many, and so good, being turn'd so soon to nought By Grecian hands, consum'd their youth, rain'd beauty from their eyes. Iris came near the king; her sight shook all his faculties, And therefore spake she soft, and said: "Be glad, Dardanides; Of good occurrents, and none ill, am I ambassadress. Jove greets thee, who, in care, as much as he is distant, deigns Eye to thy sorrows, pitying thee. My ambassy contains This charge to thee from him: He wills thou shouldst redeem thy son, Bear gifts t' Achilles, cheer him so; but visit him alone, None but some herald let attend, thy mules and chariot To manage for thee. Fear nor death let daunt thee, Jove hath got Hermes to guide thee, who as near to Thetis' son as needs Shall guard thee; and being once with him, nor his, nor others', deeds Stand touch'd with, he will all contain; nor is he mad, nor vain, Nor impious, but with all his nerves studious to entertain One that submits with all fit grace." Thus vanish'd she like wind. He mules and chariot calls, his sons bids see them join'd, and bind A trunk behind it; he himself down to his wardrobe goes, Built all of cedar, highly roof'd, and odoriferous, That much stuff, worth the sight, contain'd. To him he call'd his queen, Thus greeting her: "Come, hapless dame, an angel I have seen, Sent down from Jove, that bade me free our dear son from the fleet With ransom pleasing to our foe. What holds thy judgment meet? My strength and spirit lays high charge on all my being to bear The Greeks' worst, vent'ring through their host." The queen cried out to hear His vent'rous purpose, and replied: "O whither now is fled The late discretion that renown'd thy grave and knowing head In foreign and thine own rul'd realms, that thus thou dar'st assay Sight of that man, in whose brow sticks the horrible decay Of sons so many, and so strong? Thy heart is iron I think. If this stern man, whose thirst of blood makes cruelty his drink, Take, or but see, thee, thou art dead. He nothing pities woe, Nor honours age. Without his sight, we have enough to do To mourn with thought of him. Keep we our palace, weep we here, Our son is past our helps. Those throes, that my deliv'rers were Of his unhappy lineaments, told me they should be torn With black-foot dogs. Almighty Fate, that black hour he was born, Spun in his springing thread that end; far from his parents' reach, This bloody fellow then ordain'd to be their mean, this wretch, Whose stony liver would to heav'n I might devour, my teeth My son's revengers made! Curs'd Greek, he gave him not his death Doing an ill work; he alone fought for his country, he Fled not, nor fear'd, but stood his worst; and curséd policy Was his undoing." He replied: "Whatever was his end Is not our question, we must now use all means to defend His end from scandal; from which act dissuade not my just will, Nor let me nourish in my house a bird presaging ill To my good actions; 'tis in vain. Had any earthly spirit Giv'n this suggestion, if our priests, or soothsay'rs, challenging merit Of prophets, I might hold it false, and be the rather mov'd To keep my palace, but these ears and these self eyes approv'd It was a Goddess. I will go; for not a word She spake I know was idle. If it were, and that my fate will make Quick riddance of me at the fleet, kill me, Achilles; come, When getting to thee, I shall find a happy dying room On Hector's bosom, when enough thirst of my tears finds there Quench to his fervour." This resolv'd, the works most fair and dear Of his rich screens he brought abroad; twelve veils wrought curiously; Twelve plain gowns; and as many suits of wealthy tapestry; As many mantles; horsemen's coats; ten talents of fine gold; Two tripods; caldrons four; a bowl, whose value he did hold Beyond all price, presented by th' ambassadors of Thrace. The old king nothing held too dear, to rescue from disgrace His gracious Hector. Forth he came. At entry of his court The Trojan citizens so press'd, that this opprobrious sort Of check he us'd: "Hence, cast-aways! Away, ye impious crew! Are not your griefs enough at home? What come ye here to view? Care ye for my griefs? Would ye see how miserable I am? Is't not enough, imagine ye? Ye might know, ere ye came, What such a son's loss weigh'd with me. But know this for your pains, Your houses have the weaker doors; the Greeks will find their gains The easier for his loss, be sure. But O Troy! ere I see Thy ruin, let the doors of hell receive and ruin me!" Thus with his sceptre set he on the crowding citizens, Who gave back, seeing him so urge. And now he entertains His sons as roughly, Helenus, Paris, Hippothous, Pammon, divine Agathones, renown'd Deiphobus, Agavus, and Antiphonus, and last, not least in arms, The strong Polites: these nine sons the violence of his harms Help'd him to vent in these sharp terms: "Haste, you infamous brood, And get my chariot. Would to heav'n that all the abject blood In all your veins had Hector 'scus'd! O me, accurséd man, All my good sons are gone, my light the shades Cimmerian Have swallow'd from me. I have lost Mestor, surnam'd the fair; Troilus, that ready knight at arms, that made his field repair Ever so prompt and joyfully; and Hector, amongst men Esteem'd a God, not from a mortal's seed, but of th' Eternal strain, He seem'd to all eyes. These are gone, you that survive are base, Liars and common freebooters; all faulty, not a grace, But in your heels, in all your parts; dancing companions Ye all are excellent. Hence, ye brats! Love ye to hear my moans? Will ye not get my chariot? Command it quickly, fly, That I may perfect this dear work." This all did terrify; And straight his mule-drawn chariot came, to which they fast did bind The trunk with gifts. And then came forth, with an afflicted mind, Old Hecuba. In her right hand a bowl of gold she bore With sweet wine crown'd, stood near, and said: "Receive this, and implore, With sacrificing it to Jove, thy safe return. I see Thy mind likes still to go, though mine dislikes it utterly. Pray to the black-cloud-gath'ring God, Idæan Jove, that views All Troy, and all her miseries, that he will deign to use His most-lov'd bird to ratify thy hopes, that, her broad wing Spread on thy right hand, thou mayst know thy zealous offering Accepted, and thy safe return confirm'd; but if he fail, Fail thy intent, though never so it labours to prevail." "This I refuse not," he replied, "for no faith is so great In Jove's high favour, but it must with held-up hands intreat." This said, the chambermaid, that held the ewer and basin by, He bade pour water on his hands; when, looking to the sky, He took the bowl, did sacrifice, and thus implor'd: "O Jove, From Ida using thy commands, in all deserts above All other Gods, vouchsafe me safe, and pity in the sight Of great Achilles; and, for trust to that wish'd grace, excite Thy swift-wing'd Messenger, most strong, most of air's region lov'd, To soar on my right hand; which sight may firmly see approv'd Thy former summons, and my speed." He pray'd, and heav'n's King heard, And instantly cast from his fist air's all-commanding bird, The black-wing'd huntress, perfectest of all fowls, which Gods call Percnos, the eagle. And how broad the chamber nuptial Of any mighty man hath doors, such breadth cast either wing; Which now she us'd, and spread them wide on right hand of the king. All saw it, and rejoic'd, and up to chariot he arose, Drave forth, the portal and the porch resounding as he goes. His friends all follow'd him, and mourn'd as if he went to die; And bringing him past town to field, all left him; and the eye Of Jupiter was then his guard, who pitied him, and us'd These words to Hermes: "Mercury, thy help hath been profus'd Ever with most grace in consorts of travellers distress'd, Now cónsort Priam to the fleet; but so, that not the least Suspicion of him be attain'd, till at Achilles' tent The convoy hath arriv'd him safe." This charge incontinent He put in practice. To his feet his feather'd shoes he tied, Immortal, and made all of gold, with which he us'd to ride The rough sea and th' unmeasur'd earth, and equall'd in his pace The puffs of wind. Then took he up his rod, that hath the grace To shut what eyes he lists with sleep, and open them again In strongest trances. This he held, flew forth, and did attain To Troy and Hellespontus straight. Then like a fair young prince, First-down-chinn'd, and of such a grace as makes his looks convince Contending eyes to view him, forth he went to meet the king. He, having pass'd the mighty tomb of Ilus, watering His mules in Xanthus, the dark even fell on the earth; and then Idæus (guider of the mules) discern'd this grace of men, And spake afraid to Priamus: "Beware, Dardanides, Our states ask counsel; I discern the dangerous access Of some man near us; now I fear we perish. Is it best To fly, or kiss his knees and ask his ruth of men distress'd?" Confusion strook the king, cold fear extremely quench'd his veins, Upright upon his languishing head his hair stood, and the chains Of strong amaze bound all his pow'rs. To both which then came near The prince turn'd Deity, took his hand, and thus bespake the peer: "To what place, father, driv'st thou out through solitary night, When others sleep? Give not the Greeks sufficient cause of fright To these late travels, being so near, and such vow'd enemies? Of all which, if with all this load any should cast his eyes On thy adventures, what would then thy mind esteem thy state, Thyself old, and thy follow'r old? Resistance could not rate At any value; as for me, be sure I mind no harm To thy grave person, but against the hurt of others arm. Mine own lov'd father did not get a greater love in me To his good, than thou dost to thine." He answer'd: "The degree Of danger in my course, fair son, is nothing less than that Thou urgest; but some God's fair hand puts in for my safe state, That sends so sweet a guardian in this so stern a time Of night, and danger, as thyself, that all grace in his prime Of body and of beauty show'st, all answer'd with a mind So knowing, that it cannot be but of some blessed kind Thou art descended." "Not untrue," said Hermes, "thy conceit In all this holds; but further truth relate, if of such weight As I conceive thy carriage be, and that thy care conveys Thy goods of most price to more guard; or go ye all your ways Frighted from holy Ilion, so excellent a son As thou hadst (being your special strength) fallen to destructión, Whom no Greek better'd for his fight?" "O, what art thou," said he, "Most worthy youth, of what race born, that thus recount'st to me My wretched son's death with such truth?" "Now, father," he replied, "You tempt me far, in wond'ring how the death was signified Of your divine son to a man so mere a stranger here As you hold me; but I am one that oft have seen him bear His person like a God in field; and when in heaps he slew The Greeks, all routed to their fleet, his so victorious view Made me admire, not feel his hand; because Æacides, Incens'd, admitted not our fight, myself being of access To his high person, serving him, and both to Ilion In one ship sail'd. Besides, by birth I breathe a Myrmidon, Polyctor, call'd the rich, my sire, declin'd with age like you. Six sons he hath, and me a seventh; and all those six live now In Phthia, since, all casting lots, my chance did only fall To follow hither. Now for walk I left my General. To-morrow all the sun-burn'd Greeks will circle Troy with arms, The princes rage to be withheld so idly, your alarms Not giv'n half hot enough they think, and can contain no more." He answer'd: "If you serve the prince, let me be bold t' implore This grace of thee, and tell me true: Lies Hector here at fleet, Or have the dogs his flesh?" He said: "Nor dogs nor fowl have yet Touch'd at his person; still he lies at fleet, and in the tent Of our great Captain, who indeed is much too negligent Of his fit usage. But, though now twelve days have spent their heat On his cold body, neither worms with any taint have eat, Nor putrefaction perish'd it; yet ever, when the Morn Lifts her divine light from the sea, unmercifully borne About Patroclus' sepulchre, it bears his friend's disdain, Bound to his chariot; but no fits of further outrage reign In his distemper. You would muse to see how deep a dew Ev'n steeps the body, all the blood wash'd off, no slend'rest shew Of gore or quitture, but his wounds all clos'd, though many were Open'd about him. Such a love the blest Immortals bear, Ev'n dead, to thy dear son, because his life show'd love to them." He joyful answer'd: "O my son, it is a grace supreme In any man to serve the Gods. And I must needs say this; For no cause, having season fit, my Hector's hands would miss Advancement to the Gods with gifts, and therefore do not they Miss his remembrance after death. Now let an old man pray Thy graces to receive this cup, and keep it for my love, Nor leave me till the Gods and thee have made my pray'rs approve Achilles' pity, by thy guide brought to his princely tent." Hermes replied: "You tempt me now, old king, to a consent Far from me, though youth aptly errs. I secretly receive Gifts that I cannot broadly vouch, take graces that will give My lord dishonour, or what he knows not, or will esteem Perhaps unfit? Such briberies perhaps at first may seem Sweet and secure; but futurely they still prove sour, and breed Both fear and danger. I could wish thy grave affairs did need My guide to Argos, either shipp'd, or lackeying by thy side, And would be studious in thy guard, so nothing could be tried But care in me to keep thee safe, for that I could excuse, And vouch to all men." These words past, he put the deeds in use For which Jove sent him; up he leapt to Priam's chariot, Took scourge and reins, and blew in strength to his free steeds, and got The naval tow'rs and deep dike straight. The guards were all at meat; Those he enslumber'd, op'd the ports, and in he safely let Old Priam with his wealthy prize. Forthwith they reach'd the tent Of great Achilles, large and high, and in his most ascent A shaggy roof of seedy reeds mown from the meads; a hall Of state they made their king in it, and strengthen'd it withall Thick with fir rafters; whose approach was let in by a door That had but one bar, but so big that three men evermore Rais'd it to shut, three fresh take down; which yet Æacides Would shut and ope himself. And this with far more ease Hermes set ope, ent'ring the king; then leapt from horse, and said: "Now know, old king, that Mercury, a God, hath giv'n this aid To thy endeavour, sent by Jove; and now away must I, For men would envy thy estate to see a Deity Affect a man thus. Enter thou, embrace Achilles' knee, And by his sire, son, mother, pray his ruth and grace to thee." This said, he high Olympus reach'd. The king then left his coach To grave Idæus, and went on, made his resolv'd approach, And enter'd in a goodly room, where with his princes sate Jove-lov'd Achilles, at their feast; two only kept the state Of his attendance, Alcimus, and lord Automedon, At Priam's entry. A great time Achilles gaz'd upon His wonder'd-at approach, nor ate; the rest did nothing see, While close he came up, with his hands fast holding the bent knee Of Hector's conqueror, and kiss'd that large man-slaught'ring hand That much blood from his sons had drawn. And as in some strange land, And great man's house, a man is driv'n (with that abhorr'd dismay That follows wilful bloodshed still, his fortune being to slay One whose blood cries aloud for his) to plead protectión, In such a miserable plight as frights the lookers on; In such a stupefied estate Achilles sat to see So unexpected, so in night, and so incredibly, Old Priam's entry. All his friends one on another star'd To see his strange looks, seeing no cause. Thus Priam then prepar'd His son's redemption: "See in me, O God-like Thetis' son, Thy aged father; and perhaps ev'n now being out-run With some of my woes, neighbour foes (thou absent) taking time To do him mischief; no mean left to terrify the crime Of his oppression; yet he hears thy graces still survive, And joys to hear it, hoping still to see thee safe arrive From ruin'd Troy; but I, curs'd man, of all my race shall live To see none living. Fifty sons the Deities did give My hopes to live in; all alive when near our trembling shore The Greek ships harbour'd, and one womb nineteen of those sons bore. Now Mars a number of their knees hath strength less left; and he That was, of all, my only joy, and Troy's sole guard, by thee, Late fighting for his country, slain; whose tender'd person now I come to ransom. Infinite is that I offer you, Myself conferring it, expos'd alone to all your odds, Only imploring right of arms. Achilles! Fear the Gods, Pity an old man like thy sire; diff'rent in only this, That I am wretcheder, and bear that weight of miseries That never man did, my curs'd lips enforc'd to kiss that hand That slew my children." This mov'd tears; his father's name did stand, Mention'd by Priam, in much help to his compassion, And mov'd Æacides so much, he could not look upon The weeping father. With his hand he gently put away His grave face. Calm remission now did mutually display Her pow'r in either's heaviness. Old Priam, to record His son's death and his deathsman see, his tears and bosom pour'd Before Achilles; at his feet he laid his rev'rend head. Achilles' thoughts, now with his sire, now with his friend, were fed. Betwixt both sorrow fill'd the tent. But now Æacides (Satiate at all parts with the ruth of their calamities) Start up, and up he rais'd the king. His milk-white head and beard With pity he beheld, and said: "Poor man, thy mind is scar'd With much afflictión. How durst thy person thus alone Venture on his sight, that hath slain so many a worthy son, And so dear to thee? Thy old heart is made of iron. Sit, And settle we our woes, though huge, for nothing profits it. Cold mourning wastes but our lives' heats. The Gods have destinate That wretched mortals must live sad; 'tis the Immortal State Of Deity that lives secure. Two tuns of gifts there lie In Jove's gate, one of good, one ill, that our mortality Maintain, spoil, order; which when Jove doth mix to any man, One while he frolics, one while mourns. If of his mournful can A man drinks only, only wrongs he doth expose him to, Sad hunger in th' abundant earth doth toss him to and fro, Respected nor of Gods nor men. The mix'd cup Peleus drank Ev'n from his birth; Heav'n blest his life; he liv'd not that could thank The Gods for such rare benefits as set forth his estate. He reign'd among his Myrmidons most rich, most fortunate, And, though a mortal, had his bed deck'd with a deathless dame. And yet, with all this good, one ill God mix'd, that takes all name From all that goodness; his name now, whose preservation here Men count the crown of their most good, not bless'd with pow'r to bear One blossom but myself, and I shaken as soon as blown; Nor shall I live to cheer his age, and give nutritión To him that nourish'd me. Far off my rest is set in Troy, To leave thee restless and thy seed; thyself that did enjoy, As we have heard, a happy life; what Lesbos doth contain, In times past being a bless'd man's seat, what the unmeasur'd main Of Hellespontus, Phrygia, holds, are all said to adorn Thy empire, wealth and sons enow; but, when the Gods did turn Thy blest state to partake with bane, war and the bloods of men Circled thy city, never clear. Sit down and suffer then; Mourn not inevitable things; thy tears can spring no deeds To help thee, nor recall thy son; impatience ever breeds Ill upon ill, makes worst things worse, and therefore sit." He said: "Give me no seat, great seed of Jove, when yet unransomed Hector lies riteless in thy tents, but deign with utmost speed His resignation, that these eyes may see his person freed, And thy grace satisfied with gifts. Accept what I have brought, And turn to Phthia; 'tis enough thy conqu'ring hand hath fought Till Hector falter'd under it, and Hector's father stood With free humanity safe." He frown'd and said: "Give not my blood Fresh cause of fury. I know well I must resign thy son, Jove by my mother utter'd it; and what besides is done I know as amply; and thyself, old Priam, I know too. Some God hath brought thee; for no man durst use a thought to go On such a service. I have guards, and I have gates to stay Easy accesses; do not then presume thy will can sway, Like Jove's will, and incense again my quench'd blood, lest nor thou Nor Jove get the command of me." This made the old king bow, And down he sat in fear. The prince leapt like a lion forth, Automedon and Alcimus attending: all the worth Brought for the body they took down and brought in, and with it Idæus, herald to the king; a coat embroider'd yet, And two rich cloaks, they left to hide the person. Thetis' son Call'd out his women, to anoint and quickly overrun The corse with water, lifting it in private to the coach, Lest Priam saw, and his cold blood embrac'd a fi'ry touch Of anger at the turpitude profaning it, and blew Again his wrath's fire to his death. This done, his women threw The coat and cloak on; but the corse Achilles' own hand laid Upon a bed, and with his friends to chariot it convey'd. For which forc'd grace, abhorring so from his free mind, he wept, Cried out for anger, and thus pray'd: "O friend, do not except Against this favour to our foe, if in the deep thou hear, And that I give him to his sire; he gave fair ransom; dear In my observance is Jove's will; and whatsoever part Of all these gifts by any mean I fitly may convert To thy renown here, and will there, it shall be pour'd upon Thy honour'd sepulchre. This said, he went, and what was done Told Priam, saying: "Father, now thy will's fit rites are paid, Thy son is giv'n up; in the morn thine eyes shall see him laid Deck'd in thy chariot on his bed; in mean space let us eat. The rich-hair'd Niobe found thoughts that made her take her meat, Though twelve dear children she saw slain, six daughters, six young sons. The sons incens'd Apollo slew; the maids' confusions Diana wrought; since Niobe her merits durst compare With great Latona's, arguing that she did only bear Two children, and herself had twelve; for which those only two Slew all her twelve. Nine days they lay steep'd in their blood, her woe Found no friend to afford them fire, Saturnius had turn'd Humans to stones. The tenth day yet, the good Celestials burn'd The trunks themselves, and Niobe, when she was tir'd with tears, Fell to her food, and now with rocks and wild hills mix'd she bears In Sipylus the Gods' wrath still, in that place where 'tis said The Goddess Fairies use to dance about the fun'ral bed Of Achelous, where, though turn'd with cold grief to a stone, Heav'n gives her heat enough to feel what plague comparison With his pow'rs made by earth deserves. Affect not then too far Without grief, like a God, being a man, but for a man's life care, And take fit food; thou shalt have time beside to mourn thy son; He shall be tearful, thou being full; not here, but Ilion Shallll find thee weeping-rooms enow." He said, and so arose, And caus'd a silver-fleec'd sheep kill'd; his friends' skills did dispose The flaying, cutting of it up, and cookly spitted it, Roasted, and drew it artfully. Automedon, as fit Was for the rev'rend sewer's place; and all the brown joints serv'd On wicker vessel to the board; Achilles' own hands kerv'd; And close they fell to. Hunger stanch'd; talk, and observing time, Was us'd of all hands. Priam sat amaz'd to see the prime Of Thetis' son, accomplish'd so with stature, looks, and grace, In which the fashion of a God he thought had chang'd his place. Achilles fell to him as fast, admir'd as much his years Told in his grave and good aspect; his speech ev'n charm'd his ears, So order'd, so material. With this food feasted too, Old Priam spake thus: "Now, Jove's seed, command that I may go, And add to this feast grace of rest. These lids ne'er clos'd mine eyes, Since under thy hands fled the soul of my dear son; sighs, cries, And woes, all use from food and sleep have taken; the base courts Of my sad palace made my beds, where all the abject sorts Of sorrow I have variéd, tumbled in dust, and hid; No bit, no drop, of sust'nance touch'd." Then did Achilles bid His men and women see his bed laid down, and coveréd With purple blankets, and on them an arras coverlid, Waistcoats of silk plush laying by. The women straight took lights, And two beds made with utmost speed, and all the other rites Their lord nam'd us'd, who pleasantly the king in hand thus bore: "Good father, you must sleep without; lest any counsellor Make his access in depth of night, as oft their industry Brings them t' impart our war-affairs; of whom should any eye Discern your presence, his next steps to Agamemnon fly, And then shall I lose all these gifts. But go to, signify, And that with truth, how many days you mean to keep the state Of Hector's funerals; because so long would I rebate Mine own edge set to sack your town, and all our host contain From interruption of your rites." He answer'd: "If you mean To suffer such rites to my son, you shall perform a part Of most grace to me. But you know with how dismay'd a heart Our host took Troy; and how much fear will therefore apprehend Their spirits to make out again, so far as we must send For wood to raise our heap of death; unless I may assure That this your high grace will stand good, and make their pass secure; Which if you seriously confirm, nine days I mean to mourn; The tenth keep funeral and feast; th' eleventh raise and adorn My son's fit sepulchre; the twelfth, if we must needs, we'll fight." "Be it," replied Æacides, "do Hector all this right; I'll hold war back those whole twelve days; of which, to free all fear, Take this my right hand." This confirm'd, the old king rested there; His herald lodg'd by him; and both in forepart of the tent; Achilles in an inmost room of wondrous ornament, Whose side bright-cheek'd Briseis warm'd. Soft sleep tam'd Gods and men, All but most-useful Mercury; sleep could not lay one chain On his quick temples, taking care for getting off again Engagéd Priam undiscern'd of those that did maintain The sacred watch. Above his head he stood with this demand: "O father, sleep'st thou so secure, still lying in the hand Of so much ill, and being dismiss'd by great Æacides? 'Tis true thou hast redeem'd the dead; but for thy life's release, Should Agamemnon hear thee here, three times the price now paid Thy sons' hands must repay for thee." This said, the king, afraid, Start from his sleep, Idæus call'd, and, for both, Mercury The horse and mules, before loos'd, join'd so soft and curiously That no ear heard, and through the host drave; but when they drew To gulfy Xanthus' bright-wav'd stream, up to Olympus flew Industrious Mercury. And now the saffron Morning rose, Spreading her white robe over all the world; when, full of woes, They scourg'd on with the corse to Troy, from whence no eye had seen, Before Cassandra, their return. She, like love's golden Queen, Ascending Pergamus, discern'd her father's person nigh, His herald, and her brother's corse; and then she cast this cry Round about Troy: "O Trojans, if ever ye did greet Hector return'd from fight alive, now look ye out and meet His ransom'd person. Then his worth was all your city's joy, Now do it honour." Out all rush'd; woman nor man in Troy Was left, a most unmeasur'd cry took up their voices. Close To Scæa's ports they met the corse; and to it headlong goes The rev'rend mother, the dear wife; upon it strow their hair, And lie entrancéd. Round about the people broke the air In lamentations; and all day had stay'd the people there, If Priam had not cried "Give way, give me but leave to bear The body home, and mourn your fills." Then cleft the press, and gave Way to the chariot. To the court herald Idæus drave Where on a rich bed they bestow'd the honour'd person, round Girt it with singers that the woe with skilful voices crown'd. A woeful elegy they sung, wept singing, and the dames Sigh'd as they sung. Andromache the downright prose exclaims Began to all; she on the neck of slaughter'd Hector fell, And cried out: "O my husband, thou in youth bad'st youth farewell, Left'st me a widow, thy sole son an infant; ourselves curs'd In our birth made him right our child: for all my care that nurs'd His infancy will never give life to his youth, ere that Troy from her top will be destroy'd; thou guardian of our state, Thou ev'n of all her strength the strength, thou, that in care wert past Her careful mothers of their babes, being gone, how can she last? Soon will the swoln fleet fill her womb with all their servitude, Myself with them, and thou with me, dear son, in labours rude Shalt be employ'd, sternly survey'd by cruel conquerors; Or, rage not suff'ring life so long, some one, whose hate abhors Thy presence (putting him in mind of his sire slain by thine, His brother, son, or friend) shall work thy ruin before mine, Toss'd from some tow'r, for many Greeks have ate earth from the hand Of thy strong father; in sad fight his spirit was too much mann'd, And therefore mourn his people; we, thy parents, my dear lord, For that thou mak'st endure a woe, black, and to be abhorr'd. Of all yet thou hast left me worst, not dying in thy bed, And reaching me thy last-rais'd hand, in nothing counselléd Nothing commanded by that pow'r thou hadst of me to do Some deed for thy sake. O for these never will end my woe, Never my tears cease." Thus wept she, and all the ladies clos'd Her passion with a gen'ral shriek. Then Hecuba dispos'd Her thoughts in like words; "O my son, of all mine much most dear, Dear while thou liv'dst too ev'n to Gods, and after death they were Careful to save thee. Being best, thou most wert envied; My other sons Achilles sold; but thee he left not dead. Imber and Samos, the false ports of Lemnos entertain'd Their persons; thine, no port but death. Nor there in rest remain'd Thy violated corse, the tomb of his great friend was spher'd With thy dragg'd person; yet from death he was not therefore rear'd But, all his rage us'd, so the Gods have tender'd thy dead state, Thou liest as living, sweet and fresh, as he that felt the fate Of Phœbus' holy shafts." These words the queen us'd for her moan, And, next her, Helen held that state of speech and passión: "O Hector, all my brothers more were not so lov'd of me As thy most virtues. Not my lord I held so dear, as thee, That brought me hither; before which I would I had been brought To ruin; for what breeds that wish (which is the mischief wrought By my access) yet never found one harsh taunt, one word's ill, From thy sweet carriage. Twenty years do now their circles fill Since my arrival; all which time thou didst not only bear Thyself without check, but all else, that my lord's brothers were, Their sisters' lords, sisters themselves, the queen my mother-in-law, (The king being never but most mild) when thy man's spirit saw Sour and reproachful, it would still reprove their bitterness With sweet words, and thy gentle soul. And therefore thy decease I truly mourn for; and myself curse as the wretched cause; All broad Troy yielding me not one, that any human laws Of pity or forgiveness mov'd t'entreat me humanly, But only thee, all else abhorr'd me for my destiny." These words made ev'n the commons mourn; to whom the king said: "Friends, Now fetch wood for our fun'ral fire, nor fear the foe intends Ambush, or any violence; Achilles gave his word, At my dismission, that twelve days he would keep sheath'd his sword, And all men's else." Thus oxen, mules, in chariots straight they put, Went forth and an unmeasur'd pile of sylvan matter cut; Nine days employ'd in carriage, but when the tenth morn shin'd On wretched mortals, then they brought the fit-to-be-divin'd Forth to be burn'd. Troy swum in tears. Upon the pile's most height They laid the person, and gave fire. All day it burn'd, all night. But when th' elev'nth morn let on earth her rosy fingers shine, The people flock'd about the pile, and first with blackish wine Quench'd all the flames. His brothers then, and friends, the snowy bones Gather'd into an urn of gold, still pouring on their moans. Then wrapt they in soft purple veils the rich urn, digg'd a pit, Grav'd it, ramm'd up the grave with stones, and quickly built to it A sepulchre. But, while that work and all the fun'ral rites Were in performance, guards were held at all parts, days and nights, For fear of false surprise before they had impos'd the crown To these solemnities. The tomb advanc'd once, all the town In Jove-nurs'd Priam's Court partook a passing sumptuous feast. And so horse-taming Hector's rites gave up his soul to rest. THE END OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK.

[1] Shame a quality that hurts and helps men exceedingly. EPILOGUE TO HOMER'S ILIADS

Thus far the Ilian ruins I have laid Open to English eyes. In which, repaid With thine own value, go, unvalued book, Live, and be lov'd. If any envious look Hurt thy clear fame, learn that no state more high Attends on virtue than pin'd envy's eye. Would thou wert worth it that the best doth wound. Which this age feeds, and which the last shall bound!

Thus, with labour enough, though with more comfort in the merits of my divine author, I have brought my translation of his Iliads to an end. If, either therein, or in the harsh utterance or matter of my Comment before, I have, for haste, scattered with my burthen (less than fifteen weeks being the whole time that the last Twelve Books' translation stood me in) I desire my present will (and I doubt not hability, if God give life, to reform and perfect all hereafter) may be ingenuously accepted for the absolute work. The rather, considering the most learned, with all their helps and time, have been so often, and unanswerably, miserably taken halting. In the mean time, that most assistful and unspeakable Spirit, by Whose thrice sacred conduct and inspiration I have finished this labour, diffuse the fruitful horn of His blessings through these goodness-thirsting watchings; without which, utterly dry and bloodless is whatsoever mortality soweth.

But where our most diligent Spondanus ends his work with a prayer to be taken out of these Mæanders and Euripian rivers (as he terms them) of Ethnic and Profane Writers (being quite contrary to himself at the beginning) I thrice humbly beseech the Most Dear and Divine Mercy (ever most incomparably preferring the great light of His Truth in His direct and infallible Scriptures) I may ever be enabled, by resting wondering in His right comfortable shadows in these, to magnify the clearness of His Almighty apparance in the other.

And with this salutation of Poesy given by our Spondanus in his Preface to these Iliads ("All hail saint-sacred Poesy that, under so much gall of fiction, such abundance of honey doctrine hast hidden, not revealing them to the unworthy worldly! Wouldst thou but so much make me, that amongst thy novices I might be numbered, no time should ever come near my life that could make me forsake thee.") I will conclude with this my daily and nightly prayer, learned of the most learned Simplicius;—

"Supplico tibi, Domine, Pater, et Dux rationis nostræ, ut nostræ nobilitatis recordemur quâ Tu nos ornasti; et ut Tu nobis præstò sis ut iis qui per sese moventur; ut et à corporis contagio brutorumque affectuum repurgemur, eosque superemus et regamus, et, sicut decet, pro instrumentis iis utamur. Deinde ut nobis adjumento sis, ad accuratam rationis nostræ correctionem, et conjunctionem cum iis qui verè sunt per lucem veritatis. Et tertium, Salvatori supplex oro, ut ab oculis animorum nostrorum caliginem prorsus abstergas, ut (quod apud Homerum est) norimus bene qui Deus, aut mortalis, habendus. Amen." FINIS

TO THE MOST WORTHILY HONOURED, MY SINGULAR GOOD LORD, ROBERT, EARL OF SOMERSET, LORD CHAMBERLAIN, ETC.

I have adventured, right noble Earl, out of my utmost and ever-vowed service to your virtues, to entitle their merits to the patronage of Homer’s English life, whose wished natural life the great Macedon would have protected as the spirit of his empire,

That he to his unmeasur’d mighty acts Might add a fame as vast; and their extracts, In fires as bright and endless as the stars, His breast might breathe and thunder out his wars. But that great monarch’s love of fame and praise Receives an envious cloud in our foul days; For since our great ones ceased themselves to do, Deeds worth their praise, they hold it folly too To feed their praise in others. But what can, Of all the gifts that are, be giv’n to man More precious than Eternity and Glory, Singing their praises in unsilenc’d story? Which no black day, no nation, nor no age, No change of time or fortune, force nor rage, Shall ever rase? All which the monarch knew, Where Homer liv’d entitled, would ensue: Cujus de gurgite vivo Combibit arcanos vatum omnis turba furores, etc. From whose deep fount of life the thirsty rout Of Thespian prophets have lien sucking out Their sacred rages. And as th’ influent stone Of Father Jove’s great and laborious son Lifts high the heavy iron, and far implies The wide orbs that the needle rectifies, In virtuous guide of ev’ry sea-driv’n course, To all aspiring his one boundless force; So from one Homer all the holy fire That ever did the hidden heat inspire In each true Muse came clearly sparkling down, And must for him compose one flaming crown. He, at Jove’s table set, fills out to us Cups that repair age sad and ruinous, And gives it built of an eternal stand With his all-sinewy Odyssæan hand, Shifts time and fate, puts death in life’s free state, And life doth into ages propagate. He doth in men the Gods’ affects inflame, His fuel Virtue blown by Praise and Fame; And, with the high soul’s first impression driv’n, Breaks through rude chaos, earth, the seas, and heav’n. The nerves of all things hid in nature lie Naked before him; all their harmony Tun’d to his accents, that in beasts breathe minds. What fowls, what floods, what earth, what air, what winds, What fires ethereal, what the Gods conclude In all their counsels, his Muse makes indued With varied voices that ev’n rocks have mov’d. And yet for all this, naked Virtue lov’d, Honours without her he as abject prizes, And foolish Fame, deriv’d from thence, despises. When from the vulgar taking glorious bound Up to the mountain where the Muse is crown’d, He sits and laughs to see the jaded rabble Toil to his hard heights, t’ all access unable, etc.

And that your Lordship may in his face take view of his mind, the first words of his Iliads is μη̑νιν, wrath; the first word of his Odysseys, ἄνδρα man: contracting in either word his each work’s proposition. In one predominant perturbation; in the other over-ruling wisdom. In one the body’s fervour and fashion of outward fortitude to all possible height of heroical action; in the other the mind’s inward, constant, and unconquered empire, unbroken, unaltered, with any most insolent, and tyrannous infliction. To many most sovereign praises is this poem entitled; but to that grace, in chief, which sets on the crown both of poets and orators; τὸ‭ τὰ μικρὰ μεγάλως, καὶ τὰ κοινὰ καιίνως: that is, ‭Parva magnè dicere; pervulgata novè; jejuna plenè.—To speak ‭things little greatly; things common rarely; things barren and empty ‭fruitfully and fully. The return of a man into his country is his ‭whole scope and object; which in itself, your Lordship may well ‭say, is jejune and fruitless enough, affording nothing feastful, ‭nothing magnificent. And yet even this doth the divine inspiration ‭render vast, illustrious, and of miraculous composure. And for ‭this, my Lord, is this poem preferred to his lliads; for therein much ‭magnificence, both of person and action, gives great aid to his ‭industry; but in this are these helps exceeding sparing, or nothing; ‭and yet is the structure so elaborate and pompous that the poor ‭plain ground-work, considered together, may seem the naturally ‭rich womb to it, and produce it needfully. Much wondered at, ‭therefore, is the censure of Dionysius Longinus, (a man otherwise ‭affirmed grave and of elegant judgment,) comparing Homer in his ‭Iliads to the Sun rising, in his Odysseys to his descent or setting, ‭or to the ocean robbed of his æsture, many tributary floods and ‭rivers of excellent ornament withheld from their observance. When ‭this his work so far exceeds the ocean, with all his court and ‭concourse, that all his sea is only a serviceable stream to it. ‭Nor can it be compared to any one power to be named in nature, ‭being an entirely well-sorted and digested confluence of all; ‭where the most solid and grave is made as nimble and fluent as the ‭most airy and fiery, the nimble and fluent as firm and ‭well-bounded as the most grave and solid. And, taking all ‭together, of so tender impression, and of such command to the ‭voice of the Muse, that they knock heaven with her breath, and ‭discover their foundations as low as hell. Nor is this ‭all-comprising Poesy fantastic or mere fictive; but the most ‭material and doctrinal illations of truth, both for all manly ‭information of manners in the young, all prescription of justice, ‭and even Christian piety, in the most grave and high governed. To ‭illustrate both which, in both kinds, with all heightof expression, ‭the Poet creates both a body and a soul in them. Wherein, if the ‭body (being the letter or history) seems fictive, and beyond ‭possibility to bring into act, the sense then and allegory, which ‭is the soul, is to be sought, which intends a more eminent ‭expressure of Virtue for her loveliness, and of Vice for her ‭ugliness, in their several effects; going beyond the life than any art ‭within life can possibly delineate. Why then is fiction to this end ‭so hateful to our true ignorants? Or why should a poor chronicler ‭of a Lord Mayor’s naked truth (that peradventure will last his year) ‭include more worth with our modern wizards than Homer for his ‭naked Ulysses clad in eternal fiction? But this proser Dionysius, ‭and the rest of these grave and reputatively learned—that dare ‭undertake for their gravities the headstrong censure of all things, ‭and challenge the understanding of these toys in their childhoods; ‭when even these childish vanities retain deep and most necessary ‭learning enough in them to make them children in their ages, ‭and teach them while they live—are not in these absolute divine ‭infusions allowed either voice or relish: for, Qui Poeticas ad fores ‭accedit, etc. (says the divine philosopher) he that knocks at the ‭gates of the Muses, sine Musarum furore, is neither to be ‭admitted entry, nor a touch at their thresholds; his opinion of entry ‭ridiculous, and his presumption impious. Nor must Poets ‭themselves (might I a little insist on these contempts, not tempting ‭too far your Lordship’s Ulyssean patience) presume to these doors ‭without the truly genuine and peculiar induction. There being in ‭Poesy a twofold rapture,—or alienation of soul, as the abovesaid ‭teacher terms it,—one insania, a disease of the mind, and a mere ‭madness, by which the infected is thrust beneath all the degrees of ‭humanity: et ex homine, brutum quodammodò redditur:—(for ‭which poor Poesy, in this diseased and impostorous age, is so ‭barbarously vilified;)—the other is, divinus furor, by which the ‭sound and divinely healthful suprà hominis naturam erigitur, et in ‭Deum transit. One a perfection directly infused from God; ‭the other an infection obliquely and degenerately proceeding ‭from man. Of the divine fury, my Lord, your Homer hath ever ‭been both first and last instance; being pronounced absolutely, ‭τὸν σοφώτατον, καὶ τὸν θειότατον ποιητήν, “THE MOST WISE ‭AND MOST DIVINE POET.” Against whom whosoever shall ‭open his profane mouth may worthily receive answer with ‭this of his divine defender—Empedocles, Heraclitus, Protagoras, ‭Epicharmus, etc., being of Homer’s part—τίς οο͒ν, etc.; who ‭against such an army, and the general Homer, dares attempt the ‭assault, but he must be reputed ridiculous? And yet against this ‭host, and this invincible commander, shall we have every ‭besogne and fool a leader. The common herd, I assure myself, ‭ready to receive it on their horns. Their infected leaders,

‭ Such men as sideling ride the ambling Muse, ‭ Whose saddle is as frequent as the stews. ‭ Whose raptures are in ev’ry pageant seen, ‭ In ev’ry wassail-rhyme and dancing-green; ‭ When he that writes by any beam of truth ‭ Must dive as deep as he, past shallow youth. ‭ Truth dwells in gulfs, whose deeps hide shades so rich ‭ That Night sits muffled there in clouds of pitch, ‭ More dark than Nature made her, and requires, ‭ To clear her tough mists, heav’n’s great fire of fires, ‭ To whom the sun itself is but a beam. ‭ For sick souls then—but rapt in foolish dream— ‭ To wrastle with these heav’n-strong mysteries, ‭ What madness is it? when their light serves eyes ‭ That are not worldly in their least aspect, ‭ But truly pure, and aim at heav’n direct. ‭ Yet these none like but what the brazen head ‭ Blatters abroad, no sooner born but dead.

‭Holding, then, in eternal contempt, my Lord, those short-lived ‭bubbles, eternize your virtue and judgment with the Grecian ‭monarch; esteeming, not as the least of your new-year’s presents,

‭ Homer, three thousand years dead, now reviv’d, ‭ Ev’n from that dull death that in life he liv’d; ‭ When none conceited him, none understood ‭ That so much life in so much death as blood ‭ Conveys about it could mix. But when death ‭ Drunk up the bloody mist that human breath ‭ Pour’d round about him—poverty and spite. ‭ Thick’ning the hapless vapour—then truth’s light ‭ Glimmer’d about his poem; the pinch’d soul ‭ (Amidst the mysteries it did enrol) ‭ Brake pow’rfully abroad. And as we see ‭ The sun all-hid in clouds, at length got free, ‭ Through some forc’d covert, over all the ways, ‭ Near and beneath him, shoots his vented rays ‭ Far off, and sticks them in some little glade, ‭ All woods, fields, rivers, left besides in shade; ‭ So your Apollo, from that world of light ‭ Clos’d in his poem’s body, shot to sight ‭ Some few forc’d beams, which near him were not seen, ‭ (As in his life or country) Fate and spleen ‭ Clouding their radiance; which when Death had clear’d, ‭ To far-off regions his free beams appear’d; ‭ In which all stood and wonder’d, striving which ‭ His birth and rapture should in right enrich. ‭ Twelve labours of your Thespian Hercules ‭ I now present your Lordship; do but please ‭ To lend life means till th’ other twelve receive ‭ Equal achievement; and let Death then reave ‭ My life now lost in our patrician loves, ‭ That knock heads with the herd; in whom there moves ‭ One blood, one soul, both drown’d in one set height ‭ Of stupid envy and mere popular spite. ‭ Whose loves with no good did my least vein fill; ‭ And from their hates I fear as little ill. ‭ Their bounties nourish not when most they feed, ‭ But, where there is no merit or no need, ‭ Rain into rivers still, and are such show’rs ‭ As bubbles spring and overflow the flow’rs. ‭ Their worse parts and worst men their best suborns, ‭ Like winter cows whose milk runs to their horns. ‭ And as litigious clients’ books of law ‭ Cost infinitely; taste of all the awe ‭ Bench’d in our kingdom’s policy, piety, state; ‭ Earn all their deep explorings; satiate ‭ All sorts there thrust together by the heart ‭ With thirst of wisdom spent on either part; ‭ Horrid examples made of Life and Death ‭ From their fine stuff wov’n; yet when once the breath ‭ Of sentence leaves them, all their worth is drawn ‭ As dry as dust, and wears like cobweb lawn: ‭ So these men set a price upon their worth, ‭ That no man gives but those that trot it forth ‭ Though Need’s foul ways, feed Humours with all cost ‭ Though Judgment sterves in them; rout, State engrost ‭ (At all tobacco-benches, solemn tables, ‭ Where all that cross their envies are their fables) ‭ In their rank faction; shame and death approv’d ‭ Fit penance for their opposites; none lov’d ‭ But those that rub them; not a reason heard ‭ That doth not soothe and glorify their preferr’d ‭ Bitter opinions. When, would Truth resume ‭ The cause to his hands, all would fly in fume ‭ Before his sentence; since the innocent mind ‭ Just God makes good, to Whom their worst is wind. ‭ For, that I freely all my thoughts express, ‭ My conscience is my thousand witnesses; ‭ And to this stay my constant comforts vow, ‭ You for the world I have, or God for you. ‭ CERTAIN ANCIENT GREEK EPIGRAMS TRANSLATED

‭ All stars are drunk-up by the fiery sun, ‭ And in so much a flame lies shrunk the moon. ‭ Homer’s all-liv’d name all names leaves in death, ‭ Whose splendour only Muses’ bosoms breathe. ‭ ANOTHER

‭ Heav’n’s fires shall first fall darken’d from his sphere, ‭ Grave Night the light weed of the Day shall wear, ‭ Fresh streams shall chase the sea, tough ploughs shall tear ‭ Her fishy bottoms, men in long date dead ‭ Shall rise and live, before Oblivion shed ‭ Those still-green leaves that crown great Homer’s head. ‭ ANOTHER

‭ The great Mæonides doth only write, ‭ And to him dictates the great God of Light. ‭ ANOTHER

‭ Sev’n kingdoms strove in which should swell the womb ‭ That bore great Homer, whom Fame freed from tomb; ‭ Argos, Chios, Pylos, Smyrna, Colophone, ‭ The learn’d Athenian, and Ulyssean throne. ‭ ANOTHER

‭ Art thou of Chios? No. Of Salamine? ‭ As little. Was the Smyrnean country thine? ‭ Nor so. Which then? Was Cuma’s? Colophone? ‭ Nor one nor other. Art thou, then, of none ‭ That fame proclaims thee? None. Thy reason call. ‭ If I confess of one I anger all. ‭ CONTENTS ‭ THE ODYSSEYS ‭ THE BATRACHOMYOMACHIA

‭ HYMNS— ‭ To Apollo ‭ To Hermes ‭ To Venus (First Hymn) ‭ To Venus (Second Hymn) ‭ Bacchus, or the Pirates ‭ To Mars ‭ To Diana ‭ To Venus (Third Hymn) ‭ To Pallas ‭ To Juno ‭ To Ceres ‭ To Cybele ‭ To Hercules ‭ To Æsculapius ‭ To Castor and Pollux ‭ To Mercury ‭ To Pan ‭ To Vulcan ‭ To Phœbus ‭ To Neptune ‭ To Jove ‭ To Vesta ‭ To the Muses and Apollo ‭ To Bacchus ‭ To Diana ‭ To Pallas ‭ To Vesta and Mercury ‭ To Earth ‭ To the Sun ‭ To the Moon ‭ To Castor and Pollux ‭ To Men of Hospitality

‭ EPIGRAMS AND OTHER POEMS— ‭ To Cuma ‭ In his Return to Cuma ‭ Upon the Sepulchre of Midus Cumama, refusing to eternize their State, etc. ‭ An Essay of his begun Iliads ‭ To Thestor’s Son inquisitive about the Causes of Things ‭ To Neptune ‭ To the City of Erythræa ‭ To Mariners ‭ The Pine ‭ To Glaucus ‭ Against the Samian Ministress or Nun ‭ Written on the Council Chamber ‭ The Furnace called in to sing by Potters ‭ Eiresione, or the Olive Branch ‭ To certain Fisher-Boys pleasing him with Riddles ‭ The Translator’s Epilogue ‭ THE FIRST BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ The Gods in council sit, to call ‭ Ulysses from Calypso’s thrall, ‭ And order their high pleasures thus: ‭ Grey Pallas to Telemachus ‭ (In Ithaca) her way addrest; ‭ And did her heav’nly limbs invest ‭ In Mentas’ likeness, that did reign ‭ King of the Taphians, in the main ‭ Whose rough waves near Leucadia run. ‭ Advising wise Ulysses’ son ‭ To seek his father, and address ‭ His course to young Tantalides, ‭ That govern’d Sparta. Thus much said, ‭ She shew’d she was Heav’n’s martial Maid, ‭ And vanish’d from him. Next to this, ‭ The Banquet of the Wooers is. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ἂλφα. ‭ The Deities sit; ‭ The Man retired; ‭ Th’ Ulyssean wit ‭ By Pallas fired.

‭ The man, O Muse, inform, that many a way [1] ‭ Wound with his wisdom to his wished stay; ‭ That wander’d wondrous far, when he the town ‭ Of sacred Troy had sack’d and shiver’d down; ‭ The cities of a world of nations, ‭ With all their manners, minds, and fashions, ‭ He saw and knew; at sea felt many woes, ‭ Much care sustain’d, to save from overthrows ‭ Himself and friends in their retreat for home; ‭ But so their fates he could not overcome, ‭ Though much he thirsted it. O men unwise, ‭ They perish’d by their own impieties! ‭ That in their hunger’s rapine would not shun ‭ The oxen of the lofty-going Sun, ‭ Who therefore from their eyes the day bereft ‭ Of safe return. These acts, in some part left, ‭ Tell us, as others, deified Seed of Jove. ‭ Now all the rest that austere death outstrove ‭ At Troy’s long siege at home safe anchor’d are, ‭ Free from the malice both of sea and war; ‭ Only Ulysses is denied access ‭ To wife and home. The grace of Goddesses, ‭ The rev’rend nymph Calypso, did detain ‭ Him in her caves, past all the race of men ‭ Enflam’d to make him her lov’d lord and spouse. ‭ And when the Gods had destin’d that his house, ‭ Which Ithaca on her rough bosom bears, ‭ (The point of time wrought out by ambient years) ‭ Should be his haven, Contention still extends ‭ Her envy to him, ev’n amongst his friends. ‭ All Gods took pity on him; only he, ‭ That girds earth in the cincture of the sea, ‭ Divine Ulysses ever did envy, ‭ And made the fix’d port of his birth to fly. ‭ But he himself solemniz’d a retreat ‭ To th’ Æthiops, far dissunder’d in their seat, ‭ (In two parts parted, at the sun’s descent, ‭ And underneath his golden orient, ‭ The first and last of men) t’ enjoy their feast ‭ Of bulls and lambs, in hecatombs addrest; [2] ‭ At which he sat, giv’n over to delight. ‭ The other Gods in heav’n’s supremest height ‭ Were all in council met; to whom began ‭ The mighty Father both of God and man ‭ Discourse, inducing matter that inclin’d ‭ To wise Ulysses, calling to his mind ‭ Faultful Ægisthus, who to death was done [3] ‭ By young Orestes, Agamemnon’s son. ‭ His memory to the Immortals then ‭ Mov’d Jove thus deeply: “O how falsely men ‭ Accuse us Gods as authors of their ill! ‭ When, by the bane their own bad lives instill, ‭ They suffer all the mis’ries of their states, ‭ Past our inflictions, and beyond their fates. ‭ As now Ægisthus, past his fate, did wed ‭ The wife of Agamemnon, and (in dread ‭ To suffer death himself) to shun his ill, ‭ Incurr’d it by the loose bent of his will, ‭ In slaughtering Atrides in retreat. ‭ Which we foretold him would so hardly set ‭ To his murd’rous purpose, sending Mercury ‭ That slaughter’d Argus, our consid’rate spy, ‭ To give him this charge: ‘Do not wed his wife, ‭ Nor murder him; for thou shalt buy his life ‭ With ransom of thine own, impos’d on thee ‭ By his Orestes, when in him shall be ‭ Atrides’-self renew’d, and but the prime ‭ Of youth’s spring put abroad, in thirst to climb ‭ His haughty father’s throne by his high acts.’ ‭ These words of Hermes wrought not into facts ‭ Ægisthus’ powers; good counsel he despis’d, ‭ And to that good his ill is sacrific’d.” ‭ Pallas, whose eyes did sparkle like the skies, ‭ Answer’d: “O Sire! Supreme of Deities, ‭ Ægisthus pass’d his fate, and had desert ‭ To warrant our infliction; and convert ‭ May all the pains such impious men inflict ‭ On innocent suff’rers to revenge as strict, ‭ Their own hearts eating. But, that Ithacus, ‭ Thus never meriting, should suffer thus, ‭ I deeply suffer. His more pious mind ‭ Divides him from these fortunes. Though unkind ‭ Is piety to him, giving him a fate ‭ More suff’ring than the most unfortunate, ‭ So long kept friendless in a sea-girt soil, ‭ Where the sea’s navel is a sylvan isle, ‭ In which the Goddess dwells that doth derive ‭ Her birth from Atlas, who of all alive ‭ The motion and the fashion doth command ‭ With his wise mind, whose forces understand [4] ‭ The inmost deeps and gulfs of all the seas, ‭ Who (for his skill of things superior) stays ‭ The two steep columns that prop earth and heav’n. ‭ His daughter ‘tis, who holds this homeless-driv’n [5] ‭ Still mourning with her; evermore profuse ‭ Of soft and winning speeches, that abuse ‭ And make so languishingly, and possest [6] ‭ With so remiss a mind her loved guest, ‭ Manage the action of his way for home. ‭ Where he, though in affection overcome, ‭ In judgment yet more longs to show his hopes ‭ His country’s smoke leap from her chimney tops, ‭ And death asks in her arms. Yet never shall ‭ Thy lov’d heart be converted on his thrall, ‭ Austere Olympius. Did not ever he, ‭ In ample Troy, thy altars gratify, ‭ And Grecians’ fleet make in thy off’rings swim? ‭ Jove, why still then burns thy wrath to him?” ‭ The Cloud-assembler answer’d: “What words fly, ‭ Bold daughter, from thy pale of ivory? [7] ‭ As if I ever could cast from my care ‭ Divine Ulysses, who exceeds so far ‭ All men in wisdom, and so oft hath giv’n ‭ To all th’ Immortals thron’d in ample heav’n ‭ So great and sacred gifts? But his decrees, ‭ That holds the earth in with his nimble knees, ‭ Stand to Ulysses’ longings so extreme, ‭ For taking from the God-foe Polypheme ‭ His only eye; a Cyclop, that excell’d ‭ All other Cyclops, with whose burden swell’d ‭ The nymph Thoosa, the divine increase ‭ Of Phorcys’ seed, a great God of the seas. ‭ She mix’d with Neptune in his hollow caves, ‭ And bore this Cyclop to that God of waves. ‭ For whose lost eye, th’ Earth-shaker did not kill ‭ Erring Ulysses, but reserves him still ‭ In life for more death. But use we our pow’rs, ‭ And round about us cast these cares of ours, ‭ All to discover how we may prefer ‭ His wish’d retreat, and Neptune make forbear ‭ His stern eye to him, since no one God can, ‭ In spite of all, prevail, but ’gainst a man.” ‭ To this, this answer made the grey-eyed Maid: ‭ “Supreme of rulers, since so well apaid ‭ The blesséd Gods are all then, now, in thee, ‭ To limit wise Ulysses’ misery, ‭ And that you speak as you referr’d to me ‭ Prescription for the means, in this sort be ‭ Their sacred order: Let us now address ‭ With utmost speed our swift Argicides, ‭ To tell the nymph that bears the golden tress ‭ In th’ isle Ogygia, that ’tis our will ‭ She should not stay our lov’d Ulysses still, ‭ But suffer his return; and then will I ‭ To Ithaca, to make his son apply ‭ His sire’s inquest the more; infusing force ‭ Into his soul, to summon the concourse ‭ Of curl’d-head Greeks to council, and deter ‭ Each wooer, that hath been the slaughterer ‭ Of his fat sheep and crooked-headed beeves. ‭ From more wrong to his mother, and their leaves ‭ Take in such terms as fit deserts so great. ‭ To Sparta then, and Pylos, where doth beat ‭ Bright Amathus, the flood, and epithet ‭ To all that kingdom, my advice shall send ‭ The spirit-advanc’d Prince, to the pious end ‭ Of seeking his lost father, if he may ‭ Receive report from Fame where rests his stay; ‭ And make, besides, his own successive worth ‭ Known to the world, and set in action forth.” ‭ This said, her wing’d shoes to her feet she tied, ‭ Form’d all of gold, and all eternified, ‭ That on the round earth or the sea sustain’d ‭ Her ravish’d substance swift as gusts of wind. ‭ Then took she her strong lance with steel made keen, ‭ Great, massy, active, that whole hosts of men, ‭ Though all heroës, conquers, if her ire ‭ Their wrongs inflame, back’d by so great a Sire. ‭ Down from Olympus’ tops she headlong div’d, ‭ And swift as thought in Ithaca arriv’d, ‭ Close at Ulysses’ gates; in whose first court ‭ She made her stand, and, for her breast’s support, ‭ Lean’d on her iron lance; her form imprest ‭ With Mentas’ likeness, come as being a guest. ‭ There found she those proud wooers, that were then ‭ Set on those ox-hides that themselves had slain, ‭ Before the gates, and all at dice were playing. ‭ To them the heralds, and the rest obeying, ‭ Fill’d wine and water; some, still as they play’d, ‭ And some, for solemn supper’s state, purvey’d, ‭ With porous sponges cleansing tables, serv’d ‭ With much rich feast; of which to all they kerv’d. ‭ God-like Telemachus amongst them sat, ‭ Griev’d much in mind; and in his heart begat ‭ All representment of his absent sire, ‭ How, come from far-off parts, his spirits would fire ‭ With those proud wooers’ sight, with slaughter parting ‭ Their bold concourse, and to himself converting ‭ The honours they usurp’d, his own commanding. ‭ In this discourse, he first saw Pallas standing, ‭ Unbidden entry; up rose, and addrest ‭ His pace right to her, angry that a guest ‭ Should stand so long at gate; and, coming near, ‭ Her right hand took, took in his own her spear, ‭ And thus saluted: “Grace to your repair, ‭ Fair guest, your welcome shall be likewise fair. ‭ Enter, and, cheer’d with feast, disclose th’ intent ‭ That caus’d your coming.” This said, first he went, ‭ And Pallas follow’d. To a room they came, ‭ Steep, and of state; the jav’lin of the Dame ‭ He set against a pillar vast and high, ‭ Amidst a large and bright-kept armory, ‭ Which was, besides, with woods of lances grac’d ‭ Of his grave father’s. In a throne he plac’d ‭ The man-turn’d Goddess, under which was spread ‭ A carpet, rich and of deviceful thread; ‭ A footstool staying her feet; and by her chair ‭ Another seat (all garnish’d wondrous fair, ‭ To rest or sleep on in the day) he set, ‭ Far from the prease of wooers, lest at meat ‭ The noise they still made might offend his guest, ‭ Disturbing him at banquet or at rest, ‭ Ev’n to his combat with that pride of theirs, ‭ That kept no noble form in their affairs. ‭ And these he set far from them, much the rather ‭ To question freely of his absent father. ‭ A table fairly-polish’d then was spread, ‭ On which a rev’rend officer set bread, ‭ And other servitors all sorts of meat ‭ (Salads, and flesh, such as their haste could get) ‭ Serv’d with observance in. And then the sewer ‭ Pour’d water from a great and golden ewer, ‭ That from their hands t’ a silver caldron ran. ‭ Both wash’d, and seated close, the voiceful man ‭ Fetch’d cups of gold, and set by them, and round ‭ Those cups with wine with all endeavour crown’d. ‭ Then rush’d in the rude wooers, themselves plac’d; ‭ The heralds water gave; the maids in haste ‭ Serv’d bread from baskets. When, of all prepar’d ‭ And set before them, the bold wooers shar’d, ‭ Their pages plying their cups past the rest. ‭ But lusty wooers must do more than feast; ‭ For now, their hungers and their thirsts allay’d, ‭ They call’d for songs and dances; those, they said, ‭ Were th’ ornaments of feast. The herald straight ‭ A harp, carv’d full of artificial sleight, ‭ Thrust into Phemius’, a learn’d singer’s, hand, ‭ Who, till he much was urg’d, on terms did stand, ‭ But, after, play’d and sung with all his art. ‭ Telemachus to Pallas then (apart, ‭ His ear inclining close, that none might hear) ‭ In this sort said: “My guest, exceeding dear, ‭ Will you not sit incens’d with what I say? ‭ These are the cares these men take; feast and play. ‭ Which eas’ly they may use, because they eat, ‭ Free and unpunish’d, of another’s meat; ‭ And of a man’s, whose white bones wasting lie ‭ In some far region; with th’ incessancy ‭ Of show’rs pour’d down upon them, lying ashore, ‭ Or in the seas wash’d nak’d. Who, if he wore ‭ Those bones with flesh and life and industry, ‭ And these might here in Ithaca set eye ‭ On him return’d, they all would wish to be ‭ Either past other in celerity ‭ Of feet and knees, and not contend t’ exceed ‭ In golden garments. But his virtues feed ‭ The fate of ill death; nor is left to me ‭ The least hope of his life’s recovery, ‭ No, not if any of the mortal race ‭ Should tell me his return; the cheerful face ‭ Of his return’d day never will appear. ‭ But tell me, and let Truth your witness bear, ‭ Who, and from whence you are? What city’s birth? ‭ What parents? In what vessel set you forth? ‭ And with what mariners arriv’d you here? ‭ I cannot think you a foot passenger. ‭ Recount then to me all, to teach me well ‭ Fit usage for your worth. And if it fell ‭ In chance now first that you thus see us here, ‭ Or that in former passages you were ‭ My father’s guest? For many men have been ‭ Guests to my father. Studious of men ‭ His sociable nature ever was.” ‭ On him again the grey-eyed Maid did pass ‭ This kind reply: “I’ll answer passing true ‭ All thou hast ask’d: My birth his honour drew ‭ From wise Anchialus. The name I bear ‭ Is Mentas, the commanding islander ‭ Of all the Taphians studious in the art ‭ Of navigation; having touch’d this part ‭ With ship and men, of purpose to maintain ‭ Course through the dark seas t’ other-languag’d men; ‭ And Temesis sustains the city’s name ‭ For which my ship is bound, made known by fame ‭ For rich in brass, which my occasions need, ‭ And therefore bring I shining steel in stead, ‭ Which their use wants, yet makes my vessel’s freight, ‭ That near a plough’d field rides at anchor’s weight, ‭ Apart this city, in the harbour call’d ‭ Rhethrus, whose waves with Neius’ woods are wall’d. ‭ Thy sire and I were ever mutual guests, ‭ At either’s house still interchanging feasts. ‭ I glory in it. Ask, when thou shalt see ‭ Laertes, th’ old heroë, these of me, ‭ From the beginning. He, men say, no more ‭ Visits the city, but will needs deplore ‭ His son’s believ’d loss in a private field; ‭ One old maid only at his hands to yield ‭ Food to his life, as oft as labour makes ‭ His old limbs faint; which, though he creeps, he takes ‭ Along a fruitful plain, set all with vines, ‭ Which husbandman-like, though a king, he proins. ‭ But now I come to be thy father’s guest; ‭ I hear he wanders, while these wooers feast. ‭ And (as th’ Immortals prompt me at this hour) ‭ I’ll tell thee, out of a prophetic pow’r, ‭ (Not as profess’d a prophet, nor clear seen ‭ At all times what shall after chance to men) ‭ What I conceive, for this time, will be true: ‭ The Gods’ inflictions keep your sire from you. ‭ Divine Ulysses, yet, abides not dead ‭ Above earth, nor beneath, nor buried ‭ In any seas, as you did late conceive, ‭ But, with the broad sea sieg’d, is kept alive ‭ Within an isle by rude and upland men, ‭ That in his spite his passage home detain. ‭ Yet long it shall not be before he tread ‭ His country’s dear earth, though solicited, ‭ And held from his return, with iron chains; ‭ For he hath wit to forge a world of trains, ‭ And will, of all, be sure to make good one ‭ For his return, so much relied upon. ‭ But tell me, and be true: Art thou indeed ‭ So much a son, as to be said the seed [8] ‭ Of Ithacus himself? Exceeding much ‭ Thy forehead and fair eyes at his form touch; ‭ For oftentimes we met, as you and I ‭ Meet at this hour, before he did apply ‭ His pow’rs for Troy, when other Grecian states ‭ In hollow ships were his associates. ‭ But, since that time, mine eyes could never see ‭ Renown’d Ulysses, nor met his with me.” ‭ The wise Telemachus again replied: ‭ “You shall with all I know be satisfied. ‭ My mother certain says I am his son; ‭ I know not; nor was ever simply known ‭ By any child the sure truth of his sire. ‭ But would my veins had took in living fire ‭ From some man happy, rather than one wise, ‭ Whom age might see seis’d of what youth made prise. ‭ But he whoever of the mortal race ‭ Is most unblest, he holds my father’s place. ‭ This, since you ask, I answer.” She, again: ‭ “The Gods sure did not make the future strain ‭ Both of thy race and days obscure to thee, ‭ Since thou wert born so of Penelope. ‭ The style may by thy after acts be won, ‭ Of so great sire the high undoubted son. ‭ Say truth in this then: What’s this feasting here? ‭ What all this rout? Is all this nuptial cheer? ‭ Or else some friendly banquet made by thee? ‭ For here no shots are, where all sharers be. ‭ Past measure contumeliously this crew ‭ Fare through thy house; which should th’ ingenuous view ‭ Of any good or wise man come and find, ‭ (Impiety seeing play’d in ev’ry kind) ‭ He could not but through ev’ry vein be mov’d.” ‭ Again Telemachus: “My guest much lov’d. ‭ Since you demand and sift these sights so far, ‭ I grant ’twere fit a house so regular, ‭ Rich, and so faultless once in government, ‭ Should still at all parts the same form present ‭ That gave it glory while her lord was here. ‭ But now the Gods, that us displeasure bear, ‭ Have otherwise appointed, and disgrace ‭ My father most of all the mortal race. ‭ For whom I could not mourn so were he dead, ‭ Amongst his fellow-captains slaughteréd ‭ By common enemies, or in the hands ‭ Of his kind friends had ended his commands, ‭ After he had egregiously bestow’d ‭ His pow’r and order in a war so vow’d, ‭ And to his tomb all Greeks their grace had done, ‭ That to all ages he might leave his son ‭ Immortal honour; but now Harpies have ‭ Digg’d in their gorges his abhorréd grave. ‭ Obscure, inglorious, death hath made his end, ‭ And me, for glories, to all griefs contend. ‭ Nor shall I any more mourn him alone, ‭ The Gods have giv’n me other cause of moan. ‭ For look how many optimates remain ‭ In Samos, or the shores Dulichian, ‭ Shady Zacynthus, or how many bear ‭ Rule in the rough brows of this island here; ‭ So many now my mother and this house ‭ At all parts make defam’d and ruinous; ‭ And she her hateful nuptials nor denies, ‭ Nor will despatch their importunities, ‭ Though she beholds them spoil still as they feast ‭ All my free house yields, and the little rest ‭ Of my dead sire in me perhaps intend ‭ To bring ere long to some untimely end.” ‭ This Pallas sigh’d and answer’d: “O,” said she, ‭ “Absent Ulysses is much miss’d by thee, ‭ That on these shameless suitors he might lay ‭ His wreakful hands. Should he now come, and stay ‭ In thy court’s first gates, arm’d with helm and shield, ‭ And two such darts as I have seen him wield, ‭ When first I saw him in our Taphian court, ‭ Feasting, and doing his desert’s disport; ‭ When from Ephyrus he return’d by us ‭ From Ilus, son to Centaur Mermerus, ‭ To whom he travell’d through the wat’ry dreads, ‭ For bane to poison his sharp arrows’ heads, ‭ That death, but touch’d, caus’d; which he would not give, ‭ Because he fear’d the Gods that ever live ‭ Would plague such death with death; and yet their fear ‭ Was to my father’s bosom not so dear ‭ As was thy father’s love; (for what he sought ‭ My loving father found him to a thought.) ‭ If such as then Ulysses might but meet ‭ With these proud wooers, all were at his feet ‭ But instant dead men, and their nuptialls ‭ Would prove as bitter as their dying galls. ‭ But these things in the Gods’ knees are repos’d, ‭ If his return shall see with wreak inclos’d, ‭ These in his house, or he return no more; ‭ And therefore I advise thee to explore ‭ All ways thyself, to set these wooers gone; ‭ To which end give me fit attentión: ‭ To-morrow into solemn council call ‭ The Greek heroës, and declare to all ‭ (The Gods being witness) what thy pleasure is. ‭ Command to towns of their nativity ‭ These frontless wooers. If thy mother’s mind ‭ Stands to her second nuptials so inclin’d, ‭ Return she to her royal father’s tow’rs, ‭ Where th’ one of these may wed her, and her dow’rs ‭ Make rich, and such as may consort with grace ‭ So dear a daughter of so great a race ‭ And thee I warn as well (if thou as well ‭ Wilt hear and follow) take thy best-built sail, ‭ With twenty oars mann’d, and haste t’ inquire ‭ Where the abode is of thy absent sire, ‭ If any can inform thee, or thine ear ‭ From Jove the fame of his retreat may hear, ‭ For chiefly Jove gives all that honours men. ‭ To Pylos first be thy addression then, ‭ To god-like Nestor; thence to Sparta haste, ‭ To gold-lock’d Menelaus, who was last ‭ Of all the brass-arm’d Greeks that sail’d from Troy; ‭ And try from both these, if thou canst enjoy ‭ News of thy sire’s return’d life anywhere, ‭ Though sad thou suffer’st in his search a year. ‭ If of his death thou hear’st, return thou home, ‭ And to his memory erect a tomb, ‭ Performing parent-rites, of feast and game, ‭ Pompous, and such as best may fit his fame; ‭ And then thy mother a fit husband give. ‭ These past, consider how thou mayst deprive ‭ Of worthless life these wooers in thy house, ‭ By open force, or projects enginous. ‭ Things childish fit not thee; th’ art so no more. ‭ Hast thou not heard, how all men did adore ‭ Divine Orestes, after he had slain ‭ Ægisthus murd’ring by a treach’rous train ‭ His famous father? Be then, my most lov’d, ‭ Valiant and manly, ev’ry way approv’d ‭ As great as he. I see thy person fit, ‭ Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit, ‭ All giv’n thee so to use and manage here ‭ That ev’n past death they may their memories bear. ‭ In meantime I’ll descend to ship and men, ‭ That much expect me. Be observant then ‭ Of my advice, and careful to maintain ‭ In equal acts thy royal father’s reign.” ‭ Telemachus replied: “You ope, fair guest, ‭ A friend’s heart in your speech, as well exprest ‭ As might a father serve t’ inform his son; ‭ All which sure place have in my memory won. ‭ Abide yet, though your voyage calls away, ‭ That, having bath’d, and dignified your stay ‭ With some more honour, you may yet beside ‭ Delight your mind by being gratified ‭ With some rich present taken in your way, ‭ That, as a jewel, your respect may lay ‭ Up in your treasury, bestow’d by me, ‭ As free friends use to guests of such degree.” ‭ “Detain me not,” said she, “so much inclin’d ‭ To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind ‭ Commands to give, at my return this way, ‭ Bestow on me, that I directly may ‭ Convey it home; which more of price to me ‭ The more it asks my recompense to thee.” ‭ This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew, ‭ Like to a mounting lark; and did endue ‭ His mind with strength and boldness, and much more ‭ Made him his father long for than before; ‭ And weighing better who his guest might be, ‭ He stood amaz’d, and thought a Deity ‭ Was there descended; to whose will he fram’d ‭ His pow’rs at all parts, and went so inflam’d ‭ Amongst the wooers, who were silent set, ‭ To hear a poet sing the sad retreat ‭ The Greeks perform’d from Troy; which was from thence ‭ Proclaim’d by Pallas, pain of her offence. ‭ When which divine song was perceiv’d to bear ‭ That mournful subject by the list’ning ear ‭ Of wise Penelope, Icarius’ seed, ‭ Who from an upper room had giv’n it heed, ‭ Down she descended by a winding stair, ‭ Not solely, but the state in her repair ‭ Two maids of honour made. And when this queen ‭ Of women stoop’d so low, she might be seen ‭ By all her wooers. In the door, aloof, ‭ Ent’ring the hall grac’d with a goodly roof, ‭ She stood, in shade of graceful veils, implied ‭ About her beauties; on her either side, ‭ Her honour’d women. When, to tears mov’d, thus ‭ She chid the sacred singer: “Phemiüs, ‭ You know a number more of these great deeds ‭ Of Gods and men, that are the sacred seeds, ‭ And proper subjects, of a poet’s song, ‭ And those due pleasures that to men belong, ‭ Besides these facts that furnish Troy’s retreat, ‭ Sing one of those to these, that round your seat ‭ They may with silence sit, and taste their wine; ‭ But cease this song, that through these ears of mine ‭ Conveys deserv’d occasion to my heart ‭ Of endless sorrows, of which the desert ‭ In me unmeasur’d is past all these men, ‭ So endless is the memory I retain, ‭ And so desertful is that memory, ‭ Of such a man as hath a dignity ‭ So broad it spreads itself through all the pride ‭ Of Greece and Argos.” To the queen replied ‭ Inspir’d Telemachus: “Why thus envies ‭ My mother him that fits societies [9] ‭ With so much harmony, to let him please ‭ His own mind in his will to honour these? ‭ For these ingenious and first sort of men, [10] ‭ That do immediately from Jove retain ‭ Their singing raptures, are by Jove as well ‭ Inspir’d with choice of what their songs impell, ‭ Jove’s will is free in it, and therefore theirs. ‭ Nor is this man to blame, that the repairs ‭ The Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse ‭ Men still most celebrate that sings most news. ‭ And therefore in his note your ears employ: ‭ For not Ulysses only lost in Troy ‭ The day of his return, but numbers more ‭ The deadly ruins of his fortunes bore. ‭ Go you then in, and take your work in hand, ‭ Your web, and distaff; and your maids command ‭ To ply their fit work. Words to men are due, ‭ And those reproving counsels you pursue, ‭ And most to me of all men, since I bear ‭ The rule of all things that are manag’d here.” ‭ She went amaz’d away, and in her heart ‭ Laid up the wisdom Pallas did impart ‭ To her lov’d son so lately, turn’d again ‭ Up to her chamber, and no more would reign ‭ In manly counsels. To her women she ‭ Applied her sway; and to the wooers he ‭ Began new orders, other spirits bewray’d ‭ Than those in spite of which the wooers sway’d. ‭ And (whiles his mother’s tears still wash’d her eyes, ‭ Till grey Minerva did those tears surprise ‭ With timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse ‭ Rude tumult up through all the shady house, ‭ Dispos’d to sleep because their widow was) ‭ Telemachus this new-giv’n spirit did pass ‭ On their old insolence: “Ho! you that are, ‭ My mother’s wooers! much too high ye bear ‭ Your petulant spirits; sit; and, while ye may ‭ Enjoy me in your banquets, see ye lay ‭ These loud notes down, nor do this man the wrong, ‭ Because my mother hath disliked his song, ‭ To grace her interruption. ’Tis a thing ‭ Honest, and honour’d too, to hear one sing ‭ Numbers so like the Gods in elegance, ‭ As this man flows in. By the morn’s first light, [11] ‭ I’ll call ye all before me in a Court, ‭ That I may clearly banish your resort, ‭ With all your rudeness, from these roofs of mine. ‭ Away; and elsewhere in your feasts combine. ‭ Consume your own goods, and make mutual feast ‭ At either’s house. Or if ye still hold best, ‭ And for your humours’ more sufficéd fill, ‭ To feed, to spoil, because unpunish’d still, ‭ On other findings, spoil; but here I call ‭ Th’ Eternal Gods to witness, if it fall ‭ In my wish’d reach once to be dealing wreaks, ‭ By Jove’s high bounty, these your present checks ‭ To what I give in charge shall add more reins ‭ To my revenge hereafter; and the pains ‭ Ye then must suffer shall pass all your pride ‭ Ever to see redress’d, or qualified.” ‭ At this all bit their lips, and did admire ‭ His words sent from him with such phrase and fire; ‭ Which so much mov’d them that Antinous, ‭ Eupitheus’ son, cried out: “Telemachus! ‭ The Gods, I think, have rapt thee to this height ‭ Of elocution, and this great conceit ‭ Of self-ability. We all may pray, ‭ That Jove invest not in this kingdom’s sway ‭ Thy forward forces, which I see put forth ‭ A hot ambition in thee for thy birth.” ‭ “Be not offended,” he replied, “if I [12] ‭ Shall say, I would assume this empery, ‭ If Jove gave leave. You are not he that sings: ‭ The rule of kingdoms is the worst of things. ‭ Nor is it ill, at all, to sway a throne; ‭ A man may quickly gain possession ‭ Of mighty riches, make a wondrous prize ‭ Set of his virtues; but the dignities ‭ That deck a king, there are enough beside ‭ In this circumfluous isle that want no pride ‭ To think them worthy of, as young as I, ‭ And old as you are. An ascent so high ‭ My thoughts affect not. Dead is he that held ‭ Desert of virtue to have so excell’d. ‭ But of these turrets I will take on me ‭ To be the absolute king, and reign as free, ‭ As did my father, over all his hand ‭ Left here in this house slaves to my command.” ‭ Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, ‭ To this made this reply: “Telemachus! ‭ The girlond of this kingdom let the knees ‭ Of Deity run for; but the faculties ‭ This house is seis’d of, and the turrets here, ‭ Thou shalt be lord of, nor shall any bear ‭ The least part off of all thou dost possess, ‭ As long as this land is no wilderness. ‭ Nor rul’d by out-laws. But give these their pass, ‭ And tell me, best of princes, who he was ‭ That guested here so late? From whence? And what ‭ In any region boasted he his state? ‭ His race? His country? Brought he any news ‭ Of thy returning father? Or for dues ‭ Of moneys to him made he fit repair? ‭ How suddenly he rush’d into the air, ‭ Nor would sustain to stay and make him known! ‭ His port show’d no debauch’d companion.” ‭ He answer’d: “The return of my lov’d sire ‭ Is past all hope; and should rude Fame inspire ‭ From any place a flatt’ring messenger ‭ With news of his survival, he should bear ‭ No least belief off from my desp’rate love. ‭ Which if a sacred prophet should approve, ‭ Call’d by my mother for her care’s unrest, ‭ It should not move me. For my late fair guest, ‭ He was of old my father’s, touching here ‭ From sea-girt Taphos; and for name doth bear ‭ Mentas, the son of wise Anchialus; ‭ And governs all the Taphians studious ‭ Of navigation.” This he said, but knew ‭ It was a Goddess. These again withdrew ‭ To dances and attraction of the song; ‭ And while their pleasures did the time prolong, ‭ The sable Even descended, and did steep ‭ The lids of all men in desire of sleep. ‭ Telemachus, into a room built high, ‭ Of his illustrious court, and to the eye ‭ Of circular prospect, to his bed ascended, ‭ And in his mind much weighty thought contended ‭ Before him Euryclea (that well knew ‭ All the observance of a handmaid’s due, ‭ Daughter to Opis Pisenorides) ‭ Bore two bright torches; who did so much please ‭ Laërtes in her prime, that, for the price ‭ Of twenty oxen, he made merchandise ‭ Of her rare beauties; and love’s equal flame, ‭ To her he felt, as to his nuptial dame, ‭ Yet never durst he mix with her in bed, ‭ So much the anger of his wife he fled. ‭ She, now grown old, to young Telemachus Twowo torches bore, and was obsequious ‭ Past all his other maids, and did apply ‭ Her service to him from his infancy. ‭ His well-built chamber reach’d, she op’d the door, ‭ He on his bed sat, the soft weeds he wore ‭ Put off, and to the diligent old maid ‭ Gave all; who fitly all in thick folds laid, ‭ And hung them on a beam-pin near the bed, ‭ That round about was rich embroidered. ‭ Then made she haste forth from him, and did bring ‭ The door together with a silver ring, ‭ And by a string a bar to it did pull. ‭ He, laid, and cover’d well with curled wool ‭ Wov’n in silk quilts, all night employ’d his mind ‭ About the task that Pallas had design’d. ‭ FINIS LIBRI PRIMI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] The information or fashion of an absolute man; and necessary (or ‭fatal) passage through many afflictions (according with the most ‭Sacred Letter) to his natural haven and country, is the whole ‭argument and scope of this inimitable and miraculous poem. And ‭therefore is the epithet πολὐτροπον given him in the first verse: ‭πολὐτροπος signifying, Homo cujus ingenium velut per multas ‭et varias vias vertitur in verum.

‭[2] These notes following I am forced to insert (since the words ‭they contain differ from all other translations) lest I be thought to ‭err out of that ignorance that may perhaps possess my depraver.

‭[3] ‘Αμὑμονος translated in this place inculpabilis, and made ‭the epithet of Ægisthus, is from the true sense of the word, as it is ‭here to be understood; which is quite contrary. As ὰντίθεος is ‭to be expounded in some place Divinus, or Deo similis, but in ‭another (soon after) contrarius Deo. The person to whom the ‭epithet is given giving reason to distinguish it. And so ‭ὀλοὁφρων, an epithet given to Atlas, instantly following, in one ‭place signifies mente perniciosus, in the next, qui universa ‭mente gerit.

‭[4] In this place is Atlas given the epithet ὀλοὁφρων, which ‭signifies qui universa mente agitat, here given him for the power ‭the stars have in all things. Yet this receives other interpretation in ‭other places, as abovesaid.

‭[5] Δὐστηνος is here turned by others, infelix, in the general ‭collection; when it hath here a particular exposition, applied to ‭express Ulysses’ desert errors, ‘παρἁ τὁ στἣναι, ut sit, qui vix ‭locum invenire potest ubi consistat.

‭[6] This is thus translated, the rather to express and approve the ‭allegory driven through the whole Odysseys. Deciphering the ‭intangling of the wisest in his affections; and the torments that ‭breed in every pious mind; to be thereby hindered to arrive so ‭directly as he desires, at the proper and only true natural country ‭of every worthy man, whose haven is heaven and the next life, to ‭which, this life is but a sea in continual æsture and vexation. The ‭words occasioning all this are μαλακοἳς λὀλοις: μαλακὀς ‭signifying, qui languide, et animo remisso rem aliquam gerit; ‭which being the effect of Calypso’s sweet words in Ulysses, is here ‭applied passively to his own sufferance of their operation.

‭[7] ῞Ερκος ὀδὀντων, viz. vallum or clanstrum dentium, ‭which, for the better sound in our language, is here turned, Pale of ‭Ivory. The teeth being that rampire, or pale, given us by nature in ‭that part for restraint and compression of our speech, till the ‭imagination, appetite, and soul (that ought to rule in their ‭examination, before their delivery) have given worthy pass to ‭them. The most grave and divine poet, teaching therein, that not so ‭much for the necessary chewing of our sustenance our teeth are ‭given us, as for their stay of our words, lest we utter them rashly.

‭[8] Τὀσος παîς, Tantus filius. Pallas thus enforcing her question ‭to stir up the son the more to the father’s worthiness.

‭[9] ’Ερἰηρος ἀοιδὀς. Cantor, cujus tam apta est societas ‭hominibus.

‭[10] ’Ανδρἀσιν ἀλφηστᾔσιν. ’Αλφηστᾔσιν is an epithet proper to ‭poets for their first finding out of arts and documents tending to ‭elocution and government inspired only by Jove, and are here ‭called the first of men, since first they gave rules to manly life, and ‭have their information immediately from Jove (as Plato in Ione ‭witnesseth); the word deduced from ἅλφα, which is taken for ‭him qui primas teneat aliquâ in re, and will ἀλφηστῃσιν then ‭be sufficiently expressed with ingeniosis, than which no ‭exposition goes further.

‭[11] ’Ηωθεν, prima luce.

‭[12] Upon this answer of Telemachus, because it hath so sudden a ‭change and is so far let down from his late height of heat, altering ‭and tempering so commandingly his affections I thought not amiss ‭to insert here Spondanus’ further annotations, which is this: ‭Prudenter Telemachus joco furorem Antinoi ac asperitatem ‭emolliit. Nam ita dictum illius interpretatur, ut existimetur censere ‭jocosè ilia etiam ab Antinoo adversum se pronunciata. Et primum ‭ironicè se Regem esse exoptat propter commoda quæ Reges solent ‭comitari. Ne tamen invidiam in se ambitionis concitet, testatur se ‭regnum, Ithacæ non ambire, mortuo Ulysse, cum id alii possidere ‭queant se longe præstantiores ac digniores: hoc unum ait se moliri, ‭ut propriarum ædium et bonorum solus sit dominus, iis exclusis, ac ‭ejectis, qui vi illa occupare ac disperdere conantur. ‭ THE SECOND BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Telemachus to court doth call ‭ The Wooers, and commands them all ‭ To leave his house; and taking then ‭ From wise Minerva ship and men, ‭ And all things fit for him beside, ‭ That Euryclea could provide ‭ For sea-rites till he found his sire, ‭ He hoists sail; when Heav’n stoops his fire. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ βητα. ‭ The old Maid’s store ‭ The voyage cheers. ‭ The ship leaves shore, ‭ Minerva steers.

‭ Now when with rosy fingers, th’ early born ‭ And thrown through all the air, appear’d the Morn, ‭ Ulysses’ lov’d son from his bed appear’d, ‭ His weeds put on, and did about him gird ‭ His sword that thwart his shoulders hung, and tied ‭ To his fair feet fair shoes, and all parts plied ‭ For speedy readiness: who, when he trod ‭ The open earth, to men show’d like a God. ‭ The heralds then he straight charg’d to consort ‭ The curl’d-head Greeks, with loud calls, to a Court. ‭ They summon’d; th’ other came in utmost haste. ‭ Who all assembled, and in one heap plac’d ‭ He likewise came to council, and did bear ‭ In his fair hand his iron-headed spear. ‭ Nor came alone, nor with men-troops prepar’d, ‭ But two fleet dogs made both his train and guard. ‭ Pallas supplied with her high wisdom’s grace, ‭ That all men’s wants supplies, State’s painted face. ‭ His ent’ring presence all men did admire; ‭ Who took seat in the high throne of his sire, ‭ To which the grave peers gave him rev’rend way. ‭ Amongst whom, an Egyptian heroë ‭ (Crookéd with age, and full of skill) begun ‭ The speech to all; who had a loved son ‭ That with divine Ulysses did ascend ‭ His hollow fleet to Troy; to serve which end, ‭ He kept fair horse, and was a man-at-arms, ‭ And in the cruel Cyclop’s stern alarms ‭ His life lost by him in his hollow cave, ‭ Whose entrails open’d his abhorréd grave, ‭ And made of him, of all Ulysses’ train, ‭ His latest supper, being latest slain; ‭ His name was Antiphus, And this old man, ‭ This crookéd-grown, this wise Egyptian, ‭ Had three sons more; of which one riotous ‭ A wooer was, and call’d Eurynomus; ‭ The other two took both his own wish’d course. ‭ Yet both the best fates weigh’d not down the worse, ‭ But left the old man mindful still of moan; ‭ Who, weeping, thus bespake the Session: ‭ “Hear, Ithacensians, all I fitly say: ‭ Since our divine Ulysses’ parting day ‭ Never was council call’d, nor session, ‭ And now by whom is this thus undergone? ‭ Whom did necessity so much compell, ‭ Of young or old? Hath anyone heard tell ‭ Of any coming army, that he thus now ‭ May openly take boldness to avow, ‭ First having heard it? Or will any here ‭ Some motion for the public good prefer? ‭ Some worth of note there is in this command; ‭ And, methinks, it must be some good man’s hand ‭ That’s put to it, that either hath direct ‭ Means to assist, or, for his good affect, ‭ Hopes to be happy in the proof he makes; ‭ And that Jove grant, whate’er he undertakes.” ‭ Telemachus (rejoicing much to hear ‭ The good hope and opinion men did bear ‭ Of his young actions) no longer sat, ‭ But long’d t’ approve what this man pointed at, ‭ And make his first proof in a cause so good; ‭ And in the council’s chief place up he stood; ‭ When straight Pisenor (herald to his sire, ‭ And learn’d in counsels) felt his heart on fire ‭ To hear him speak, and put into his hand ‭ The sceptre that his father did command; ‭ Then, to the old Egyptian turn’d, he spoke: ‭ “Father, not far he is that undertook ‭ To call this Council; whom you soon shall know. ‭ Myself, whose wrongs my griefs will make me show, ‭ Am he that author’d this assembly here. ‭ Nor have I heard of any army near, ‭ Of which, being first told, I might iterate, ‭ Nor for the public good can aught relate, ‭ Only mine own affairs all this procure, ‭ That in my house a double ill endure; ‭ One, having lost a father so renown’d, ‭ Whose kind rule once with’ your command was crown’d; ‭ The other is, what much more doth augment ‭ His weighty loss, the ruin imminent ‭ Of all my house by it, my goods all spent. ‭ And of all this the wooers, that are sons ‭ To our chief peers, are the confusións, ‭ Importuning my mother’s marriáge ‭ Against her will; nor dares their blood’s bold rage ‭ Go to Icarius’, her father’s, court, ‭ That, his will ask’d in kind and comely sort, ‭ He may endow his daughter with a dow’r, ‭ And, she consenting, at his pleasure’s pow’r ‭ Dispose her to a man, that, thus behav’d, ‭ May have fit grace, and see her honour sav’d. ‭ But these, in none but my house, all their lives ‭ Resolve to spend; slaught’ring my sheep and beeves, ‭ And with my fattest goats lay feast on feast, ‭ My gen’rous wine consuming as they list. ‭ A world of things they spoil, here wanting one, ‭ That, like Ulysses, quickly could set gone ‭ These peace-plagues from his house, that spoil like war; ‭ Whom my pow’rs are unfit to urge so far, ‭ Myself immartial. But, had I the pow’r, ‭ My will should serve me to exempt this hour ‭ From out my life-time. For, past patience, ‭ Base deeds are done here, that exceed defence ‭ Of any honour. Falling is my house, ‭ Which you should shame to see so ruinous. ‭ Rev’rence the censures that all good men give, ‭ That dwell about you; and for fear to live ‭ Expos’d to heav’n’s wrath (that doth ever pay ‭ Pains for joys forfeit) even by Jove I pray, ‭ Or Themis, both which pow’rs have to restrain, ‭ Or gather, councils, that ye will abstain ‭ From further spoil, and let me only waste ‭ In that most wretched grief I have embrac’d ‭ For my lost father. And though I am free ‭ From meriting your outrage, yet, if he, ‭ Good man, hath ever with a hostile heart ‭ Done ill to any Greek, on me convert ‭ Your like hostility, and vengeance take ‭ Of his ill on my life, and all these make ‭ Join in that justice; but, to see abus’d ‭ Those goods that do none ill but being ill-us’d, ‭ Exceeds all right. Yet better ’tis for me, ‭ My whole possessions and my rents to see ‭ Consum’d by you, than lose my life and all; ‭ For on your rapine a revenge may fall, ‭ While I live; and so long I may complain ‭ About the city, till my goods again, ‭ Oft ask’d, may be with all amends repaid. ‭ But in the mean space your misrule hath laid ‭ Griefs on my bosom, that can only speak, ‭ And are denied the instant pow’r of wreak.” ‭ This said, his sceptre ’gainst the ground he threw, ‭ And tears still’d from him; which mov’d all the crew, ‭ The court struck silent, not a man did dare ‭ To give a word that might offend his ear. ‭ Antinous only in this sort replied: ‭ “High spoken, and of spirit unpacified, ‭ How have you sham’d us in this speech of yours! ‭ Will you brand us for an offence not ours? ‭ Your mother, first in craft, is first in cause. ‭ Three years are past, and near the fourth now draws, ‭ Since first she mock’d the peers Achaian. ‭ All she made hope, and promis’d ev’ry man, ‭ Sent for us ever, left love’s show in nought, ‭ But in her heart conceal’d another thought. ‭ Besides, as curious in her craft, her loom ‭ She with a web charg’d, hard to overcome, ‭ And thus bespake us: ‘Youths, that seek my bed, ‭ Since my divine spouse rests amongst the dead, ‭ Hold on your suits but till I end, at most, ‭ This funeral weed, lest what is done be lost. ‭ Besides, I purpose, that when th’ austere fate ‭ Of bitter death shall take into his state ‭ Laertes the heroë, it shall deck ‭ His royal corse, since I should suffer check ‭ In ill report of ev’ry common dame, ‭ If one so rich should show in death his shame.’ ‭ This speech she us’d; and this did soon persuade ‭ Our gentle minds. But this a work she made ‭ So hugely long, undoing still in night, ‭ By torches, all she did by day’s broad light, ‭ That three years her deceit div’d past our view, ‭ And made us think that all she feign’d was true. ‭ But when the fourth year came, and those sly hours ‭ That still surprise at length dames’ craftiest powers, ‭ One of her women, that knew all, disclos’d ‭ The secret to us, that she still unloos’d ‭ Her whole day’s fair affair in depth of night. ‭ And then no further she could force her sleight, ‭ But, of necessity, her work gave end. ‭ And thus, by me, doth ev’ry other friend, ‭ Professing love to her, reply to thee; ‭ That ev’n thyself, and all Greeks else, may see, ‭ That we offend not in our stay, but she. ‭ To free thy house then, send her to her sire, ‭ Commanding that her choice be left entire ‭ To his election, and one settled will. ‭ Nor let her vex with her illusions still ‭ Her friends that woo her, standing on her wit, ‭ Because wise Pallas hath giv’n wills to it ‭ So full of art, and made her understand ‭ All works in fair skill of a lady’s hand. ‭ But (for her working mind) we read of none ‭ Of all the old world, in which Greece hath shown ‭ Her rarest pieces, that could equal her: ‭ Tyro, Alcmena, and Mycena were ‭ To hold comparison in no degree, ‭ For solid brain, with wise Penelope. ‭ And yet, in her delays of us, she shows ‭ No prophet’s skill with all the wit she owes; ‭ For all this time thy goods and victuals go ‭ To utter ruin; and shall ever so, ‭ While thus the Gods her glorious mind dispose. ‭ Glory herself may gain, but thou shalt lose ‭ Thy longings ev’n for necessary food, ‭ For we will never go where lies our good, ‭ Nor any other where, till this delay ‭ She puts on all she quits with th’ endless stay ‭ Of some one of us, that to all the rest ‭ May give free farewell with his nuptial feast.” ‭ The wise young prince replied: “Antinous! ‭ I may by no means turn out of my house ‭ Her that hath brought me forth and nourish’d me. ‭ Besides, if quick or dead my father be ‭ In any region, yet abides in doubt; ‭ And ’twill go hard, my means being so run out, ‭ To tender to Icarius again, ‭ If he again my mother must maintain ‭ In her retreat, the dow’r she brought with her. ‭ And then a double ill it will confer, ‭ Both from my father and from God on me, ‭ When, thrust out of her house, on her bent knee, ‭ My mother shall the horrid Furies raise ‭ With imprecations, and all men dispraise ‭ My part in her exposure. Never then ‭ Will I perform this counsel. If your spleen ‭ Swell at my courses, once more I command ‭ Your absence from my house; some other’s hand ‭ Charge with your banquets; on your own goods eat, ‭ And either other mutually in treat, ‭ At either of your houses, with your feast. ‭ But if ye still esteem more sweet and best ‭ Another’s spoil, so you still wreakless live, ‭ Gnaw, vermin-like, things sacred, no laws give [1] ‭ To your devouring; it remains that I ‭ Invoke each Ever-living Deity, ‭ And vow, if Jove shall deign in any date ‭ Pow’r of like pains for pleasure so past rate, ‭ From thenceforth look, where ye have revell’d so ‭ Unwreak’d, your ruins all shall undergo.” ‭ Thus spake Telemachus; t’ assure whose threat, ‭ Far-seeing Jove upon their pinions set ‭ Two eagles from the high brows of a hill, ‭ That, mounted on the Winds, together still ‭ Their strokes extended; but arriving now ‭ Amidst the Council, over ev’ry brow ‭ Shook their thick wings and, threat’ning death’s cold fears, ‭ Their necks and cheeks tore with their eager seres; ‭ Then, on the court’s right hand away they flew, ‭ Above both court and city. With whose view, ‭ And study what events they might foretell ‭ The Council into admiration fell. ‭ The old heroë, Halitherses, then, ‭ The son of Nestor, that of all old men, ‭ His peers in that court, only could foresee ‭ By flight of fowls man’s fixed destiny, ‭ ’Twixt them and their amaze, this interpos’d: ‭ “Hear, Ithacensians, all your doubts disclos’d. ‭ The Wooers most are touch’d in this ostent, ‭ To whom are dangers great and imminent; ‭ For now not long more shall Ulysses bear ‭ Lack of his most lov’d, but fills some place near, ‭ Addressing to these Wooers fate and death. ‭ And many more this mischief menaceth ‭ Of us inhabiting this famous isle. ‭ Let us consult yet, in this long forewhile, ‭ How to ourselves we may prevent this ill. ‭ Let these men rest secure, and revel still; ‭ Though they might find it safer, if with us ‭ They would in time prevent what threats them thus; ‭ Since not without sure trial I foretell ‭ These coming storms, but know their issue well. ‭ For to Ulysses all things have event, ‭ As I foretold him, when for Ilion went ‭ The whole Greek fleet together, and with them ‭ Th’ abundant-in-all-counsels took the stream. ‭ I told him, that, when much ill he had past, ‭ And all his men were lost, he should at last, ‭ The twentieth year, turn home, to all unknown; ‭ All which effects are to perfection grown.” ‭ Eurymachus, the son of Polybus, ‭ Oppos’d this man’s presage, and answer’d thus: ‭ “Hence, great in years, go, prophesy at home, ‭ Thy children teach to shun their ills to come. ‭ In these superior far to thee am I. ‭ A world of fowls beneath the sun-beams fly ‭ That are not fit t’ inform a prophecy. ‭ Besides, Ulysses perish’d long ago; ‭ And would thy fates to thee had destin’d so, ‭ Since so thy so much prophecy had spar’d ‭ Thy wronging of our rights, which, for reward ‭ Expected home with thee, hath summon’d us ‭ Within the anger of Telemachus. ‭ But this I will presage, which shall be true: ‭ If any spark of anger chance t’ ensue ‭ Thy much old art in these deep auguries, ‭ In this young man incenséd by thy lies, ‭ Ev’n to himself his anger shall confer ‭ The greater anguish, and thine own ends err ‭ From all their objects; and, besides, thine age ‭ Shall feel a pain, to make thee curse presage ‭ With worthy cause, for it shall touch thee near. ‭ But I will soon give end to all our fear, ‭ Preventing whatsoever chance can fall, ‭ In my suit to the young prince for us all, ‭ To send his mother to her father’s house, ‭ That he may sort her out a worthy spouse, ‭ And such a dow’r bestow, as may befit ‭ One lov’d, to leave her friends and follow it. ‭ Before which course be, I believe that none ‭ Of all the Greeks will cease th’ ambitión ‭ Of such a match. For, chance what can to us, ‭ We no man fear, no not Telemachus, ‭ Though ne’er so greatly spoken. Nor care we ‭ For any threats of austere prophecy, ‭ Which thou, old dotard, vaunt’st of so in vain. ‭ And thus shalt thou in much more hate remain; ‭ For still the Gods shall bear their ill expense, ‭ Nor ever be dispos’d by competence, ‭ Till with her nuptials she dismiss our suits, ‭ Our whole lives’ days shall sow hopes for such fruits. ‭ Her virtues we contend to, nor will go ‭ To any other, be she never so ‭ Worthy of us, and all the worth we owe.” ‭ He answer’d him: “Eurymachus, and all ‭ Ye gen’rous Wooers, now, in general, ‭ I see your brave resolves, and will no more ‭ Make speech of these points, and, much less, implore. ‭ It is enough, that all the Grecians here, ‭ And all the Gods besides, just witness bear, ‭ What friendly premonitions have been spent ‭ On your forbearance, and their vain event. ‭ Yet, with my other friends, let love prevail ‭ To fit me with a vessel free of sail, ‭ And twenty men, that may divide to me ‭ My ready passage through the yielding sea ‭ For Sparta, and Amathoan Pylos’ shore, ‭ I now am bound, in purpose to explore ‭ My long-lack’d father, and to try if fame ‭ Or Jove, most author of man’s honour’d name, ‭ With his return and life may glad mine ear, ‭ Though toil’d in that proof I sustain a year. ‭ If dead I hear him, nor of more state, here ‭ Retir’d to my lov’d country, I will rear ‭ A sepulchre to him, and celebrate ‭ Such royal parent-rites, as fits his state; ‭ And then my mother to a spouse dispose.” ‭ This said, he sat; and to the rest arose ‭ Mentor, that was Ulysses’ chosen friend, ‭ To whom, when he set forth, he did commend ‭ His cómplete family, and whom he will’d ‭ To see the mind of his old sire fulfill’d, ‭ All things conserving safe, till his retreat. ‭ Who, tender of his charge, and seeing so set ‭ In slight care of their king his subjects there, ‭ Suff’ring his son so much contempt to bear, ‭ Thus gravely, and with zeal, to him began: ‭ “No more let any sceptre-bearing man, ‭ Benevolent, or mild, or human be, ‭ Nor in his mind form acts of piety, ‭ But ever feed on blood, and facts unjust ‭ Commit, ev’n to the full swing of his lust, ‭ Since of divine Ulysses no man now, ‭ Of all his subjects, any thought doth show. ‭ All whom he govern’d, and became to them, ‭ Rather than one that wore a diadem, ‭ A most indulgent father. But, for all ‭ That can touch me, within no envy fall ‭ These insolent Wooers, that in violent kind ‭ Commit things foul by th’ ill wit of the mind, ‭ And with the hazard of their heads devour ‭ Ulysses’ house, since his returning hour ‭ They hold past hope. But it affects me much, ‭ Ye dull plebeians, that all this doth touch ‭ Your free states nothing; who, struck dumb, afford ‭ These Wooers not so much wreak as a word, ‭ Though few, and you with only number might ‭ Extinguish to them the profaned light.” ‭ Evenor’s son, Leocritus, replied: ‭ “Mentor! the railer, made a fool with pride, ‭ What language giv’st thou that would quiet us ‭ With putting us in storm, exciting thus ‭ The rout against us? Who, though more than we, ‭ Should find it is no easy victory ‭ To drive men, habited in feast, from feasts, ‭ No not if Ithacus himself such guests ‭ Should come and find so furnishing his Court, ‭ And hope to force them from so sweet a fort. ‭ His wife should little joy in his arrive, ‭ Though much she wants him; for, where she alive ‭ Would her’s enjoy, there death should claim his rights. ‭ He must be conquer’d that with many fights. ‭ Thou speak’st unfit things. To their labours then ‭ Disperse these people; and let these two men, ‭ Mentor and Halitherses, that so boast ‭ From the beginning to have govern’d most ‭ In friendship of the father, to the son ‭ Confirm the course he now affects to run. ‭ But my mind says, that, if he would but use ‭ A little patience, he should here hear news ‭ Of all things that his wish would understand, ‭ But no good hope for of the course in hand.” ‭ This said, the Council rose; when ev’ry peer ‭ And all the people in dispersion were ‭ To houses of their own; the Wooers yet ‭ Made to Ulysses’ house their old retreat. ‭ Telemachus, apart from all the prease, ‭ Prepar’d to shore, and, in the aged seas ‭ His fair hands wash’d, did thus to Pallas pray: ‭ “Hear me, O Goddess, that but yesterday ‭ Didst deign access to me at home, and lay ‭ Grave charge on me to take ship, and inquire ‭ Along the dark seas for mine absent sire! ‭ Which all the Greeks oppose; amongst whom most ‭ Those that are proud still at another’s cost, ‭ Past measure, and the civil rights of men, ‭ My mother’s Wooers, my repulse maintain.” ‭ Thus spake he praying; when close to him came ‭ Pallas, resembling Mentor both in frame ‭ Of voice and person, and advis’d him thus: ‭ “Those Wooers well might know, Telemachus, ‭ Thou wilt not ever weak and childish be, ‭ If to thee be instill’d the faculty ‭ Of mind and body that thy father grac’d; ‭ And if, like him, there be in thee enchac’d ‭ Virtue to give words works, and works their end. ‭ This voyage, that to them thou didst commend, ‭ Shall not so quickly, as they idly ween, ‭ Be vain, or giv’n up, for their opposite spleen. ‭ But, if Ulysses nor Penelope Werere thy true parents, I then hope in thee ‭ Of no more urging thy attempt in hand; ‭ For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand, ‭ Are like their parents, many that are worse, ‭ And most few better. Those then that the nurse ‭ Or mother call true-born yet are not so, ‭ Like worthy sires much less are like to grow. ‭ But thou show’st now that in thee fades not quite ‭ Thy father’s wisdom; and that future light ‭ Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise, ‭ Or touch’d with stain of bastard cowardice. ‭ Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end ‭ Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend. ‭ But for the foolish Wooers, they bewray ‭ They neither counsel have nor soul, since they ‭ Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs ‭ Rest ignorant how black above their heads ‭ Fate hovers holding Death, that one sole day ‭ Will make enough to make them all away. ‭ For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more ‭ Fly thee a step; I, that have been before ‭ Thy father’s friend, thine likewise now will be, ‭ Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee. ‭ Go thou then home, and sooth each Wooer’s vein, ‭ But under hand fit all things for the main; ‭ Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can, ‭ And meal, the very marrow of a man, ‭ Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see ‭ That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree. ‭ I from the people straight will press for you ‭ Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow ‭ Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new ‭ And old-built; all which I’ll exactly view, ‭ And choose what one soever most doth please; ‭ Which rigg’d, we’ll straight launch, and assay the seas.” ‭ This spake Jove’s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard, ‭ No more Telemachus her charge deferr’d, ‭ But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see ‭ Amidst his hall th’ insulting Wooers flea ‭ Goats, and roast swine. ’Mongst whom, Antinous Carelessss, discov’ring in Telemachus ‭ His grudge to see them, laugh’d, met, took his hand, ‭ And said: “High-spoken, with the mind so mann’d! ‭ Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits ‭ With these low trifles, nor our loving merits ‭ In gall of any hateful purpose steep, ‭ But eat egregiously, and drink as deep. ‭ The things thou think’st on, all at full shall be ‭ By th’ Achives thought on, and perform’d to thee; ‭ Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land ‭ Thy hasty fleet on heav’nly Pylos’ sand, ‭ And at the fame of thy illustrious sire.” ‭ He answer’d: “Men, whom pride did so inspire, ‭ Are not fit consorts for an humble guest; ‭ Nor are constrain’d men merry at their feast. ‭ Is ’t not enough, that all this time ye have ‭ Op’d in your entrails my chief goods a grave, ‭ And, while I was a child, made me partake? ‭ My now more growth more grown my mind doth make, ‭ And, hearing speak more judging men than you, ‭ Perceive how much I was misgovern’d now. ‭ I now will try if I can bring ye home ‭ An ill Fate to consort you; if it come ‭ From Pylos, or amongst the people here. ‭ But thither I resolve, and know that there ‭ I shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay, ‭ Though in a merchant’s ship I steer my way; ‭ Which shows in your sights best; since me ye know ‭ Incapable of ship, or men to row.” ‭ This said, his hand he coyly snatch’d away ‭ From forth Antinous’ hand. The rest the day ‭ Spent through the house with banquets; some with jests, ‭ And some with railings, dignifying their feasts. ‭ To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began: ‭ “Telemachus will kill us ev’ry man. ‭ From Sparta, to the very Pylian sand, ‭ He will raise aids to his impetuous hand. ‭ O he affects it strangely! Or he means ‭ To search Ephyra’s fat shores, and from thence ‭ Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls ‭ Will make a general shipwrack of our souls.” ‭ Another said: “Alas, who knows but he ‭ Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea, ‭ May perish like him, far from aid of friends, ‭ And so he makes us work? For all the ends ‭ Left of his goods here we shall share, the house ‭ Left to his mother and her chosen spouse.” ‭ Thus they; while he a room ascended, high ‭ And large, built by his father, where did lie ‭ Gold and brass heap’d up, and in coffers were ‭ Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there ‭ Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall, ‭ Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all ‭ Ulysses’ old heart, if he turn’d again ‭ From labours fatal to him to sustain. ‭ The doors of plank were, their close exquisite, ‭ Kept with a double key, and day and night ‭ A woman lock’d within; and that was she ‭ Who all trust had for her sufficiency, ‭ Old Euryclea, one of Opis’ race, ‭ Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace ‭ With grey Minerva; her the prince did call, ‭ And said: “Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all ‭ The wine thou keep’st; next that which for my sire ‭ Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire. ‭ Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well. ‭ Then into well-sew’d sacks of fine ground meal ‭ Pour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone ‭ But thee thyself, let this design be known. ‭ All this see got together; I it all ‭ In night will fetch off, when my mother shall ‭ Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare. ‭ Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care ‭ To find my father.” Out Euryclea cried, ‭ And ask’d with tears: “Why is your mind applied. ‭ Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go? ‭ So far off leave us, and belovéd so, ‭ So only? And the sole hope of your race? ‭ Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace ‭ Of his kind country, in a land unknown ‭ Is dead; and, you from your lov’d country gone, ‭ The Wooers will with some deceit assay ‭ To your destruction, making then their prey ‭ Of all your goods. Where, in your own y’are strong, ‭ Make sure abode. It fits not you so young ‭ To suffer so much by the aged seas, ‭ And err in such a wayless wilderness.” ‭ “Be cheer’d, lov’d nurse,” said he, “for, not without ‭ The will of God, go my attempts about. ‭ Swear therefore, not to wound my mother’s ears ‭ With word of this, before from heav’n appears ‭ Th’ elev’nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please ‭ To ask of me, or hears me put to seas, ‭ Lest her fair body with her woe be wore.” ‭ To this the great oath of the Gods she swore; ‭ Which having sworn, and of it every due ‭ Perform’d to full, to vessels wine she drew, ‭ And into well-sew’d sacks pour’d foody meal. ‭ In mean time he, with cunning to conceal ‭ All thought of this from others, himself bore ‭ In broad house, with the Wooers, as before. ‭ Then grey-eyed Pallas other thoughts did own, ‭ And like Telemachus trod through the town, ‭ Commanding all his men in th’ even to be ‭ Aboard his ship. Again then question’d she ‭ Noënon, fam’d for aged Phronius’ son, ‭ About his ship; who all things to be done ‭ Assur’d her freely should. The sun then set, ‭ And sable shadows slid through ev’ry street, ‭ When forth they launch’d, and soon aboard did bring ‭ All arms, and choice of ev’ry needful thing ‭ That fits a well-rigg’d ship. The Goddess then ‭ Stood in the port’s extreme part, where her men, ‭ Nobly appointed, thick about her came, ‭ Whose ev’ry breast she did with spirit enflame. ‭ Yet still fresh projects laid the grey-eyed Dame. ‭ Straight to the house she hasted, and sweet sleep ‭ Pour’d on each Wooer; which so laid in steep ‭ Their drowsy temples, that each brow did nod, ‭ As all were drinking, and each hand his load, ‭ The cup, let fall. All start up, and to bed, ‭ Nor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited ‭ Their leaden eye-lids. Then did Pallas call ‭ Telemachus, in body, voice, and all, ‭ Resembling Mentor, from his native nest, ‭ And said, that all his arm’d men were addrest ‭ To use their oars, and all expected now ‭ He should the spirit of a soldier show. ‭ “Come then,” said she, “no more let us defer ‭ Our honour’d action.” Then she took on her ‭ A ravish’d spirit, and led as she did leap; ‭ And he her most haste took out step by step. ‭ Arrived at sea and ship, they found ashore ‭ The soldiers that their fashion’d-long hair wore; ‭ To whom the prince said: “Come, my friends, let’s bring ‭ Our voyage’s provision; ev’ry thing ‭ Is heap’d together in our court; and none, ‭ No not my mother, nor her maids, but one ‭ Knows our intention.” This express’d, he led, ‭ The soldiers close together followed; ‭ And all together brought aboard their store. ‭ Aboard the prince went; Pallas still before ‭ Sat at the stern, he close to her, the men ‭ Up hasted after. He and Pallas then ‭ Put from the shore. His soldiers then he bad ‭ See all their arms fit; which they heard, and had. ‭ A beechen mast, then, in the hollow base ‭ They put, and hoisted, fix’d it in its place ‭ With cables; and with well-wreath’d halsers hoise ‭ Their white sails, which grey Pallas now employs ‭ With full and fore-gales through the dark deep main. ‭ The purple waves, so swift cut, roar’d again ‭ Against the ship sides, that now ran and plow’d ‭ The rugged seas up. Then the men bestow’d ‭ Their arms about the ship, and sacrifice ‭ With crown’d wine-cups to th’ endless Deities ‭ They offer’d up. Of all yet thron’d above, ‭ They most observ’d the grey-eyed seed of Jove; ‭ Who, from the evening till the morning rose, ‭ And all day long their voyage did dispose. ‭ FINIS LIBRI SECUNDI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] The word is κεἰρετε, κεἰρω signifying insatiabili, quddâm ‭edacitate voro. ‭ THE THIRD BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Telemachus, and Heav’n’s wise Dame ‭ That never husband had, now came ‭ To Nestor; who his either guest ‭ Receiv’d at the religious feast ‭ He made to Neptune, on his shore; ‭ And there told what was done before ‭ The Trojan turrets, and the state ‭ Of all the Greeks since Ilion’s fate. ‭ This book these three of greatest place ‭ Doth serve with many a varied grace. ‭ Which past, Minerva takes her leave. ‭ Whose state when Nestor doth perceive, ‭ With sacrifice he makes it known, ‭ Where many a pleasing rite is shown. ‭ Which done, Telemachus hath gain’d ‭ A chariot of him; who ordain’d ‭ Pisistratus, his son, his guide ‭ To Sparta; and when starry eyed ‭ The ample heav’n began to be, ‭ All house-rites to afford them free, ‭ In Pheris, Diocles did please, ‭ His surname Ortilochides. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Γἀμμα. ‭ Ulysses’ son ‭ With Nestor lies, ‭ To Sparta gone; ‭ Thence Pallas flies.

‭ The sun now left the great and goodly lake, ‭ And to the firm heav’n bright ascent did make, ‭ To shine as well upon the mortal birth, ‭ Inhabiting the plow’d life-giving earth, ‭ As on the ever-treaders upon death. ‭ And now to Pylos, that so garnisheth ‭ Herself with buildings, old Neleus’ town, ‭ The prince and Goddess come had strange sights shown, ‭ For, on the marine shore, the people there ‭ To Neptune, that the azure locks doth wear, ‭ Beeves that were wholly black gave holy flame. ‭ Nine seats of state they made to his high name; ‭ And ev’ry seat set with five hundred men, ‭ And each five hundred was to furnish then ‭ With nine black oxen ev’ry sacred seat. ‭ These of the entrails only pleas’d to eat, ‭ And to the God enflam’d the fleshy thighs. ‭ By this time Pallas with the sparkling eyes, ‭ And he she led, within the haven bore, ‭ Struck sail, cast anchor, and trod both the shore, ‭ She first, he after. Then said Pallas: “Now ‭ No more befits thee the least bashful brow; ‭ T’ embolden which this act is put on thee, ‭ To seek thy father both at shore and sea, ‭ And learn in what clime he abides so close, ‭ Or in the pow’r of what Fate doth repose. ‭ Come then, go right to Nestor; let us see, ‭ If in his bosom any counsel be, ‭ That may inform us. Pray him not to trace ‭ The common courtship, and to speak in grace ‭ Of the demander, but to tell the truth; ‭ Which will delight him, and commend thy youth ‭ For such prevention; for he loves no lies, ‭ Nor will report them, being truly wise.” ‭ He answer’d: “Mentor! how, alas! shall I ‭ Present myself? How greet his gravity? ‭ My youth by no means that ripe form affords, ‭ That can digest my mind’s instinct in words ‭ Wise, and beseeming th’ ears of one so sage. ‭ Youth of most hope blush to use words with age.” ‭ She said: “Thy mind will some conceit impress, ‭ And something God will prompt thy towardness; ‭ For, I suppose, thy birth, and breeding too, ‭ Were not in spite of what the Gods could do.” ‭ This said, she swiftly went before, and he ‭ Her steps made guides, and follow’d instantly. ‭ When soon they reach’d the Pylian throngs and seats, ‭ Where Nestor with his sons sat; and the meats, ‭ That for the feast serv’d, round about them were ‭ Adherents dressing, all their sacred cheer, ‭ Being roast and boil’d meats. When the Pylians saw ‭ These strangers come, in thrust did all men draw ‭ About their entry, took their hands, and pray’d ‭ They both would sit; their entry first assay’d ‭ By Nestor’s son, Pisistratus. In grace ‭ Of whose repair, he gave them honour’d place ‭ Betwixt his sire and brother Thrasymed, ‭ Who sat at feast on soft fells that were spread ‭ Along the sea sands, kerv’d, and reach’d to them ‭ Parts of the inwards, and did make a stream ‭ Of spritely wine into a golden bowl; ‭ Which to Minerva with a gentle soul ‭ He gave, and thus spake: “Ere you eat, fair guest, ‭ Invoke the Seas’ King, of whose sacred feast ‭ Your travel hither makes ye partners now; ‭ When, sacrificing as becomes, bestow ‭ This bowl of sweet wine on your friend, that he ‭ May likewise use these rites of piety; ‭ For I suppose his youth doth prayers use, ‭ Since all men need the Gods. But you I choose ‭ First in this cup’s disposure, since his years ‭ Seem short of yours, who more like me appears.” ‭ Thus gave he her the cup of pleasant wine; ‭ And since a wise and just man did design ‭ The golden bowl first to her free receit, ‭ Ev’n to the Goddess it did add delight, ‭ Who thus invok’d: “Hear thou, whose vast embrace ‭ Enspheres the whole earth, nor disdain thy grace ‭ To us that ask it in performing this: ‭ To Nestor first, and these fair sons of his, ‭ Vouchsafe all honour; and, next them, bestow ‭ On all these Pylians, that have offer’d now ‭ This most renowned hecatomb to thee, ‭ Remuneration fit for them, and free; ‭ And lastly deign Telemachus and me, ‭ The work perform’d for whose effect we came, ‭ Our safe return, both with our ship and fame.” ‭ Thus pray’d she; and herself herself obey’d, ‭ In th’ end performing all for which she pray’d. ‭ And now, to pray, and do as she had done, ‭ She gave the fair round bowl t’ Ulysses’ son. ‭ The meat then dress’d, and drawn, and serv’d t’ each guest, ‭ They celebrated a most sumptuous feast. ‭ When appetite to wine and food allay’d, ‭ Horse-taming Nestor then began, and said: ‭ “Now life’s desire is serv’d, as far as fare, ‭ Time fits me to enquire what guests these are. ‭ Fair guests, what are ye? And for what coast tries ‭ Your ship the moist deeps? For fit merchandise? ‭ Or rudely coast ye, like our men of prise, ‭ The rough seas tempting, desperately erring, ‭ The ill of others in their good conferring?” ‭ The wise prince now his boldness did begin, ‭ For Pallas’ self had harden’d him within, ‭ By this device of travel to explore ‭ His absent father; which two girlonds wore; ‭ His good by manage of his spirits; and then ‭ To gain him high grace in th’ accounts of men. ‭ “O Nestor! still in whom Nelëus lives! ‭ And all the glory of the Greeks survives, ‭ You ask from whence we are, and I relate: ‭ From Ithaca (whose seat is situate ‭ Where Neius, the renownéd mountain, rears ‭ His haughty forehead, and the honour bears ‭ To be our sea-mark) we assay’d the waves. ‭ The business, I must tell, our own good craves, ‭ And not the public. I am come t’ enquire, ‭ If, in the fame that best men doth inspire ‭ Of my most-suff’ring father, I may hear ‭ Some truth of his estate now, who did bear ‭ The name, being join’d in fight with you alone, ‭ To even with earth the height of Ilion. ‭ Of all men else, that any name did bear, ‭ And fought for Troy, the sev’ral ends we hear; ‭ But his death Jove keeps from the world unknown, ‭ The certain fame thereof being told by none; ‭ If on the continent by enemies slain, ‭ Or with the waves eat of the ravenous main. ‭ For his love ’tis that to your knees I sue, ‭ That you would please, out of your own clear view, ‭ T’ assure his sad end; or say, if your ear ‭ Hath heard of the unhappy wanderer, ‭ To too much sorrow whom his mother bore. ‭ You then by all your bounties I implore, ‭ (If ever to you deed or word hath stood, ‭ By my good father promis’d, render’d good ‭ Amongst the Trojans, where ye both have tried ‭ The Grecian suff’rance) that in nought applied ‭ To my respect or pity you will glose, ‭ But uncloth’d truth to my desires disclose.” ‭ “O my much-lov’d,” said he, “since you renew ‭ Remembrance of the miseries that grew ‭ Upon our still-in-strength-opposing Greece ‭ Amongst Troy’s people, I must touch a piece ‭ Of all our woes there, either in the men ‭ Achilles brought by sea and led to gain ‭ About the country, or in us that fought ‭ About the city, where to death were brought ‭ All our chief men, as many as were there. ‭ There Mars-like Ajax lies; Achilles there; ‭ There the in-counsel-like-the-Gods, his friend; ‭ There my dear son Antilochus took end, ‭ Past measure swift of foot, and staid in fight. ‭ A number more that ills felt infinite; ‭ Of which to reckon all, what mortal man, ‭ If five or six years you should stay here, can ‭ Serve such enquiry? You would back again, ‭ Affected with unsufferable pain, ‭ Before you heard it. Nine years sieg’d we them, ‭ With all the depth and sleight of stratagem ‭ That could be thought. Ill knit to ill past end. ‭ Yet still they toil’d us; nor would yet Jove send ‭ Rest to our labours, nor will scarcely yet. ‭ But no man liv’d, that would in public set ‭ His wisdom by Ulysses’ policy, ‭ As thought his equal; so excessively ‭ He stood superior all ways. If you be ‭ His son indeed, mine eyes ev’n ravish me ‭ To admiration. And in all consent ‭ Your speech puts on his speech’s ornament. ‭ Nor would one say, that one so young could use, ‭ Unless his son, a rhetoric so profuse. ‭ And while we liv’d together, he and I ‭ Never in speech maintain’d diversity; ‭ Nor sat in council but, by one soul led, ‭ With spirit and prudent counsel furnishéd ‭ The Greeks at all hours, that, with fairest course, ‭ What best became them, they might put in force. ‭ But when Troy’s’ high tow’rs we had levell’d thus, ‭ We put to sea, and God divided us. ‭ And then did Jove our sad retreat devise; ‭ For all the Greeks were neither just nor wise, ‭ And therefore many felt so sharp a fate, ‭ Sent from Minerva’s most pernicious hate; ‭ Whose mighty Father can do fearful things. ‭ By whose help she betwixt the brother kings ‭ Let fall contention; who in council met ‭ In vain, and timeless, when the sun was set, ‭ And all the Greeks call’d, that came charg’d with wine. ‭ Yet then the kings would utter their design, ‭ And why they summon’d. Menelaus, he ‭ Put all in mind of home, and cried, To sea. ‭ But Agamemnon stood on contraries, ‭ Whose will was, they should stay and sacrifice ‭ Whole hecatombs to Pallas, to forego ‭ Her high wrath to them. Fool! that did not know ‭ She would not so be won; for not with ease ‭ Th’ Eternal Gods are turn’d from what they please. ‭ So they, divided, on foul language stood. ‭ The Greeks in huge rout rose, their wine-heat blood ‭ Two ways affecting. And, that night’s sleep too, ‭ We turn’d to studying either other’s woe; ‭ When Jove besides made ready woes enow. ‭ Morn came, we launch’d, and in our ships did stow ‭ Our goods, and fair-girt women. Half our men ‭ The people’s guide, Atrides, did contain, ‭ And half, being now aboard, put forth to sea. ‭ A most free gale gave all ships prosp’rous way. ‭ God settled then the huge whale-bearing lake, ‭ And Tenedos we reach’d; where, for time’s sake, ‭ We did divine rites to the Gods. But Jove, ‭ Inexorable still, bore yet no love ‭ To our return, but did again excite ‭ A second sad contention, that turn’d quite ‭ A great part of us back to sea again; ‭ Which were th’ abundant-in-all-counsels man, ‭ Your matchless father, who, to gratify ‭ The great Atrides, back to him did fly. ‭ But I fled all, with all that follow’d me, ‭ Because I knew God studied misery, ‭ To hurl amongst us. With me likewise fled ‭ Martial Tydides. I the men he led ‭ Gat to go with him. Winds our fleet did bring ‭ To Lesbos, where the yellow-headed king, ‭ Though late, yet found us, as we put to choice ‭ A tedious voyage; if we sail should hoise ‭ Above rough Chius, left on our left hand, ‭ To th’ isle of Psyria, or that rugged land ‭ Sail under, and for windy Mimas steer. ‭ We ask’d of God that some ostent might clear ‭ Our cloudy business, who gave us sign, ‭ And charge, that all should, in a middle line, ‭ The sea cut for Eubœa, that with speed ‭ Our long-sustain’d infortune might be freed. ‭ Then did a whistling wind begin to rise, ‭ And swiftly flew we through the fishy skies, ‭ Till to Geræstus we in night were brought; ‭ Where, through the broad sea since we safe had wrought, ‭ At Neptune’s altars many solid thighs ‭ Of slaughter’d bulls we burn’d for sacrifice. ‭ The fourth day came, when Tydeus’ son did greet ‭ The haven of Argos with his cómplete fleet. ‭ But I for Pylos straight steer’d on my course; ‭ Nor ever left the wind his foreright force, ‭ Since God fore-sent it first. And thus I came, ‭ Dear son, to Pylos, uninform’d by fame, ‭ Nor know one sav’d by Fate, or overcome. ‭ Whom I have heard of since, set here at home, ‭ As fits, thou shalt be taught, nought left unshown. ‭ The expert spear-men, ev’ry Myrmidon, ‭ Led by the brave heir of the mighty-soul’d ‭ Unpeer’d Achilles, safe of home got hold; ‭ Safe Philoctetes, Pœan’s famous seed; ‭ And safe Idomenæus his men led ‭ To his home, Crete, who fled the arméd field, ‭ Of whom yet none the sea from him withheld. ‭ Atrides, you have both heard, though ye be ‭ His far-off dwellers, what an end had he, ‭ Done by Ægisthus to a bitter death; ‭ Who miserably paid for forcéd breath, ‭ Atrides leaving a good son, that dyed, ‭ In blood of that deceitful parricide, ‭ His wreakful sword. And thou my friend, as he ‭ For this hath his fame, the like spirit in thee ‭ Assume at all parts. Fair and great, I see, ‭ Thou art in all hope, make it good to th’ end, ‭ That after-times as much may thee commend.” ‭ He answer’d: “O thou greatest grace of Greece, ‭ Orestes made that wreak his master-piece, ‭ And him the Greeks will give a master-praise, ‭ Verse finding him to last all after-days. ‭ And would to God the Gods would favour me ‭ With his performance, that my injury, ‭ Done by my mother’s Wooers, being so foul, ‭ I might revenge upon their ev’ry soul; ‭ Who, pressing me with contumelies, dare ‭ Such things as past the pow’r of utt’rance are. ‭ But Heav’n’s great Pow’rs have grac’d my destiny ‭ With no such honour. Both my sire and I ‭ Are born to suffer everlastingly.” ‭ “Because you name those Wooers, friend,” said he, ‭ “Report says, many such, in spite of thee, ‭ Wooing thy mother, in thy house commit ‭ The ills thou nam’st. But say: Proceedeth it ‭ From will in thee to bear so foul a foil? ‭ Or from thy subjects’ hate, that wish thy spoil, ‭ And will not aid thee, since their spirits rely, ‭ Against thy rule, on some grave augury? ‭ What know they, but at length thy father may ‭ Come, and with violence their violence pay; ‭ Or he alone, or all the Greeks with him? ‭ But if Minerva now did so esteem ‭ Thee, as thy father in times past; whom, past ‭ All measure, she with glorious favours grac’t ‭ Amongst the Trojans, where we suffer’d so; ‭ (O! I did never see, in such clear show, ‭ The Gods so grace a man, as she to him, ‭ To all our eyes, appear’d in all her trim) ‭ If so, I say, she would be pleas’d to love, ‭ And that her mind’s care thou so much couldst move, ‭ As did thy father, ev’ry man of these ‭ Would lose in death their seeking marriages.” ‭ “O father,” answer’d he, “you make amaze ‭ Seize me throughout. Beyond the height of phrase ‭ You raise expression; but ’twill never be, ‭ That I shall move in any Deity ‭ So blest an honour. Not by any means, ‭ If Hope should prompt me, or blind Confidence, ‭ (The Gods of Fools) or ev’ry Deity ‭ Should will it; for ’tis past my destiny.” ‭ The burning-eyed Dame answer’d: “What a speech ‭ Hath past the teeth-guard Nature gave to teach ‭ Fit question of thy words before they fly! ‭ God easily can [1] (when to mortal eye ‭ He’s furthest off) a mortal satisfy; ‭ And does the more still. For thy car’d-for sire, ‭ I rather wish, that I might home retire, ‭ After my suff’rance of a world of woes, ‭ Far off, and then my glad eyes might disclose ‭ The day of my return, then straight retire, ‭ And perish standing by my household fire; ‭ As Agamemnon did, that lost his life ‭ By false Ægisthus, and his falser wife. ‭ For Death to come at length, ’tis due to all; ‭ Nor can the Gods themselves, when Fate shall call ‭ Their most-lov’d man, extend his vital breath ‭ Beyond the fix’d bounds of abhorréd Death.” ‭ “Mentor!” said he, “let’s dwell no more on this, ‭ Although in us the sorrow pious is. ‭ No such return, as we wish, Fates bequeath ‭ My erring father; whom a present death ‭ The Deathless have decreed. I’ll now use speech ‭ That tends to other purpose; and beseech ‭ Instruction of grave Nestor, since he flows ‭ Past shore in all experience, and knows ‭ The sleights and wisdoms, and whose heights aspire ‭ Others, as well as my commended sire, ‭ Whom Fame reports to have commanded three ‭ Ages of men, and doth in sight to me ‭ Show like th’ Immortals. Nestor! the renown ‭ Of old Neleius, make the clear truth known, ‭ How the most-great-in-empire, Atreus’ son, ‭ Sustain’d the act of his destruction, ‭ Where then was Menelaus? How was it ‭ That false Ægisthus, being so far unfit ‭ A match for him, could his death so enforce? ‭ Was he not then in Argos? or his course ‭ With men so left, to let a coward breathe ‭ Spirit enough to dare his brother’s death?” ‭ “I’ll tell thee truth in all, fair son,” said he: ‭ “Right well was this event conceiv’d by thee. ‭ If Menelaus in his brother’s house ‭ Had found the idle liver with his spouse, ‭ Arriv’d from Troy, he had not liv’d, nor dead ‭ Had the digg’d heap pour’d on his lustful head, ‭ But fowls and dogs had torn him in the fields, ‭ Far off of Argos; not a dame it yields ‭ Had giv’n him any tear, so foul his fact ‭ Show’d ev’n to women. Us Troy’s wars had rack’d ‭ To ev’ry sinew’s sufferance, while he ‭ In Argos’ uplands liv’d, from those works free, ‭ And Agamemnon’s wife with force of word ‭ Flatter’d and soften’d, who, at first, abhorr’d ‭ A fact so infamous. The heav’nly dame ‭ A good mind had, but was in blood to blame. ‭ There was a poet, to whose care the king ‭ His queen committed, and in ev’ry thing, ‭ When he from Troy went, charg’d him to apply ‭ Himself in all guard to her dignity. ‭ But when strong Fate so wrapt-in her effects, ‭ That she resolv’d to leave her fit respects, ‭ Into a desert isle her guardian led, ‭ There left, the rapine of the vultures fed. ‭ Then brought he willing home his will’s won prize, ‭ On sacred altars offer’d many thighs, ‭ Hung in the God’s fanes many ornaments, ‭ Garments and gold, that he the vast events ‭ Of such a labour to his wish had brought, ‭ As neither fell into his hope nor thought. ‭ At last, from Troy sail’d Sparta’s king and I, ‭ Both holding her untouch’d. And, that his eye ‭ Might see no worse of her, when both were blown ‭ To sacred Sunium, of Minerva’s town ‭ The goodly promontory, with his shafts severe ‭ Augur Apollo slew him that did steer ‭ Atrides’ ship, as he the stern did guide, ‭ And she the full speed of her sail applied. ‭ He was a man that natións of men ‭ Excell’d in safe guide of a vessel, when ‭ A tempest rush’d in on the ruffled seas; ‭ His name was Phrontis Onetorides. ‭ And thus was Menelaus held from home, ‭ Whose way he thirsted so to overcome, ‭ To give his friend the earth, being his pursuit, ‭ And all his exequies to execute. ‭ But sailing still the wine-hued seas, [2] to reach ‭ Some shore for fit performance, he did fetch ‭ The steep mount of the Malians, and there, ‭ With open voice, offended Jupiter ‭ Proclaim’d the voyage his repugnant mind, ‭ And pour’d the puffs out of a shrieking wind, ‭ That nourish’d billows heighten’d like to hills; ‭ And with the fleet’s division fulfills ‭ His hate proclaim’d; upon a part of Crete ‭ Casting the navy, where the sea-waves meet ‭ Rough Jardanus, and where the Cydons live. ‭ There is a rock, on which the sea doth drive, ‭ Bare, and all broken, on the confines set ‭ Of Gortys, that the dark seas likewise fret; ‭ And hither sent the South a horrid drift ‭ Of waves against the top, that was the left ‭ Of that torn cliff as far as Phæstus’ strand. ‭ A little stone the great sea’s rage did stand. ‭ The men here driv’n ‘scap’d hard the ship’s sore shocks, ‭ The ships themselves being wrack’d against the rocks, ‭ Save only five, that blue fore-castles bore, ‭ Which wind and water cast on Egypt’s shore. ‭ When he (there victling well, and store of gold ‭ Aboard his ships brought) his wild way did hold, ‭ And t’ other languag’d men was forc’d to roam. ‭ Mean space Ægisthus made sad work at home, ‭ And slew his brother, forcing to his sway ‭ Atrides’ subjects, and did sev’n years lay ‭ His yoke upon the rich Mycenian state. ‭ But in the eighth, to his affrighting fate, ‭ Divine Orestes home from Athens came, ‭ And what his royal father felt, the same ‭ He made the false Ægisthus groan beneath. ‭ Death evermore is the reward of death. ‭ Thus having slain him, a sepulchral feast ‭ He made the Argives for his lustful guest, ‭ And for his mother whom he did detest. ‭ The self-same day upon him stole the king ‭ Good-at-a-martial-shout, and goods did bring, ‭ As many as his freighted fleet could bear. ‭ But thou, my son, too long by no means err, ‭ Thy goods left free for many a spoilful guest, ‭ Lest they consume some, and divide the rest, ‭ And thou, perhaps, besides, thy voyage lose. ‭ To Menelaus yet thy course dispose ‭ I wish and charge thee; who but late arriv’d ‭ From such a shore and men, as to have liv’d ‭ In a return from them he never thought, ‭ And whom black whirlwinds violently brought ‭ Within a sea so vast, that in a year ‭ Not any fowl could pass it anywhere, ‭ So huge and horrid was it. But go thou ‭ With ship and men (or, if thou pleasest now ‭ To pass by land, there shall be brought for thee ‭ Both horse and chariot, and thy guides shall be ‭ My sons themselves) to Sparta the divine, ‭ And to the king whose locks like amber shine. ‭ Intreat the truth of him, nor loves he lies, ‭ Wisdom in truth is, and he’s passing wise.” ‭ This said, the Sun went down, and up rose Night, ‭ When Pallas spake: “O father, all good right ‭ Bear thy directions. But divide we now ‭ The sacrifices’ tongues, mix wines, and vow ‭ To Neptune, and the other Ever-Blest, ‭ That, having sacrific’d, we may to rest. ‭ The fit hour runs now, light dives out of date, ‭ At sacred feasts we must not sit too late.” ‭ She said; they heard; the heralds water gave; ‭ The youths crown’d cups with wine, and let all have ‭ Their equal shares, beginning from the cup ‭ Their parting banquet. All the tongues cut up, ‭ The fire they gave them, sacrific’d, and rose, ‭ Wine, and divine rites us’d, to each dispose; ‭ Minerva and Telemachus desir’d ‭ They might to ship be, with his leave, retir’d. ‭ He, mov’d with that, provok’d thus their abodes: ‭ “Now Jove forbid, and all the long-liv’d Gods, ‭ Your leaving me, to sleep aboard a ship; ‭ As I had drunk of poor Penia’s whip, ‭ Even to my nakedness, and had nor sheet ‭ Nor cov’ring in my house; that warm nor sweet ‭ A guest, nor I myself, had means to sleep; ‭ Where I, both weeds and wealthy cov’rings keep ‭ For all my guests. Nor shall Fame ever say, ‭ The dear son of the man Ulysses lay ‭ All night a-ship-board here while my days shine, ‭ Or in my court whiles any son of mine ‭ Enjoys survival, who shall guests receive, ‭ Whomever my house hath a nook to leave.” ‭ “My much-lov’d father,” said Minerva, “well ‭ All this becomes thee. But persuade to dwell ‭ This night with thee thy son Telemachus, ‭ For more convenient is the course for us, ‭ That he may follow to thy house and rest, ‭ And I may board our black-sail, that addrest ‭ At all parts I may make our men, and cheer ‭ All with my presence, since of all men there ‭ I boast myself the senior, th’ others are ‭ Youths, that attend in free and friendly care ‭ Great-soul’d Telemachus, and are his peers ‭ In fresh similitude of form and years. ‭ For their confirmance, I will therefore now ‭ Sleep in our black bark. But, when light shall show ‭ Her silver forehead, I intend my way ‭ Amongst the Caucons, men that are to pay ‭ A debt to me, nor small, nor new. For this, ‭ Take you him home; whom in the morn dismiss, ‭ With chariot and your sons, and give him horse ‭ Ablest in strength, and of the speediest course” ‭ This said, away she flew, form’d like the fowl ‭ Men call the ossifrage; when ev’ry soul ‭ Amaze invaded; even th’ old man admir’d, ‭ The youth’s hand took, and said: “O most desir’d, ‭ My hope says thy proof will no coward show, ‭ Nor one unskill’d in war, when Deities now ‭ So young attend thee, and become thy guides; ‭ Nor any of the heav’n-hous’d States besides, ‭ But Tritogenia’s self, the Seed of Jove, ‭ The great-in-prey, that did in honour move ‭ So much about thy father, amongst all ‭ The Grecian army. Fairest queen, let fall ‭ On me like favours! Give me good renown! ‭ Which, as on me, on my lov’d wife let down, ‭ And all my children. I will burn to thee ‭ An ox right bred, broad-headed, and yoke-free, ‭ To no man’s hand yet humbled. Him will I, ‭ His horns in gold hid, give thy Deity.” ‭ Thus pray’d he, and she heard; and home he led ‭ His sons, and all his heaps of kindered. ‭ Who ent’ring his court royal, ev’ry one ‭ He marshall’d in his sev’ral seat and throne; ‭ And ev’ry one, so kindly come, he gave ‭ His sweet-wine cup; which none was let to have ‭ Before his ‘leventh year landed him from Troy; ‭ Which now the butleress had leave t’ employ, ‭ Who therefore pierc’d it, and did give it vent. ‭ Of this the old duke did a cup present ‭ To ev’ry guest; made his Maid many a pray’r ‭ That wears the shield fring’d with his nurse’s hair, ‭ And gave her sacrifice. With this rich wine ‭ And food suffic’d, sleep all eyes did decline, ‭ And all for home went; but his court alone ‭ Telemachus, divine Ulysses’ son, ‭ Must make his lodging, or not please his heart. ‭ A bed, all chequer’d with elaborate art, ‭ Within a portico that rung like brass, ‭ He brought his guest to; and his bedfere was ‭ Pisistratus, the martial guide of men, ‭ That liv’d, of all his sons, unwed till then. ‭ Himself lay in a by-room, far above, ‭ His bed made by his barren wife, his love. ‭ The rosy-finger’d Morn no sooner shone, ‭ But up he rose, took air, and sat upon ‭ A seat of white and goodly polish’d stone, ‭ That such a gloss as richest ointments wore, ‭ Before his high gates; where the counsellor ‭ That match’d the Gods (his father) us’d to sit, ‭ Who now, by fate forc’d, stoop’d as low as it. ‭ And here sat Nestor, holding in his hand ‭ A sceptre; and about him round did stand, ‭ As early up, his sons’ troop; Perseus, ‭ The god-like Thrasymed, and Aretus, ‭ Echephron, Stratius, and sixth and last ‭ Pisistratus, and by him (half embrac’d ‭ Still as they came) divine Telemachus; ‭ To these spake Nestor, old Gerenius: ‭ “Haste, lovéd sons, and do me a desire, ‭ That, first of all the Gods, I may aspire ‭ To Pallas’ favour, who vouchsaf’d to me ‭ At Neptune’s feast her sight so openly. ‭ Let one to field go, and an ox with speed ‭ Cause hither brought, which let the herdsman lead; ‭ Another to my dear guest’s vessel go, ‭ And all his soldiers bring, save only two; ‭ A third the smith that works in gold command ‭ (Laertius) to attend, and lend his hand, ‭ To plate the both horns round about with gold; ‭ The rest remain here close. But first, see told ‭ The maids within, that they prepare a feast, ‭ Set seats through all the court, see straight addrest ‭ The purest water, and get fuel fell’d.” ‭ This said, not one but in the service held ‭ Officious hand. The ox came led from field; ‭ The soldiers troop’d from ship; the smith he came, ‭ And those tools brought that serv’d the actual frame ‭ His art conceiv’d, brought anvil, hammers brought, ‭ Fair tongs, and all, with which the gold was wrought. ‭ Minerva likewise came, to set the crown ‭ On that kind sacrifice, and make ’t her own. ‭ Then th’ old knight Nestor gave the smith the gold, ‭ With which he straight did both the horns infold, ‭ And trimm’d the off’ring so, the Goddess joy’d. ‭ About which thus were Nestor’s sons employ’d: ‭ Divine Echephron, and fair Stratius, ‭ Held both the horns. The water odorous, ‭ In which they wash’d, what to the rites was vow’d, ‭ Aretus, in a caldron all bestrow’d ‭ With herbs and flowers, serv’d in from th’ holy room ‭ Where all were drest, and whence the rites must come. ‭ And after him a hallow’d virgin came, ‭ That brought the barley-cake, and blew the flame. ‭ The axe, with which the ox should both be fell’d ‭ And cut forth, Thrasymed stood by and held. ‭ Perseus the vessel held that should retain ‭ The purple liquor of the off’ring slain. ‭ Then wash’d the pious father, then the cake ‭ (Of barley, salt, and oil, made) took, and brake, ‭ Ask’d many a boon of Pallas, and the state ‭ Of all the off’ring did initiate, ‭ In three parts cutting off the hair, and cast ‭ Amidst the flame. All th’ invocation past, ‭ And all the cake broke, manly Thrasymed ‭ Stood near, and sure, and such a blow he laid ‭ Aloft the off’ring, that to earth he sunk, ‭ His neck-nerves sunder’d, and his spirits shrunk. ‭ Out shriek’d the daughters, daughter-in-laws, and wife ‭ Of three-ag’d Nestor, who had eldest life ‭ Of Clymen’s daughters, chaste Eurydice. ‭ The ox on broad earth then laid laterally ‭ They held, while duke Pisistratus the throat ‭ Dissolv’d, and set the sable blood afloat, ‭ And then the life the bones left. Instantly ‭ They cut him up; apart flew either thigh, ‭ That with the fat they dubb’d, with art alone, ‭ The throat-brisk, and the sweet-bread pricking on. ‭ Then Nestor broil’d them on the coal-turn’d wood, ‭ Pour’d black wine on; and by him young men stood, ‭ That spits fine-pointed held, on which, when burn’d ‭ The solid thighs were, they transfix’d, and turn’d ‭ The inwards, cut in cantles; which, the meat ‭ Vow’d to the Gods consum’d, they roast and eat. ‭ In mean space, Polycasté (call’d the fair, ‭ Nestor’s young’st daughter) bath’d Ulysses’ heir; ‭ Whom having cleans’d, and with rich balms bespread, ‭ She cast a white shirt quickly o’er his head, ‭ And then his weeds put on; when forth he went, ‭ And did the person of a God present, ‭ Came, and by Nestor took his honour’d seat, ‭ This pastor of the people. Then, the meat ‭ Of all the spare parts roasted, off they drew, ‭ Sat, and fell to. But soon the temp’rate few ‭ Rose, and in golden bowls fill’d others wine. ‭ Till, when the rest felt thirst of feast decline, ‭ Nestor his sons bad fetch his high-man’d horse, ‭ And them in chariot join, to run the course ‭ The prince resolv’d. Obey’d, as soon as heard, ‭ Was Nestor by his sons, who straight prepar’d ‭ Both horse and chariot. She that kept the store, ‭ Both bread and wine, and all such viands more, ‭ As should the feast of Jove-fed kings compose, ‭ Purvey’d the voyage. To the rich coach rose ‭ Ulysses’ son, and close to him ascended ‭ The duke Pisistratus, the reins intended, ‭ And scourg’d, to force to field, who freely flew; ‭ And left the town that far her splendour threw, ‭ Both holding yoke, and shook it all the day. ‭ But now the sun set, dark’ning ev’ry way, ‭ When they to Pheris came; and in the house ‭ Of Diocles (the son t’ Orsilochus, ‭ Whom flood Alphëus got) slept all that night; ‭ Who gave them each due hospitable rite. ‭ But when the rosy-finger’d Morn arose, ‭ They went to coach, and did their horse inclose, ‭ Drave forth the fore-court, and the porch that yields ‭ Each breath a sound, and to the fruitful fields ‭ Rode scourging still their willing flying steeds, ‭ Who strenuously perform’d their wonted speeds. ‭ Their journey ending just when sun went down, ‭ And shadows all ways through the earth were thrown. ‭ FINIS LIBRI TERTII HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] Volente Deo, nihil est difficile.

‭[2] Οἲνοπα πὀντον: οἲνοψ cujus facies vinum repræsentat. ‭ THE FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Receiv’d now in the Spartan court, ‭ Telemachus prefers report ‭ To Menelaus of the throng ‭ Of Wooers with him, and their wrong. ‭ Atrides tells the Greeks’ retreat, ‭ And doth a prophecy repeat ‭ That Proteus made, by which he knew ‭ His brother’s death; and then doth show ‭ How with Calypso liv’d the sire ‭ Of his young guest. The Wooers conspire ‭ Their prince’s death. Whose treach’ry known, ‭ Penelope in tears doth drown. ‭ Whom Pallas by a dream doth cheer, ‭ And in similitude appear ‭ Of fair Iphthima, known to be ‭ The sister of Penelope. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Δἐλτα. ‭ Here of the sire ‭ The son doth hear. ‭ The Wooers conspire. ‭ The Mother’s fear.

‭ In Lacedæmon now, the nurse of whales, [1] ‭ These two arriv’d, and found at festivals, ‭ With mighty concourse, the renownéd king, ‭ His son and daughter jointly marrying. ‭ Alector’s daughter he did give his son, ‭ Strong Megapenthes, who his life begun ‭ By Menelaus’ bondmaid; whom he knew ‭ In years when Helen could no more renew ‭ In issue like divine Hermione, ‭ Who held in all fair form as high degree ‭ As golden Venus. Her he married now ‭ To great Achilles’ son, who was by vow ‭ Betroth’d to her at Troy, And thus the Gods ‭ To constant loves give nuptial periods. ‭ Whose state here past, the Myrmidons’ rich town ‭ (Of which she shar’d in the imperial crown) ‭ With horse and chariots he resign’d her to. ‭ Mean space, the high huge house with feast did flow ‭ Of friends and neighbours, joying with the king. ‭ Amongst whom did a heav’nly poet sing, ‭ And touch his harp. Amongst whom likewise danc’d ‭ Two, who in that dumb motion advanc’d, ‭ Would prompt the singer what to sing and play. [2] ‭ All this time in the utter court did stay, ‭ With horse and chariot, Telemachus, ‭ And Nestor’s noble son Pisistratus. ‭ Whom Eteoneus, coming forth, descried, ‭ And, being a servant to the king, most tried ‭ In care and his respect, he ran and cried: ‭ “Guests, Jove-kept Menelaus, two such men ‭ As are for form of high Saturnius’ strain. ‭ Inform your pleasure, if we shall unclose ‭ Their horse from coach, or say they must dispose ‭ Their way to some such house, as may embrace ‭ Their known arrival with more welcome grace?” ‭ He, angry, answer’d: “Thou didst never show ‭ Thyself a fool, Boethides, till now; ‭ But now, as if turn’d child, a childish speech ‭ Vents thy vain spirits. We ourselves now reach ‭ Our home by much spent hospitality ‭ Of other men; nor know if Jove will try ‭ With other after-wants our state again; ‭ And therefore from our feast no more detain ‭ Those welcome guests, but take their steeds from coach, ‭ And with attendance guide in their approach.” ‭ This said, he rush’d abroad, and call’d some more ‭ Tried in such service, that together bore ‭ Up to the guests, and took their steeds that swet ‭ Beneath their yokes from coach; at mangers set, ‭ Wheat and white barley gave them mix’d; and plac’d ‭ Their chariot by a wall so clear, it cast ‭ A light quite through it. And then they led ‭ Their guests to the divine house; which so fed ‭ Their eyes at all parts with illustrious sights, ‭ That admiration seiz’d them. Like the lights ‭ The sun and moon gave, all the palace threw ‭ A lustre through it. Satiate with whose view, ‭ Down to the king’s most bright-kept baths they went, ‭ Where handmaids did their services present, ‭ Bath’d, balm’d them, shirts and well-napt weeds put on, ‭ And by Atrides’ side set each his throne. ‭ Then did the handmaid-royal water bring, ‭ And to a laver, rich and glittering, ‭ Of massy gold, pour’d; which she plac’d upon ‭ A silver caldron, into which might run ‭ The water as they wash’d. Then set she near ‭ A polish’d table, on which all the cheer ‭ The present could afford a rev’rend dame, ‭ That kept the larder, set. A cook then came, ‭ And divers dishes, borne thence, serv’d again; ‭ Furnish’d the board with bowls of gold. And then, ‭ His right hand giv’n the guests, Atrides said: ‭ “Eat, and be cheerful. Appetite allay’d, ‭ I long to ask, of what stock ye descend; ‭ For not from parents whose race nameless end ‭ We must derive your offspring. Men obscure ‭ Could get none such as you. The portraiture ‭ Of Jove-sustain’d and sceptre-bearing kings ‭ Your either person in his presence brings.” ‭ An ox’s fat chine then they up did lift, ‭ And set before the guests; which was a gift, ‭ Sent as an honour to the king’s own taste. ‭ They saw yet ’twas but to be eaten plac’d, ‭ And fell to it. But food and wine’s care past, ‭ Telemachus thus prompted Nestor’s son, ‭ (His ear close laying, to be heard of none): [3] ‭ “Consider, thou whom most of my mind esteems, ‭ The brass-work here, how rich it is in beams, ‭ And how, besides, it makes the whole house sound; ‭ What gold, and amber, silver, ivory, round ‭ Is wrought about it. Out of doubt, the hall ‭ Of Jupiter Olympius hath of all ‭ This state the like. How many infinites ‭ Take up to admiration all men’s sights!” ‭ Atrides over-heard, and said: “Lov’d son, ‭ No mortal must affect contentión ‭ With Jove, whose dwellings are of endless date. ‭ Perhaps of men some one may emulate, ‭ Or none, my house, or me; for I am one ‭ That many a grave extreme have undergone, ‭ Much error felt by sea, and till th’ eighth year, ‭ Had never stay, but wander’d far and near, ‭ Cyprus, Phœnicia, and Sidonia, ‭ And fetch’d the far-off Æthiopia, ‭ Reach’d the Erembi of Arabia, ‭ And Lybia, where with horns ewes yean their lambs, ‭ Which ev’ry full year ewes are three times dams, ‭ Where neither king, nor shepherd, want comes near ‭ Of cheese, or flesh, or sweet milk; all the year ‭ They ever milk their ewes. And here while I ‭ Err’d, gath’ring means to live, one, murd’rously, ‭ Unwares, unseen, bereft my brother’s life, ‭ Chiefly betray’d by his abhorréd wife. ‭ So hold I, not enjoying, what you see. ‭ And of your fathers, if they living be, ‭ You must have heard this, since my suff’rings were ‭ So great and famous; from this palace here ‭ (So rarely-well-built, furnishéd so well, ‭ And substancéd with such a precious deal ‭ Of well-got treasure) banish’d by the doom ‭ Of Fate, and erring as I had no home. ‭ And now I have, and use it, not to take ‭ Th’ entire delight it offers, but to make ‭ Continual wishes, that a triple part ‭ Of all it holds were wanting, so my heart ‭ Were eas’d of sorrows, taken for their deaths ‭ That fell at Troy, by their revivéd breaths. ‭ And thus sit I here weeping, mourning still ‭ Each least man lost; and sometimes make mine ill, ‭ In paying just tears for their loss, my joy. ‭ Sometimes I breathe my woes, for in annoy ‭ The pleasure soon admits satiety. ‭ But all these men’s wants wet not so mine eye, ‭ Though much they move me, as one sole man’s miss, ‭ For which my sleep and meat ev’n loathsome is ‭ In his renew’d thought, since no Greek hath won ‭ Grace for such labours as Laërtes’ son ‭ Hath wrought and suffer’d, to himself nought else ‭ But future sorrows forging, to me hells ‭ For his long absence, since I cannot know ‭ If life or death detain him; since such woe ‭ For his love, old Laërtes, his wise wife, ‭ And poor young son sustains, whom new with life ‭ He left as sireless.” This speech grief to tears ‭ (Pour’d from the son’s lids on the earth) his ears, ‭ Told of the father, did excite; who kept ‭ His cheeks dry with his red weed as he wept, ‭ His both hands us’d therein. Atrides then ‭ Began to know him, and did strife retain, ‭ If he should let himself confess his sire, ‭ Or with all fitting circumstance enquire. ‭ While this his thoughts disputed, forth did shine, ‭ Like to the golden distaff-deck’d Divine, ‭ From her bed’s high and odoriferous room, ‭ Helen. To whom, of an elaborate loom, ‭ Adresta set a chair; Alcippe brought ‭ A piece of tapestry of fine wool wrought; ‭ Phylo a silver cabinet conferr’d, ‭ Giv’n by Alcandra, nuptially endear’d ‭ To lord Polybius, whose abode in Thebes ‭ Th’ Ægyptian city was, where wealth in heaps ‭ His famous house held, out of which did go, ‭ In gift t’ Atrides, silver bath-tubs two, ‭ Two tripods, and of fine gold talents ten. ‭ His wife did likewise send to Helen then ‭ Fair gifts, a distaff that of gold was wrought, ‭ And that rich cabinet that Phylo brought, ‭ Round, and with gold ribb’d, now of fine thread full; ‭ On which extended (crown‘d with finest wool, ‭ Of violet gloss) the golden distaff-lay. ‭ She took her state-chair, and a foot-stool’s stay ‭ Had for her feet; and of her husband thus ‭ Ask’d to know all things: “Is it known to us, ‭ King Menelaus, whom these men commend ‭ Themselves for, that our court now takes to friend? ‭ I must affirm, be I deceiv’d or no, ‭ I never yet saw man nor woman so ‭ Like one another, as this man is like ‭ Ulysses’ son. With admiration strike ‭ His looks my thoughts, that they should carry now ‭ Pow’r to persuade me thus, who did but know, ‭ When newly he was born, the form they bore. ‭ But ’tis his father’s grace, whom more and more ‭ His grace resembles, that makes me retain ‭ Thought that he now is like Telemachus, then ‭ Left by his sire, when Greece did undertake ‭ Troy’s bold war for my impudency’s sake.” ‭ He answer’d: “Now wife, what you think I know, ‭ The true cast of his father’s eye doth show ‭ In his eyes’ order. Both his head and hair, ‭ His hands and feet, his very father’s are. ‭ Of whom, so well remember’d, I should now ‭ Acknowledge for me his continual flow ‭ Of cares and perils, yet still patient. ‭ But I should too much move him, that doth vent ‭ Such bitter tears for that which hath been spoke, ‭ Which, shunning soft show, see how he would cloak, ‭ And with his purple weed his weepings hide.” ‭ Then Nestor’s son, Pisistratus, replied: ‭ “Great pastor of the people, kept of God! ‭ He is Ulysses’ son, but his abode ‭ Not made before here, and he modest too, ‭ He holds it an indignity to do ‭ A deed so vain, to use the boast of words, ‭ Where your words are on wing; whose voice affords ‭ Delight to us as if a God did break ‭ The air amongst us, and vouchsafe to speak. ‭ But me my father, old duke Nestor, sent ‭ To be his consort hither; his content ‭ Not to be heighten’d so as with your sight, ‭ In hope that therewith words and actions might ‭ Inform his comforts from you, since he is ‭ Extremely griev’d and injur’d by the miss ‭ Of his great father; suff’ring ev’n at home, ‭ And few friends found to help him overcome ‭ His too weak suff’rance, now his sire is gone; ‭ Amongst the people, not afforded one ‭ To check the miseries that mate him thus. ‭ And this the state is of Telemachus.” ‭ “O Gods,” said he, “how certain, now, I see ‭ My house enjoys that friend’s son, that for me ‭ Hath undergone so many willing fights! ‭ Whom I resolv’d, past all the Grecian knights, ‭ To hold in love, if our return by seas ‭ The far-off Thunderer did ever please ‭ To grant our wishes. And to his respect ‭ A palace and a city to erect, ‭ My vow had bound me; whither bringing then ‭ His riches, and his son, and all his men, ‭ From barren Ithaca, (some one sole town ‭ Inhabited about him batter’d down) ‭ All should in Argos live. And there would I ‭ Ease him of rule, and take the empery ‭ Of all on me. And often here would we, ‭ Delighting, loving either’s company, ‭ Meet and converse; whom nothing should divide, ‭ Till death’s black veil did each all over hide. ‭ But this perhaps hath been a mean to take ‭ Ev’n God himself with envy; who did make ‭ Ulysses therefore only the unblest, ‭ That should not reach his loved country’s rest.” ‭ These woes made ev’ry one with woe in love; ‭ Ev’n Argive Helen wept, the Seed of Jove; ‭ Ulysses’ son wept; Atreus’ son did weep; ‭ And Nestor’s son his eyes in tears did steep, ‭ But his tears fell not from the present cloud ‭ That from Ulysses was exhal’d, but flow’d ‭ From brave Antilochus’ remember’d due, ‭ Whom the renown’d Son of the Morning slew, ‭ Which yet he thus excus’d: “O Atreus’ son! ‭ Old Nestor says, there lives not such a one ‭ Amongst all mortals as Atrides is ‭ For deathless wisdom. ’Tis a praise of his, ‭ Still giv’n in your remembrance, when at home ‭ Our speech concerns you. Since then overcome ‭ You please to be with sorrow, ev’n to tears, ‭ That are in wisdom so exempt from peers, ‭ Vouchsafe the like effect in me excuse, ‭ If it be lawful, I affect no use ‭ Of tears thus after meals; at least, at night; ‭ But when the morn brings forth, with tears, her light, ‭ It shall not then impair me to bestow ‭ My tears on any worthy’s overthrow. ‭ It is the only rite that wretched men ‭ Can do dead friends, to cut hair, and complain. ‭ But Death my brother took, whom none could call ‭ The Grecian coward, you best knew of all. ‭ I was not there, nor saw, but men report ‭ Antilochus excell’d the common sort ‭ For footmanship, or for the chariot race, ‭ Or in the fight for hardy hold of place.” ‭ “O friend,” said he, “since thou hast spoken so, ‭ At all parts as one wise should say and do, ‭ And like one far beyond thyself in years, ‭ Thy words shall bounds be to our former tears. ‭ O he is questionless a right-born son, ‭ That of his father hath not only won ‭ The person but the wisdom; and that sire ‭ Complete himself that hath a son entire, ‭ Jove did not only his full fate adorn, ‭ When he was wedded, but when he was born. ‭ As now Saturnius, through his life’s whole date, ‭ Hath Nestor’s bliss rais’d to as steep a state, ‭ Both in his age to keep in peace his house, ‭ And to have children wise and valorous. ‭ But let us not forget our rear feast thus. ‭ Let some give water here. Telemachus! ‭ The morning shall yield time to you and me ‭ To do what fits, and reason mutually.” ‭ This said, the careful servant of the king, ‭ Asphalion, pour’d on th’ issue of the spring; ‭ And all to ready feast set ready hand. ‭ But Helen now on new device did stand, ‭ Infusing straight a medicine to their wine, ‭ That, drowning care and angers; did decline ‭ All thought of ill. Who drunk her cup could shed ‭ All that day not a tear, no not if dead ‭ That day his father or his mother were, ‭ Not if his brother, child, or chiefest dear, ‭ He should see murder’d then before his face. ‭ Such useful medicines, only borne in grace ‭ Of what was good, would Helen ever have. ‭ And this juice to her Polydamna gave ‭ The wife of Thoon, an Ægyptian born, ‭ Whose rich earth herbs of medicine do adorn ‭ In great abundance. Many healthful are, ‭ And many baneful. Ev’ry man is there ‭ A good physician out of Nature’s grace, ‭ For all the nation sprung of Pæon’s race. ‭ When Helen then her medicine had infus’d, ‭ She bad pour wine to it, and this speech us’d: ‭ “Atrides, and these good men’s sons, great Jove ‭ Makes good and ill one after other move, ‭ In all things earthly; for he can do all. ‭ The woes past, therefore, he so late let fall, ‭ The comforts he affords us let us take; ‭ Feast, and, with fit discourses, merry make. ‭ Nor will I other use. As then our blood ‭ Griev’d for Ulysses, since he was so good, ‭ Since he was good, let us delight to hear ‭ How good he was, and what his suff’rings were; ‭ Though ev’ry fight, and ev’ry suff’ring deed, ‭ Patient Ulysses underwent, exceed ‭ My woman’s pow’r to number, or to name. ‭ But what he did, and suffer’d, when he came ‭ Amongst the Trojans, where ye Grecians all ‭ Took part with suff’rance, I in part can call ‭ To your kind memories. How with ghastly wounds ‭ Himself he mangled, and the Trojan bounds, ‭ Thrust thick with enemies, adventur’d on, ‭ His royal shoulders having cast upon ‭ Base abject weeds, and enter’d like a slave. ‭ Then, beggar-like, he did of all men crave, ‭ And such a wretch was, as the whole Greek fleet ‭ Brought not besides. And thus through ev’ry street ‭ He crept discov’ring, of no one man known. ‭ And yet through all this diff’rence, I alone ‭ Smoked his true person, talk’d with him; but he ‭ Fled me with wiles still. Nor could we agree, ‭ Till I disclaim’d him quite; and so (as mov’d ‭ With womanly remorse of one that prov’d ‭ So wretched an estate, whate’er he were) ‭ Won him to take my house. And yet ev’n there, ‭ Till freely I, to make him doubtless, swore ‭ A pow’rful oath, to let him reach the shore ‭ Of ships and tents before Troy understood, ‭ I could not force on him his proper good. ‭ But then I bath’d and sooth’d him, and he then ‭ Confess’d, and told me all; and, having slain ‭ A number of the Trojan guards, retir’d, ‭ And reach’d the fleet, for sleight and force admir’d. ‭ Their husbands’ deaths by him the Trojan wives ‭ Shriek’d for; but I made triumphs for their lives, ‭ For then my heart conceiv’d, that once again ‭ I should reach home; and yet did still retain ‭ Woe for the slaughters Venus made for me, ‭ When both my husband, my Hermione, ‭ And bridal room, she robb’d of so much right, ‭ And drew me from my country with her sleight, ‭ Though nothing under heaven I here did need, ‭ That could my fancy or my beauty feed.” ‭ Her husband said: “Wife! what you please to tell ‭ Is true at all parts, and becomes you well; ‭ And I myself, that now may say have seen ‭ The minds and manners of a world of men, ‭ And great heroes, measuring many a ground, ‭ Have never, by these eyes that light me, found ‭ One with a bosom so to be belov’d, ‭ As that in which th’ accomplish’d spirit mov’d ‭ Of patient Ulysses. What, brave man, ‭ He both did act, and suffer, when he wan ‭ The town of Ilion, in the brave-built horse, ‭ When all we chief states of the Grecian force ‭ Were hous’d together, bringing death and Fate ‭ Amongst the Trojans, you, wife, may relate; ‭ For you, at last, came to us; God, that would ‭ The Trojans’ glory give, gave charge you should ‭ Approach the engine; and Deiphobus, ‭ The god-like, follow’d. Thrice ye circled us ‭ With full survey of it; and often tried ‭ The hollow crafts that in it were implied. [4] ‭ When all the voices of their wives in it ‭ You took on you with voice so like and fit, ‭ And ev’ry man by name so visited, ‭ That I, Ulysses, the king Diomed, ‭ (Set in the midst, and hearing how you call’d) ‭ Tydides, and myself (as half appall’d ‭ With your remorseful plaints) would passing fain ‭ Have broke our silence, rather than again ‭ Endure, respectless, their so moving cries. ‭ But Ithacus our strongest phantasies ‭ Contain’d within us from the slenderest noise, ‭ And ev’ry man there sat without a voice. ‭ Anticlus only would have answer’d thee, ‭ But his speech Ithacus incessantly ‭ With strong hand held in, till, Minerva’s call ‭ Charging thee off, Ulysses sav’d us all.” ‭ Telemachus replied: “Much greater is ‭ My grief, for hearing this high praise of his. ‭ For all this doth not his sad death divert, ‭ Nor can, though in him swell’d an iron heart. ‭ Prepare, and lead then, if you please, to rest: ‭ Sleep, that we hear not, will content us best.” ‭ Then Argive Helen made her handmaid go, ‭ And put fair bedding in the portico, ‭ Lay purple blankets on, rugs warm and soft, ‭ And cast an arras coverlet aloft. ‭ They torches took, made haste, and made the bed; ‭ When both the guests were to their lodgings led ‭ Within a portico without the house. ‭ Atrides, and his large-train-wearing spouse, ‭ The excellent of women, for the way, ‭ In a retir’d receit, together lay. ‭ The Morn arose; the king rose, and put on ‭ His royal weeds, his sharp sword hung upon ‭ His ample shoulders, forth his chamber went, ‭ And did the person of a God present. ‭ Telemachus accosts him, who begun ‭ Speech of his journey’s proposition: ‭ “And what, my young Ulyssean heroë, ‭ Provok’d thee on the broad back of the sea, ‭ To visit Lacedæmon the divine? ‭ Speak truth, some public [good] or only thine?” ‭ “I come,” said he, “to hear, if any fame ‭ Breath’d of my father to thy notice came. ‭ My house is sack’d, my fat works of the field ‭ Are all destroy’d; my house doth nothing yield ‭ But enemies, that kill my harmless sheep, ‭ And sinewy oxen, nor will ever keep ‭ Their steels without them. And these men are they ‭ That woo my mother, most inhumanly ‭ Committing injury on injury. ‭ To thy knees therefore I am come, t’ attend ‭ Relation of the sad and wretched end ‭ My erring father felt, if witness’d by ‭ Your own eyes, or the certain news that fly ‭ From others’ knowledges. For, more than is ‭ The usual heap of human miseries, ‭ His mother bore him to. Vouchsafe me then, ‭ Without all ruth of what I can sustain, ‭ The plain and simple truth of all you know. ‭ Let me beseech so much, if ever vow ‭ Was made, and put in good effect to you, ‭ At Troy, where suff’rance bred you so much smart, ‭ Upon my father good Ulysses’ part, ‭ And quit it now to me (himself in youth) ‭ Unfolding only the uncloséd truth.” ‭ He, deeply sighing, answer’d him: “O shame, ‭ That such poor vassals should affect the fame ‭ To share the joys of such a worthy’s bed! ‭ As when a hind, her calves late farrowéd, ‭ To give suck, enters the bold lion’s den, ‭ He roots of hills and herby vallies then ‭ For food (there feeding) hunting; but at length ‭ Returning to his cavern, gives his strength ‭ The lives of both the mother and her brood ‭ In deaths indecent; so the Wooers’ blood ‭ Must pay Ulysses’ pow’rs as sharp an end. ‭ O would to Jove, Apollo, and thy friend ‭ The wise Minerva, that thy father were ‭ As once he was, when he his spirits did rear ‭ Against Philomelides, in a fight ‭ Perform’d in well-built Lesbos, where, down-right ‭ He strook the earth with him, and gat a shout ‭ Of all the Grecians! O, if now full out ‭ He were as then, and with the Wooers coped, ‭ Short-liv’d they all were, and their nuptials hoped ‭ Would prove as desp’rate. But, for thy demand ‭ Enforc’d with pray’rs, I’ll let thee understand ‭ The truth directly, nor decline a thought, ‭ Much less deceive, or sooth thy search in ought; ‭ But what the old and still-true-spoken God, ‭ That from the sea breathes oracles abroad, ‭ Disclos’d to me, to thee I’ll all impart, ‭ Nor hide one word from thy sollicitous heart. ‭ I was in Ægypt, where a mighty time ‭ The Gods detain’d me, though my natural clime ‭ I never so desir’d, because their homes ‭ I did not greet with perfect hecatombs. ‭ For they will put men evermore in mind, ‭ How much their masterly commandments bind. ‭ There is, besides, a certain island, call’d ‭ Pharos, that with the high-wav’d sea is wall’d, ‭ Just against Ægypt, and so much remote, ‭ As in a whole day, with a fore-gale smote, ‭ A hollow ship can sail. And this isle bears ‭ A port most portly, where sea-passengers ‭ Put in still for fresh water, and away ‭ To sea again. Yet here the Gods did stay ‭ My fleet full twenty days; the winds, that are ‭ Masters at sea, no prosp’rous puff would spare ‭ To put us off; and all my victuals here ‭ Had quite corrupted, as my men’s minds were, ‭ Had not a certain Goddess giv’n regard, ‭ And pitied me in an estate so hard; ‭ And ’twas Idothea, honour’d Proteus’ seed, ‭ That old sea-farer. Her mind I make bleed ‭ With my compassion, when (walk’d all alone, ‭ From all my soldiers, that were ever gone ‭ About the isle on fishing with hooks bent; ‭ Hunger their bellies on her errand sent) ‭ She came close to me, spake, and thus began: ‭ ‘Of all men thou art the most foolish man! ‭ Or slack in business, or stay’st here of choice, ‭ And dost in all thy suff’rances rejoice, ‭ That thus long liv’st detain’d here, and no end ‭ Canst give thy tarriance? Thou dost much offend ‭ The minds of all thy fellows.’ I replied: ‭ ‘Whoever thou art of the Deified, ‭ I must affirm, that no way with my will ‭ I make abode here; but, it seems, some ill ‭ The Gods, inhabiting broad heav’n, sustain ‭ Against my getting off. Inform me then, ‭ For Godheads all things know, what God is he ‭ That stays my passage from the fishy sea?’ ‭ ‘Stranger,’ said she, ‘I’ll tell thee true: There lives ‭ An old sea-farer in these seas, that gives ‭ A true solution of all secrets here, ‭ Who deathless Proteus is, th’ Ægyptian peer, ‭ Who can the deeps of all the seas exquire, ‭ Who Neptune’s priest is, and, they say, the sire ‭ That did beget me. Him, if any way ‭ Thou couldst inveigle, he would clear display ‭ Thy course from hence, and how far off doth lie ‭ Thy voyage’s whole scope through Neptune’s sky. ‭ Informing thee, O God-preserv’d, beside, ‭ If thy desires would so be satisfied, ‭ Whatever good or ill hath got event, ‭ In all the time thy long and hard course spent, ‭ Since thy departure from thy house.’ This said; ‭ Again I answer’d: ‘Make the sleights display’d ‭ Thy father useth, lest his foresight see, ‭ Or his foreknowledge taking note of me, ‭ He flies the fixt place of his us’d abode. ‭ ’Tis hard for man to countermine with God.’ ‭ She straight replied: ‘I’ll utter truth in all: ‭ When heav’n’s supremest height the sun doth skall, ‭ The old Sea-tell-truth leaves the deeps, and hides ‭ Amidst a black storm, when the West Wind chides, ‭ In caves still sleeping. Round about him sleep ‭ (With short feet swimming forth the foamy deep) ‭ The sea-calves, lovely Halosydnes call’d, ‭ From whom a noisome odour is exhal’d, ‭ Got from the whirl-pools, on whose earth they lie. ‭ Here, when the morn illustrates all the sky, ‭ I’ll guide, and seat thee in the fittest place ‭ For the performance thou hast now in chace. ‭ In mean time, reach thy fleet, and choose out three ‭ Of best exploit, to go as aids to thee. ‭ But now I’ll show thee all the old God’s sleights: ‭ He first will number, and take all the sights ‭ Of those his guard, that on the shore arrives. ‭ When having view’d, and told them forth by fives, ‭ He takes place in their midst, and there doth sleep, ‭ Like to a shepherd midst his flock of sheep. ‭ In his first sleep, call up your hardiest cheer, ‭ Vigour and violence, and hold him there, ‭ In spite of all his strivings to be gone. ‭ He then will turn himself to ev’ry one ‭ Of all things that in earth creep and respire, ‭ In water swim, or shine in heav’nly fire. ‭ Yet still hold you him firm, and much the more ‭ Press him from passing. But when, as before, ‭ When sleep first bound his pow’rs, his form ye see, ‭ Then cease your force, and th’ old heroë free, ‭ And then demand, which heav’n-born it may be ‭ That so afflicts you, hind’ring your retreat, ‭ And free sea-passage to your native seat.’ ‭ This said, she div’d into the wavy seas, ‭ And I my course did to my ships address, ‭ That on the sands stuck; where arriv’d, we made ‭ Our supper ready. Then th’ ambrosian shade ‭ Of night fell on us, and to sleep we fell. ‭ Rosy Aurora rose; we rose as well, ‭ And three of them on whom I most relied, ‭ For firm at ev’ry force, I choos’d, and hied ‭ Straight to the many-river-servéd seas; ‭ And all assistance ask’d the Deities. ‭ Mean time Idothea the sea’s broad breast ‭ Embrac’d, and brought for me, and all my rest, ‭ Four of the sea-calves’ skins but newly flay’d, ‭ To work a wile which she had fashionéd ‭ Upon her father. Then, within the sand ‭ A covert digging, when these calves should land, ‭ She sat expecting. We came close to her; ‭ She plac’d us orderly, and made us wear ‭ Each one his calf’s skin. But we then must pass ‭ A huge exploit. The sea-calves’ savour was ‭ So passing sour, they still being bred at seas, ‭ It much afflicted us; for who can please ‭ To lie by one of these same sea-bred whales? ‭ But she preserves us, and to memory calls ‭ A rare commodity; she fetch’d to us ‭ Ambrosia, that an air most odorous ‭ Bears still about it, which she ‘nointed round ‭ Our either nosthrils, and in it quite drown’d ‭ The nasty whale-smell. Then the great event ‭ The whole morn’s date, with spirits patient, ‭ We lay expecting. When bright noon did flame, ‭ Forth from the sea in shoals the sea-calves came, ‭ And orderly, at last lay down and slept ‭ Along the sands. And then th’ old Sea-God crept ‭ From forth the deeps, and found his fat calves there, ‭ Survey’d, and number’d, and came never near ‭ The craft we us’d, but told us five for calves. ‭ His temples then dis-eas’d with sleep he salves; ‭ And in rush’d we, with an abhorréd cry, ‭ Cast all our hands about him manfully; ‭ And then th’ old Forger all his forms began: ‭ First was a lion with a mighty mane, ‭ Then next a dragon, a pied panther then, ‭ A vast boar next, and suddenly did strain ‭ All into water. Last he was a tree, ‭ Curl’d all at top, and shot up to the sky. ‭ We, with resolv’d hearts, held him firmly still, ‭ When th’ old one (held too strait for all his skill ‭ To extricate) gave words, and question’d me: ‭ “Which of the Gods, O Atreus’ son,’ said he, ‭ ‘Advis’d and taught thy fortitude this sleight, ‭ To take and hold me thus in my despite?’ ‭ ‘What asks thy wish now?’ I replied. 'Thou know’st. ‭ Why dost thou ask? What wiles are these thou show’st? ‭ I have within this isle been held for wind ‭ A wondrous time, and can by no means find ‭ An end to my retention. It hath spent ‭ The very heart in me. Give thou then vent ‭ To doubts thus bound in me, ye Gods know all, ‭ Which of the Godheads doth so foully fall ‭ On my addression home, to stay me here, ‭ Avert me from my way, the fishy clear ‭ Barr’d to my passage?’ He replied: ‘Of force, ‭ If to thy home thou wishest free recourse, ‭ To Jove, and all the other Deities, ‭ Thou must exhibit solemn sacrifice; ‭ And then the black sea for thee shall be clear, ‭ Till thy lov’d country’s settled reach. But where ‭ Ask these rites thy performance? ’Tis a fate ‭ To thee and thy affairs appropriate, ‭ That thou shalt never see thy friends, nor tread ‭ Thy country’s earth, nor see inhabited ‭ Thy so magnificent house, till thou make good ‭ Thy voyage back to the Ægyptian flood, ‭ Whose waters fell from Jove, and there hast giv’n ‭ To Jove, and all Gods housed in ample heav’n, ‭ Devoted hecatombs, and then free ways ‭ Shall open to thee, clear’d of all delays.’ ‭ This told he; and, methought, he brake my heart, ‭ In such a long and hard course to divert ‭ My hope for home, and charge my back retreat ‭ As far as Ægypt. I made answer yet: ‭ ‘Father, thy charge I’ll perfect; but before ‭ Resolve me truly, if their natural shore ‭ All those Greeks, and their ships, do safe enjoy, ‭ That Nestor and myself left, when from Troy ‭ We first rais’d sail? Or whether any died ‭ At sea a death unwish’d? Or, satisfied, ‭ When war was past, by friends embrac’d, in peace ‭ Resign’d their spirits? He made answer: ‘Cease ‭ To ask so far. It fits thee not to be ‭ So cunning in thine own calamity. ‭ Nor seek to learn what learn’d thou shouldst forget. ‭ Men’s knowledges have proper limits set, ‭ And should not prease into the mind of God. ‭ But ’twill not long be, as my thoughts abode, ‭ Before thou buy this curious skill with tears. ‭ Many of those, whose states so tempt thine ears, ‭ Are stoop’d by death, and many left alive, ‭ One chief of which in strong hold doth survive, ‭ Amidst the broad sea. Two, in their retreat, ‭ Are done to death. I list not to repeat ‭ Who fell at Troy, thyself was there in fight, ‭ But in return swift Ajax lost the light, ‭ In his long-oar’d ship. Neptune, yet, awhile ‭ Saft him unwrack’d, to the Gyræan isle, ‭ A mighty-rock removing from his way. ‭ And surely he had ‘scap’d the fatal day, ‭ In spite of Pallas, if to that foul deed ‭ He in her fane did, (when he ravishéd ‭ The Trojan prophetess) he had not here ‭ Adjoin’d an impious boast, that he would bear, ‭ Despite the Gods, his ship safe through the waves ‭ Then rais’d against him. These his impious braves ‭ When Neptune heard, in his strong hand he took ‭ His massy trident, and so soundly strook ‭ The rock Gyræan, that in two it cleft; ‭ Of which one fragment on the land he left, ‭ The other fell into the troubled seas; ‭ At which first rush’d Ajax Oïliades, ‭ And split his ship, and then himself afloat ‭ Swum on the rough waves of the world’s vast mote, ‭ Till having drunk a salt cup for his sin, ‭ There perish’d he. Thy brother yet did win ‭ The wreath from death, while in the waves they strove, ‭ Afflicted by the rev’rend wife of Jove. ‭ But when the steep mount of the Malian shore ‭ He seem’d to reach, a most tempestuous blore, ‭ Far to the fishy world that sighs so sore, ‭ Straight ravish’d him again as far away, ‭ As to th’ extreme bounds where the Agrians stay, ‭ Where first Thyestes dwelt, but then his son ‭ Ægisthus Thyestiades liv’d. This done, ‭ When his return untouch’d appear’d again, ‭ Back turn’d the Gods the wind, and set him then ‭ Hard by his house. Then, full of joy, he left ‭ His ship, and close t’ his country earth he cleft, ‭ Kiss’d it, and wept for joy, pour’d tear on tear, ‭ To set so wishedly his footing there. ‭ But see, a sentinel that all the year ‭ Crafty Ægisthus in a watchtow’r set ‭ To spy his landing, for reward as great ‭ As two gold talents, all his pow’rs did call ‭ To strict remembrance of his charge, and all ‭ Discharg’d at first sight, which at first he cast ‭ On Agamemnon, and with all his haste ‭ Inform’d Ægisthus. He an instant train ‭ Laid for his slaughter: Twenty chosen men ‭ Of his plebeians he in ambush laid; ‭ His other men he charg’d to see purvey’d ‭ A feast; and forth, with horse and chariots grac’d, ‭ He rode t’ invite him, but in heart embrac’d ‭ Horrible welcomes, and to death did bring, ‭ With treach’rous slaughter, the unwary king, ‭ Receiv’d him at a feast, and, like an ox ‭ Slain at his manger, gave him bits and knocks. ‭ No one left of Atrides’ train, nor one ‭ Sav’d to Ægisthus, but himself alone, ‭ All strew’d together there the bloody court.’ ‭ This said, my soul he sunk with his report, ‭ Flat on the sands I fell, tears spent their store, ‭ I light abhorr’d, my heart would live no more. ‭ When dry of tears, and tir’d of tumbling there, ‭ Th’ old Tell-truth thus my daunted spirits did cheer: ‭ ‘No more spend tears nor time, O Atreus’ son, ‭ With ceaseless weeping never wish was won, ‭ Use uttermost assay to reach thy home, ‭ And all unwares upon the murderer come, ‭ For torture, taking him thyself alive; ‭ Or let Orestes, that should far out-strive ‭ Thee in fit vengeance, quickly quit the light ‭ Of such a dark soul, and do thou the rite ‭ Of burial to him with a funeral feast.’ ‭ With these last words I fortified my breast, ‭ In which again a gen’rous spring began ‭ Of fitting comfort, as I was a man; ‭ But, as a brother, I must ever mourn. ‭ Yet forth I went, and told him the return ‭ Of these I knew; but he had nam’d a third, ‭ Held on the broad sea, still with life inspir’d, ‭ Whom I besought to know, though likewise dead, ‭ And I must mourn alike. He answeréd: ‭ ‘He is Laertes’ son; whom I beheld ‭ In nymph Calypso’s palace, who compell’d ‭ His stay with her, and, since he could not see ‭ His country earth, he mourn’d incessantly. ‭ For he had neither ship instruct with oars, ‭ Nor men to fetch him from those stranger shores. ‭ Where leave we him, and to thy self descend, ‭ Whom not in Argos Fate nor Death shall end, ‭ But the immortal ends of all the earth, ‭ So rul’d by them that order death by birth, ‭ The fields Elysian, Fate to thee will give; ‭ Where Rhadamanthus rules, and where men live ‭ A never-troubled life, where snow, nor show’rs, ‭ Nor irksome Winter spends his fruitless pow’rs, ‭ But from the ocean Zephyr still resumes ‭ A constant breath, that all the fields perfumes. ‭ Which, since thou marriedst Helen, are thy hire, ‭ And Jove himself is by her side thy sire.’ ‭ This said; he div’d the deepsome wat’ry heaps; ‭ I and my tried men took us to our ships, ‭ And worlds of thoughts I varied with my steps. ‭ Arriv’d and shipp’d, the silent solemn night ‭ And sleep bereft us of our visual light. ‭ At morn, masts, sails, rear’d, we sat, left the shores, ‭ And beat the foamy ocean with our oars. ‭ Again then we the Jove-fall’n flood did fetch, ‭ As far as Ægypt; where we did beseech ‭ The Gods with hecatombs; whose angers ceast, ‭ I tomb’d my brother that I might be blest. ‭ All rites perform’d, all haste I made for home, ‭ And all the prosp’rous winds about were come, ‭ I had the passport now of ev’ry God, ‭ And here clos’d all these labours’ period. ‭ Here stay then till th’ eleventh or twelfth day’s light, ‭ And I’ll dismiss thee well, gifts exquisite ‭ Preparing for thee, chariot, horses three, ‭ A cup of curious frame to serve for thee ‭ To serve th’ immortal Gods with sacrifice, ‭ Mindful of me while all suns light thy skies.” ‭ He answer’d: “Stay me not too long time here, ‭ Though I could sit attending all the year. ‭ Nor should my house, nor parents, with desire, ‭ Take my affections from you, so on fire ‭ With love to hear you are my thoughts; but so ‭ My Pylian friends I shall afflict with woe ‭ Who mourn ev’n this stay. Whatsoever be ‭ The gifts your grace is to bestow on me, ‭ Vouchsafe them such as I may bear and save ‭ For your sake ever. Horse, I list not have, ‭ To keep in Ithaca, but leave them here, ‭ To your soil’s dainties, where the broad fields bear ‭ Sweet cypers grass, where men-fed lote doth flow, ‭ Where wheat-like spelt, and wheat itself, doth grow, ‭ Where barley, white, and spreading like a tree; ‭ But Ithaca hath neither ground to be, ‭ For any length it comprehends, a race ‭ To try a horse’s speed, nor any place ‭ To make him fat in; fitter far to feed ‭ A cliff-bred goat, than raise or please a steed. ‭ Of all isles, Ithaca doth least provide ‭ Or meads to feed a horse, or ways to ride.” ‭ He, smiling, said: “Of good blood art thou, son. ‭ What speech, so young! What observatión ‭ Hast thou made of the world! I well am pleas’d ‭ To change my gifts to thee, as being confess’d ‭ Unfit indeed, my store is such I may. ‭ Of all my house-gifts then, that up I lay ‭ For treasure there, I will bestow on thee ‭ The fairest, and of greatest price to me. ‭ I will bestow on thee a rich carv’d cup, ‭ Of silver all, but all the brims wrought up ‭ With finest gold; it was the only thing ‭ That the heroical Sidonian king ‭ Presented to me, when we were to part ‭ At his receipt of me, and ’twas the art ‭ Of that great Artist that of heav’n is free; ‭ And yet ev’n this will I bestow on thee.” ‭ This speech thus ended, guests came, and did bring ‭ Muttons, for presents, to the God-like king, ‭ And spirit-prompting wine, that strenuous makes. ‭ Their riband-wreathed wives brought fruit and cakes. ‭ Thus in this house did these their feast apply; ‭ And in Ulysses’ house activity ‭ The Wooers practis’d; tossing of the spear, ‭ The stone, and hurling; thus delighted, where ‭ They exercis’d such insolence before, ‭ Ev’n in the court that wealthy pavements wore ‭ Antinous did still their strifes decide, ‭ And he that was in person deified ‭ Eurymachus; both ring-leaders of all, ‭ For in their virtues they were principal. ‭ These by Noëmon, son to Phronius, ‭ Were sided now, who made the question thus: ‭ “Antinous! Does any friend here know, ‭ When this Telemachus returns, or no, ‭ From sandy Pylos? He made bold to take ‭ My ship with him; of which, I now should make ‭ Fit use myself, and sail in her as far ‭ As spacious Elis, where of mine there are ‭ Twelve delicate mares, and under their sides go ‭ Laborious mules, that yet did never know ‭ The yoke, nor labour; some of which should bear ‭ The taming now, if I could fetch them there.” ‭ This speech the rest admir’d, nor dream’d that he ‭ Neleïan Pylos ever thought to see, ‭ But was at field about his flocks’ survey, ‭ Or thought his herdsmen held him so away. ‭ Eupitheus son, Antinous, then replied: ‭ “When went he, or with what train dignified? ‭ Of his selected Ithacensian youth? ‭ Prest men, or bond men, were they? Tell the truth. ‭ Could he effect this? Let me truly know. ‭ To gain thy vessel did he violence show, ‭ And us’d her ’gainst thy will? or had her free, ‭ When fitting question he had made with thee?” ‭ Noëmon answer’d: “I did freely give ‭ My vessel to him. Who deserves to live ‭ That would do other, when such men as he ‭ Did in distress ask? He should churlish be ‭ That would deny him. Of our youth the best ‭ Amongst the people, to the interest ‭ His charge did challenge in them, giving way, ‭ With all the tribute all their pow’rs could pay. ‭ Their captain, as he took the ship, I knew, ‭ Who Mentor was, or God. A Deity’s shew ‭ Mask’d in his likeness. But, to think ’twas he, ‭ I much admire, for I did clearly see, ‭ But yester-morning, God-like Mentor here; ‭ Yet th’ other ev’ning he took shipping there, ‭ And went for Pylos.” Thus went he for home, ‭ And left the rest with envy overcome; ‭ Who sat, and pastime left. Eupitheus son, ‭ Sad, and with rage his entrails overrun, ‭ His eyes like flames, thus interpos’d his speech: ‭ “Strange thing! An action of how proud a reach ‭ Is here committed by Telemachus! ‭ A boy, a child, and we, a sort of us, ‭ Vow’d ’gainst his voyage, yet admit it thus! ‭ With ship and choice youth of our people too! ‭ But let him on, and all his mischief do, ‭ Jove shall convert upon himself his pow’rs, ‭ Before their ill presum’d he brings on ours. ‭ Provide me then a ship, and twenty men ‭ To give her manage, that, against again ‭ He turns for home, on th’ Ithacensian seas, ‭ Or cliffy Samian, I may interprease, ‭ Way-lay, and take him, and make all his craft ‭ Sail with his ruin for his father saft.” ‭ This all applauded, and gave charge to do, ‭ Rose, and to greet Ulysses’ house did go. ‭ But long time past not, ere Penelope ‭ Had notice of their far-fetch’d treachery. ‭ Medon the herald told her, who had heard ‭ Without the hall how they within conferr’d, ‭ And hasted straight to tell it to the queen, ‭ Who, from the entry having Medon seen, ‭ Prevents him thus: “Now herald, what affair ‭ Intend the famous Wooers, in your repair? ‭ To tell Ulysses’ maids that they must cease ‭ From doing our work, and their banquets dress? ‭ I would to heav’n, that, leaving wooing me, ‭ Nor ever troubling other company, ‭ Here might the last feast be, and most extreme, ‭ That ever any shall address for them. ‭ They never meet but to consent in spoil, ‭ And reap the free fruits of another’s toil. ‭ O did they never, when they children were, ‭ What to their fathers was Ulysses, hear? ‭ Who never did ’gainst anyone proceed ‭ With unjust usage, or in word or deed? ‭ ’Tis yet with other kings another right, ‭ One to pursue with love, another spite; ‭ He still yet just, nor would, though might, devour, ‭ Nor to the worst did ever taste of pow’r. ‭ But their unrul’d acts show their minds’ estate. ‭ Good turns receiv’d once, thanks grow out of date.” ‭ Medon, the learn’d in wisdom, answer’d her: ‭ “I wish, O queen, that their ingratitudes were ‭ Their worst ill towards you; but worse by far, ‭ And much more deadly, their endeavours are, ‭ Which Jove will fail them in. Telemachus ‭ Their purpose is, as he returns to us, ‭ To give their sharp steels in a cruel death; ‭ Who now is gone to learn, if fame can breathe ‭ News of his sire, and will the Pylian shore, ‭ And sacred Sparta, in his search explore.” ‭ This news dissolv’d to her both knees and heart, ‭ Long silence held her ere one word would part, ‭ Her eyes stood full of tears, her small soft voice ‭ All late use lost; that yet at last had choice ‭ Of wonted words, which briefly thus she us’d: ‭ “Why left my son his mother? Why refus’d ‭ His wit the solid shore, to try the seas, ‭ And put in ships the trust of his distress, ‭ That are at sea to men unbridled horse, ‭ And run, past rule, their far-engagéd course, ‭ Amidst a moisture past all mean unstaid? ‭ No need compell’d this. Did he it, afraid ‭ To live and leave posterity his name?” ‭ “I know not,” he replied, “if th’ humour came ‭ From current of his own instinct, or flow’d ‭ From others’ instigations; but he vow’d ‭ Attempt to Pylos, or to see descried ‭ His sire’s return, or know what death he died.” ‭ This said, he took him to Ulysses’ house ‭ After the Wooers; the Ulyssean spouse, ‭ Run through with woes, let Torture seize her mind, ‭ Nor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin’d ‭ To take her seat, but th’ abject threshold chose ‭ Of her fair chamber for her loath’d repose, ‭ And mourn’d most wretch-like. Round about her fell ‭ Her handmaids, join’d in a continuate yell. ‭ From ev’ry corner of the palace, all ‭ Of all degrees tun’d to her comfort’s fall ‭ Their own dejections; to whom her complaint ‭ She thus enforc’d: “The Gods, beyond constraint ‭ Of any measure, urge these tears on me; ‭ Nor was there ever dame of my degree ‭ So past degree griev’d. First, a lord so good, ‭ That had such hardy spirits in his blood, ‭ That all the virtues was adorn’d withall, ‭ That all the Greeks did their superior call, ‭ To part with thus, and lose! And now a son, ‭ So worthily belov’d, a course to run ‭ Beyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have ‭ Made far from home his most inglorious grave! ‭ Unhappy wenches, that no one of all ‭ (Though in the reach of ev’ry one must fall ‭ His taking ship) sustain’d the careful mind, ‭ To call me from my bed, who this design’d ‭ And most vow’d course in him had either stay’d, ‭ How much soever hasted, or dead laid ‭ He should have left me. Many a man I have, ‭ That would have call’d old Dolius my slave, ‭ (That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave ‭ At my departure) to have run, and told ‭ Laertes this; to try if he could hold ‭ From running through the people, and from tears, ‭ In telling them of these vow’d murderers; ‭ That both divine Ulysses’ hope, and his, ‭ Resolv’d to end in their conspiracies.” ‭ His nurse then, Euryclea, made reply: ‭ “Dear sov’reign, let me with your own hands die, ‭ Or cast me off here, I’ll not keep from thee ‭ One word of what I know. He trusted me ‭ With all his purpose, and I gave him all ‭ The bread and wine for which he pleas’d to call. ‭ But then a mighty oath he made me swear, ‭ Not to report it to your royal ear ‭ Before the twelfth day either should appear, ‭ Or you should ask me when you heard him gone. ‭ Impair not then your beauties with your moan, ‭ But wash, and put untear-stain’d garments on, ‭ Ascend your chamber with your ladies here, ‭ And pray the seed of goat-nurs’d Jupiter, ‭ Divine Athenia, to preserve your son, ‭ And she will save him from confusión, ‭ Th’ old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin’d ‭ For his grave counsels, you perhaps may find ‭ Unfit affected, for his age’s sake. ‭ But heav’n-kings wax not old, and therefore make ‭ Fit pray’rs to them; for my thoughts never will ‭ Believe the heav’nly Pow’rs conceit so ill ‭ The seed of righteous Arcesiades, ‭ To end it utterly, but still will please ‭ In some place evermore some one of them ‭ To save, and deck him with a diadem, ‭ Give him possession of erected tow’rs, ‭ And far-stretch’d fields, crown’d all of fruits and flowr’s.” ‭ This eas’d her heart, and dried her humorous eyes, ‭ When having wash’d, and weeds of sacrifice ‭ Pure, and unstain’d with her distrustful tears, ‭ Put on, with all her women-ministers ‭ Up to a chamber of most height she rose, ‭ And cakes of salt and barley did impose ‭ Within a wicker basket; all which broke ‭ In decent order, thus she did invoke: ‭ “Great Virgin of the goat-preservéd God, ‭ If ever the inhabited abode ‭ Of wise Ulysses held the fatted thighs ‭ Of sheep and oxen, made thy sacrifice ‭ By his devotion, hear me, nor forget ‭ His pious services, but safe see set ‭ His dear son on these shores, and banish hence ‭ These Wooers past all mean in insolence.” ‭ This said, she shriek’d, and Pallas heard her pray’r. ‭ The Wooers broke with tumult all the air ‭ About the shady house; and one of them, ‭ Whose pride his youth had made the more extreme, ‭ Said: “Now the many-wooer-honour’d queen ‭ Will surely satiate her delayful spleen, ‭ And one of us in instant nuptials take. ‭ Poor dame, she dreams not, what design we make ‭ Upon the life and slaughter of her son.” ‭ So said he; but so said was not so done; ‭ Whose arrogant spirit in a vaunt so vain ‭ Antinous chid, and said: “For shame, contain ‭ These braving speeches. Who can tell who hears? ‭ Are we not now in reach of others’ ears? ‭ If our intentions please us, let us call ‭ Our spirits up to them, and let speeches fall. ‭ By watchful danger men must silent go. ‭ What we resolve on, let’s not say, but do.” ‭ This said, he choos’d out twenty men, that bore ‭ Best reckoning with him, and to ship and shore ‭ All hasted, reach’d the ship, launch’d, rais’d the mast, ‭ Put sails in, and with leather loops made fast ‭ The oars; sails hoisted, arms their men did bring, ‭ All giving speed and form to ev’rything. ‭ Then to the high deeps their rigg’d vessel driven, ‭ They supp’d, expecting the approaching even. ‭ Mean space, Penelope her chamber kept ‭ And bed, and neither eat, nor drank, nor slept, ‭ Her strong thoughts wrought so on her blameless son, ‭ Still in contention, if he should be done ‭ To death, or ‘scape the impious Wooers’ design. ‭ Look how a lion, whom men-troops combine ‭ To hunt, and close him in a crafty ring, ‭ Much varied thought conceives, and fear doth sting ‭ For urgent danger; so far’d she, till sleep ‭ All juncture of her joints and nerves did steep ‭ In his dissolving humour. When, at rest, ‭ Pallas her favours varied, when addrest ‭ An idol, that Iphthima did present ‭ In structure of her ev’ry lineament, [5] ‭ Great-soul’d Icarius’ daughter, whom for spouse ‭ Eumelus took, that kept in Pheris’ house. ‭ This to divine Ulysses’ house she sent, ‭ To try her best mean how she might content ‭ Mournful Penelope, and make relent ‭ The strict addiction in her to deplore. ‭ This idol, like a worm, that less or more [6] ‭ Contracts or strains her, did itself convey, ‭ Beyond the wards or windings of the key, ‭ Into the chamber, and, above her head ‭ Her seat assuming, thus she comforted ‭ Distress’d Penelope: “Doth sleep thus seize ‭ Thy pow’rs, affected with so much dis-ease? ‭ The Gods, that nothing troubles, will not see ‭ Thy tears nor griefs, in any least degree, ‭ Sustain’d with cause, for they will guard thy son ‭ Safe to his wish’d and native mansión. ‭ Since he is no offender of their states, ‭ And they to such are firmer than their fates.” ‭ The wise Penelope receiv’d her thus, ‭ Bound with a slumber most delicious, ‭ And in the port of dreams: “O sister, why ‭ Repair you hither, since so far off lie ‭ Your house and household? You were never here ‭ Before this hour, and would you now give cheer ‭ To my so many woes and miseries, ‭ Affecting fitly all the faculties ‭ My soul and mind hold, having lost before ‭ A husband, that of all the virtues bore ‭ The palm amongst the Greeks, and whose renown ‭ So ample was that Fame the sound hath blown ‭ Through Greece and Argos to her very heart? ‭ And now again, a son, that did convert ‭ My whole pow’rs to his love, by ship is gone; ‭ A tender plant, that yet was never grown ‭ To labour’s taste, nor the commerce of men; ‭ For whom more than my husband I complain, ‭ And lest he should at any suff’rance touch ‭ (Or in the sea, or by the men so much ‭ Estrang’d to him that must his consorts be) ‭ Fear and chill tremblings shake each joint of me. ‭ Besides, his danger sets on foes profess’d ‭ To way-lay his return, that have address’d ‭ Plots for his death.” The scarce-discernéd Dream, ‭ Said: “Be of comfort, nor fears so extreme ‭ Let thus dismay thee; thou hast such a mate ‭ Attending thee, as some at any rate ‭ Would wish to purchase, for her pow’r is great; ‭ Minerva pities thy delights’ defeat, ‭ Whose grace hath sent me to foretell thee these.” ‭ “If thou,” said she, “be of the Goddesses, ‭ And heardst her tell thee these, thou mayst as well ‭ From her tell all things else. Deign then to tell, ‭ If yet the man to all misfortunes born, ‭ My husband, lives, and sees the sun adorn ‭ The darksome earth, or hides his wretched head ‭ In Pluto’s house, and lives amongst the dead?” ‭ “I will not,” she replied, “my breath exhale ‭ In one continued and perpetual tale, ‭ Lives he or dies he. ’Tis a filthy use, ‭ To be in vain and idle speech profuse.” ‭ This said, she, through the key-hole of the door, ‭ Vanish’d again into the open blore. ‭ Icarius’ daughter started from her sleep, ‭ And Joy’s fresh humour her lov’d breast did steep, ‭ When now so clear, in that first watch of night, ‭ She saw the seen Dream vanish from her sight. ‭ The Wooers’ ship the sea’s moist waves did ply, ‭ And thought the prince a haughty death should die. ‭ There lies a certain island in the sea, ‭ Twixt rocky Samos and rough Ithaca, ‭ That cliffy is itself, and nothing great, ‭ Yet holds convenient havens that two ways let ‭ Ships in and out, call’d Asteris; and there ‭ The Wooers hop’d to make their massacre. ‭ FINIS LIBRI QUARTI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] Αακεδαἰμονα κητὠσσαν which is expounded Spartam ‭amplam, or πεγἀλην magnam; where κητὠεσσαν signifies ‭properly plurima cete nutrientem.

‭[2] Μολπης ἐ ἄρχοντες Cantum auspicantes: of which place, the ‭critics affirm that saltatores motu suo indicant cantori quo genere ‭cantus saltaturi forent. The rapture of Eteoneus at sight of ‭Telemachus and Pisistratus.

‭[3] Telemachus to Pisistratus, in observation of the house, not so ‭much that he heartily admired it, as to please Menelaus, who he ‭knew heard, though he seemed desirous he should not hear.

‭[4] Helen counterfeited the wives’ voices of those kings of Greece ‭that were in the wooden horse, and calls their husbands.

‭[5] Δἐμας, membrorum structura.

‭[6] Παρἁ κληîδος ἱμἀντα. Ιμἀς, affectus curculionis significat ‭quod longior et gracilior evaserit. ‭ THE FIFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ A second Court on Jove attends; ‭ Who Hermes to Calypso sends, ‭ Commanding her to clear the ways ‭ Ulysses sought; and she obeys. ‭ When Neptune saw Ulysses free, ‭ And so in safety plough the sea, ‭ Enrag’d, he ruffles up the waves, ‭ And splits his ship. Leucothea saves ‭ His person yet, as being a Dame ‭ Whose Godhead govern’d in the frame ‭ Of those seas’ tempers. But the mean, ‭ By which she curbs dread Neptune’s spleen, ‭ Is made a jewel, which she takes ‭ From off her head, and that she makes ‭ Ulysses on his bosom wear, ‭ About his neck, she ties it there, ‭ And, when he is with waves beset, ‭ Bids wear it as an amulet, ‭ Commanding him, that not before ‭ He touch’d upon Phæacia’s shore, ‭ He should not part with it, but then ‭ Return it to the sea again, ‭ And cast it from him. He performs; ‭ Yet, after this, bides bitter storms, ‭ And in the rocks sees death engrav’d, ‭ But on Phæacia’s shore is sav’d. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ E. Ulysseses builds ‭ A ship; and gains ‭ The glassy fields; ‭ Pays Neptune pains.

‭ Aurora rose from high-born Tithon’s bed, ‭ That men and Gods might be illustrated, ‭ And then the Deities sat. Imperial Jove, ‭ That makes the horrid murmur beat above, ‭ Took place past all, whose height for ever springs, ‭ And from whom flowers th’ eternal pow’r of things. ‭ Then Pallas, mindful of Ulysses, told ‭ The many cares that in Calypso’s hold ‭ He still sustain’d, when he had felt before ‭ So much affliction, and such dangers more. ‭ “O Father,” said she, “and ye Ever-blest, ‭ Give never king hereafter interest ‭ In any aid of yours, by serving you, ‭ By being gentle, human, just, but grow ‭ Rude, and for ever scornful of your rights, ‭ All justice ord’ring by their appetites, ‭ Since he, that rul’d as it in right behov’d, ‭ That all his subjects as his children lov’d, ‭ Finds you so thoughtless of him and his birth. ‭ Thus men begin to say, ye rule in earth, ‭ And grudge at what ye let him undergo, ‭ Who yet the least part of his suff’rance know: ‭ Thrall’d in an island, shipwrack’d in his tears, ‭ And, in the fancies that Calypso bears, ‭ Bound from his birthright, all his shipping gone, ‭ And of his soldiers not retaining one. ‭ And now his most-lov’d son’s life doth inflame ‭ Their slaught’rous envies; since his father’s fame ‭ He puts in pursuit, and is gone as far ‭ As sacred Pylos, and the singular ‭ Dame-breeding Sparta.” This, with this reply, ‭ The Cloud-assembler answer’d: “What words fly ‭ Thine own remembrance, daughter? Hast not thou ‭ The counsel giv’n thyself, that told thee how ‭ Ulysses shall with his return address ‭ His Wooers wrong? And, for the safe access ‭ His son shall make to his innative port, ‭ Do thou direct it, in as curious sort ‭ As thy wit serves thee; it obeys thy pow’rs; ‭ And in their ship return the speedless Wooers.” ‭ Then turn’d he to his issue Mercury, ‭ And said: “Thou hast made good our ambassy ‭ To th’ other Statists, to the Nymph then now, ‭ On whose fair head a tuft of gold doth grow, ‭ Bear our true-spoken counsel, for retreat ‭ Of patient Ulysses; who shall get ‭ No aid from us, nor any mortal man, ‭ But in a patch’d-up skiff (built as he can, [1] ‭ And suff’ring woes enough) the twentieth day ‭ At fruitful Scheria let him breathe his way, ‭ With the Phæacians, that half Deities live, ‭ Who like a God will honour him, and give ‭ His wisdom clothes, and ship, and brass, and gold, ‭ More than for gain of Troy he ever told; ‭ Where, at the whole division of the prey, ‭ If he a saver were, or got away ‭ Without a wound, if he should grudge, ’twas well. ‭ But th’ end shall crown all; therefore Fate will deal ‭ So well with him, to let him land, and see ‭ His native earth, friends, house, and family.” ‭ Thus charg’d he; nor Argicides denied, ‭ But to his feet his fair wing’d shoes he tied, ‭ Ambrosian, golden, that in his command ‭ Put either sea, or the unmeasur’d land, ‭ With pace as speedy as a puft of wind. ‭ Then up his rod went, with which he declin’d ‭ The eyes of any waker, when he pleas’d, ‭ And any sleeper, when he wish’d, diseas’d. ‭ This took; he stoop’d Pieria, and thence ‭ Glid through the air, and Neptune’s confluence ‭ Kiss’d as he flew, and check’d the waves as light ‭ As any sea-mew in her fishing flight, ‭ Her thick wings sousing in the savory seas. ‭ Like her, he pass’d a world of wilderness; ‭ But when the far-off isle he touch’d, he went ‭ Up from the blue sea to the continent, ‭ And reach’d the ample cavern of the Queen, ‭ Whom he within found, without seldom seen. ‭ A sun-like fire upon the hearth did flame, ‭ The matter precious, and divine the frame, ‭ Of cedar cleft and incense was the pile, ‭ That breath’d an odour round about the isle. ‭ Herself was seated in an inner room, ‭ Whom sweetly sing he heard, and at her loom, ‭ About a curious web, whose yarn she threw ‭ In with a golden shittle. A grove grew ‭ In endless spring about her cavern round, ‭ With odorous cypress, pines, and poplars, crown’d, ‭ Where hawks, sea-owls, and long-tongued bittours bred, ‭ And other birds their shady pinions spread; ‭ All fowls maritimal; none roosted there, ‭ But those whose labours in the waters were. ‭ A vine did all the hollow cave embrace, ‭ Still green, yet still ripe bunches gave it grace. ‭ Four fountains, one against another, pour’d ‭ Their silver streams; and meadows all enflower’d ‭ With sweet balm-gentle, and blue-violets hid, ‭ That deck’d the soft breasts of each fragrant mead. ‭ Should anyone, though he immortal were, ‭ Arrive and see the sacred objects there, ‭ He would admire them, and be over-joy’d; ‭ And so stood Hermes’ ravish’d pow’rs employ’d, ‭ But having all admir’d, he enter’d on ‭ The ample cave, nor could be seen unknown ‭ Of great Calypso (for all Deities are ‭ Prompt in each other’s knowledge, though so far ‭ Sever’d in dwellings) but he could not see ‭ Ulysses there within; without was he, ‭ Set sad ashore, where ’twas his use to view ‭ Th’ unquiet sea, sigh’d, wept, and empty drew ‭ His heart of comfort. Plac’d here in her throne, ‭ That beams cast up to admiratión, ‭ Divine Calypso question’d Hermes thus: ‭ “For what cause, dear, and much-esteem’d by us, ‭ Thou golden-rod-adorned Mercury, ‭ Arriv’st thou here? Thou hast not us’d t’ apply ‭ Thy passage this way. Say, whatever be ‭ Thy heart’s desire, my mind commands it thee, ‭ If in my means it lie, or pow’r of fact. ‭ But first, what hospitable rites exact, ‭ Come yet more near, and take.” This said, she set ‭ A table forth, and furnish’d it with meat, ‭ Such as the Gods taste; and serv’d in with it ‭ Vermilion nectar. When with banquet fit ‭ He had confirm’d his spirits, he thus exprest ‭ His cause of coming: “Thou hast made request, ‭ Goddess of Goddesses, to understand ‭ My cause of touch here; which thou shalt command, ‭ And know with truth: Jove caus’d my course to thee ‭ Against my will, for who would willingly ‭ Lackey along so vast a lake of brine, ‭ Near to no city that the Pow’rs divine ‭ Receives with solemn rites and hecatombs? ‭ But Jove’s will ever all law overcomes, ‭ No other God can cross or make it void; ‭ And he affirms, that one the most annoy’d ‭ With woes and toils of all those men that fought ‭ For Priam’s city, and to end hath brought ‭ Nine years in the contention, is with thee. ‭ For in the tenth year, when roy victory ‭ Was won to give the Greeks the spoil of Troy, ‭ Return they did profess, but not enjoy, ‭ Since Pallas they incens’d, and she the waves ‭ By all the winds’ pow’r, that blew ope their graves. ‭ And there they rested. Only this poor one ‭ This coast both winds and waves have cast upon; ‭ Whom now forthwith he wills thee to dismiss, ‭ Affirming that th’ unalter’d Destinies ‭ Not only have decreed he shall not die ‭ Apart his friends, but of necessity ‭ Enjoy their sights before those fatal hours, ‭ His country earth reach, and erected tow’rs.” ‭ This struck a love-check’d horror through her pow’rs, ‭ When, naming him, she this reply did give: ‭ “Insatiate are ye Gods, past all that live, ‭ In all things you affect; which still converts ‭ Your pow’rs to envies. It afflicts your hearts, ‭ That any Goddess should, as you obtain ‭ The use of earthly dames, enjoy the men, ‭ And most in open marriage. So ye far’d, ‭ When the delicious-finger’d Morning shar’d ‭ Orion’s bed; you easy-living States ‭ Could never satisfy your emulous hates, ‭ Till in Ortygia the precise-liv’d Dame, ‭ Gold-thron’d Diana, on him rudely came, ‭ And with her swift shafts slew him. And such pains, ‭ When rich-hair’d Ceres pleas’d to give the reins ‭ To her affections, and the grace did yield ‭ Of love and bed, amidst a three-cropp’d field, ‭ To her Iasion, he paid angry Jove, ‭ Who lost no long time notice of their love, ‭ But with a glowing lightning was his death. ‭ And now your envies labour underneath ‭ A mortal’s choice of mine; whose life I took ‭ To lib’ral safety, when his ship Jove strook, ‭ With red-hot flashes, piece-meal in the seas, ‭ And all his friends and soldiers succourless ‭ Perish’d but he. Him, cast upon this coast ‭ With blasts and billows, I, in life giv’n lost, ‭ Preserv’d alone, lov’d, nourish’d, and did vow ‭ To make him deathless, and yet never grow ‭ Crooked, or worn with age, his whole life long. ‭ But since no reason may be made so strong ‭ To strive with Jove’s will, or to make it vain, ‭ No not if all the other Gods should strain ‭ Their pow’rs against it, let his will be law, ‭ So he afford him fit means to withdraw, ‭ As he commands him, to the raging main. ‭ But means from me he never shall obtain, ‭ For my means yield nor men, nor ship, nor oars, ‭ To set him off from my so envied shores. ‭ But if my counsel and good will can aid ‭ His safe pass home, my best shall be assay’d.” ‭ “Vouchsafe it so,” said heav’n’s ambassador, ‭ “And deign it quickly. By all means abhor ‭ T’ incense Jove’s wrath against thee, that with grace ‭ He may hereafter all thy wish embrace.” ‭ Thus took the Argus-killing God his wings. ‭ And since the rev’rend Nymph these awful things ‭ Receiv’d from Jove, she to Ulysses went; ‭ Whom she ashore found, drown’d in discontent, ‭ His eyes kept never dry he did so mourn, ‭ And waste his dear age for his wish’d return; ‭ Which still without the cave he us’d to do, ‭ Because he could not please the Goddess so, ‭ At night yet, forc’d, together took their rest, ‭ The willing Goddess and th’ unwilling Guest; ‭ But he all day in rocks, and on the shore, ‭ The vex’d sea view’d, and did his fate deplore. ‭ Him, now, the Goddess coming near bespake: ‭ “Unhappy man, no more discomfort take ‭ For my constraint of thee, nor waste thine age, ‭ I now will passing freely disengage ‭ Thy irksome stay here. Come then, fell thee wood, ‭ And build a ship, to save thee from the flood. ‭ I’ll furnish thee with fresh wave, bread, and wine ‭ Ruddy and sweet, that will the piner pine, [2] ‭ Put garments on thee, give the winds foreright, ‭ That ev’ry way thy home-bent appetite ‭ May safe attain to it; if so it please ‭ At all parts all the heav’n-hous’d Deities, ‭ That more in pow’r are, more in skill, than I, ‭ And more can judge what fits humanity.” ‭ He stood amaz’d at this strange change in her, ‭ And said: “O Goddess! Thy intents prefer ‭ Some other project than my parting hence, ‭ Commanding things of too high consequence ‭ For my performance, that myself should build ‭ A ship of pow’r, my home-assays to shield ‭ Against the great sea of such dread to pass; ‭ Which not the best-built ship that ever was ‭ Will pass exulting, when such winds, as Jove ‭ Can thunder up, their trims and tacklings prove. ‭ But could I build one, I would ne’er aboard, ‭ Thy will oppos’d, nor, won, without thy word, ‭ Giv’n in the great oath of the Gods to me, ‭ Not to beguile me in the least degree.” ‭ The Goddess smil’d, held hard his hand, and said: ‭ “O y’ are a shrewd one, and so habited ‭ In taking heed thou know’st not what it is ‭ To be unwary, nor use words amiss. ‭ How hast thou charm’d me, were I ne’er so sly! ‭ Let earth know then, and heav’n, so broad, so high, ‭ And th’ under-sunk waves of th’ infernal stream, ‭ (Which is an oath, as terribly supreme, ‭ As any God swears) that I had no thought ‭ But stood with what I spake, nor would have wrought, ‭ Nor counsell’d, any act against thy good; ‭ But ever diligently weigh’d, and stood ‭ On those points in persuading thee, that I ‭ Would use myself in such extremity. ‭ For my mind simple is, and innocent, ‭ Not giv’n by cruel sleights to circumvent, ‭ Nor bear I in my breast a heart of steel, ‭ But with the suff’rer willing suff’rance feel.” ‭ This said, the Grace of Goddesses led home, ‭ He trac’d her steps; and, to the cavern come, ‭ In that rich throne, whence Mercury arose, ‭ He sat. The Nymph herself did then appose, ‭ For food and bev’rage, to him all best meat ‭ And drink, that mortals use to taste and eat. ‭ Then sat she opposite, and for her feast ‭ Was nectar and ambrosia addrest ‭ By handmaids to her. Both, what was prepar’d, ‭ Did freely fall to. Having fitly far’d, ‭ The Nymph Calypso this discourse began: ‭ “Jove-bred Ulysses! Many-witted man! ‭ Still is thy home so wish’d? So soon, away? ‭ Be still of cheer, for all the worst I say. ‭ But, if thy soul knew what a sum of woes, ‭ For thee to cast up, thy stern Fates impose, ‭ Ere to thy country earth thy hopes attain, ‭ Undoubtedly thy choice would here remain, ‭ Keep house with me, and be a liver ever. ‭ Which, methinks, should thy house and thee dissever, ‭ Though for thy wife there thou art set on fire, ‭ And all thy days are spent in her desire; ‭ And though it be no boast in me to say ‭ In form and mind I match her ev’ry way. ‭ Nor can it fit a mortal dame’s compare, ‭ T’ affect those terms with us that deathless are.” ‭ The great-in-counsels made her this reply: ‭ “Renown’d, and to be rev’renc’d, Deity! ‭ Let it not move thee, that so much I vow ‭ My comforts to my wife; though well I know ‭ All cause myself why wise Penelope ‭ In wit is far inferior to thee, ‭ In feature, stature, all the parts of show, ‭ She being a mortal, an immortal thou, ‭ Old ever growing, and yet never old. ‭ Yet her desire shall all my days see told, ‭ Adding the sight of my returning day, ‭ And natural home. If any God shall lay ‭ His hand upon me as I pass the seas, ‭ I’ll bear the worst of what his hand shall please, ‭ As having giv’n me such a mind as shall ‭ The more still rise the more his hand lets fall. ‭ In wars and waves my suff’rings were not small. ‭ I now have suffer’d much, as much before, ‭ Hereafter let as much result, and more.” ‭ This said, the sun set, and earth shadows gave; ‭ When these two (in an in-room of the cave, ‭ Left to themselves) left love no rites undone. ‭ The early Morn up, up he rose, put on ‭ His in and out weed. She herself enchaces ‭ Amidst a white robe, full of all the Graces, ‭ Ample, and pleated thick like fishy scales; ‭ A golden girdle then her waist impales; ‭ Her head a veil decks; and abroad they come. ‭ And now began Ulysses to go home. ‭ A great axe first she gave, that two ways cut, ‭ In which a fair well-polish’d helm was put, ‭ That from an olive bough receiv’d his frame. ‭ A plainer then. Then led she, till they came ‭ To lofty woods that did the isle confine. ‭ The fir-tree, poplar, and heav’n-scaling pine, ‭ Had there their offspring. Of which, those that were ‭ Of driest matter, and grew longest there, ‭ He choos’d for lighter sail. This place thus shown, ‭ The Nymph turn’d home. He fell to felling down, ‭ And twenty trees he stoop’d in little space, ‭ Plain’d, used his plumb, did all with artful grace. ‭ In mean time did Calypso wimbles bring. ‭ He bor’d, clos’d, nail’d, and order’d ev’ry thing, ‭ And look how much a ship-wright will allow ‭ A ship of burden (one that best doth know ‭ What fits his art) so large a keel he cast, ‭ Wrought up her decks, and hatches, side-boards, mast, ‭ With willow watlings arm’d her to resist ‭ The billows’ outrage, added all she miss’d, ‭ Sail-yards, and stern for guide. The Nymph then brought ‭ Linen for sails, which with dispatch he wrought, ‭ Gables, and halsters, tacklings. All the frame ‭ In four days’ space to full perfection came. [3] ‭ The fifth day, they dismiss’d him from the shore, ‭ Weeds neat, and odorous, gave him, victuals store, ‭ Wine, strong waters, and a prosp’rous wind, ‭ To which, Ulysses, fit-to-be-divin’d, ‭ His sails expos’d, and hoiséd. Off he gat; ‭ And cheerful was he. At the stern he sat, ‭ And steer’d right artfully. Nor sleep could seize ‭ His eye-lids. He beheld the Pleiades; ‭ The Bear, surnam’d the Wain, that round doth move ‭ About Orion, and keeps still above ‭ The billowy ocean; the slow-setting star ‭ Bootes call’d, by some the Waggoner. ‭ Calypso warn’d him he his course should steer ‭ Still to his left hand. Seventeen days did clear ‭ The cloudy night’s command in his moist way, ‭ And by the eighteenth light he might display ‭ The shady hills of the Phæacian shore, ‭ For which, as to his next abode, he bore. ‭ The country did a pretty figure yield, ‭ And look’d from off the dark seas like a shield. ‭ Imperious Neptune, making his retreat ‭ From th’ Æthiopian earth, and taking seat ‭ Upon the mountains of the Solymi, ‭ From thence, far off discov’ring, did descry ‭ Ulysses his fields ploughing. All on fire ‭ The sight straight set his heart, and made desire ‭ Of wreak run over, it did boil so high. ‭ When, his head nodding; “O impiety,” ‭ He cried out, “now the Gods’ inconstancy ‭ Is most apparent, alt’ring their designs ‭ Since I the Æthiops saw, and here confines ‭ To this Ulysses’ fate his misery. ‭ The great mark, on which all his hopes rely, ‭ Lies in Phæacia. But I hope he shall ‭ Feel woe at height, ere that dead calm befall.” ‭ This said; he, begging, gather’d clouds from land, [4] ‭ Frighted the seas up, snatch’d into his hand ‭ His horrid trident, and aloft did toss, ‭ Of all the winds, all storms he could engross, ‭ All earth took into sea with clouds, grim Night ‭ Fell tumbling headlong from the cope of light, ‭ The East and South winds justled in the air, ‭ The violent Zephyr, and North making-fair, ‭ Roll’d up the waves before them. And then bent ‭ Ulysses’ knees, then all his spirit was spent. ‭ In which despair, he thus spake: “Woe is me! ‭ What was I born to, man of misery! ‭ Fear tells me now, that, all the Goddess said, ‭ Truth’s self will author, that Fate would be paid ‭ Grief’s whole sum due from me, at sea, before ‭ I reach’d the dear touch of my country’s shore. ‭ With what clouds Jove heav’n’s heighten’d forehead binds! ‭ How tyrannize the wraths of all the winds! ‭ How all the tops he bottoms with the deeps, ‭ And in the bottoms all the tops he steeps! ‭ Thus dreadful is the presence of our death. ‭ Thrice four times blest were they that sunk beneath ‭ Their fates at Troy, and did to nought contend ‭ But to renown Atrides with their end! ‭ I would to God, my hour of death and fate ‭ That day had held the’ pow’r to terminate, ‭ When show’rs of darts my life bore undepress’d ‭ About divine Æacides deceas’d! ‭ Then had I been allotted to have died, ‭ By all the Greeks with fun’rals glorified, ‭ (Whence death, encouraging good life, had grown) ‭ Where now I die, by no man mourn’d nor known.” ‭ This spoke, a huge wave took him by the head, ‭ And hurl’d him o’er board; ship and all it laid ‭ Inverted quite amidst the waves, but he ‭ Far off from her sprawl’d, strow’d about the sea, ‭ His stern still holding broken off, his mast ‭ Burst in the midst, so horrible a blast ‭ Of mix’d winds struck it. Sails and sail-yards fell ‭ Amongst the billows; and himself did dwell ‭ A long time under water, nor could get ‭ In haste his head out, wave with wave so met ‭ In his depression; and his garments too, ‭ Giv’n by Calypso, gave him much to do, ‭ Hind’ring his swimming; yet he left not so ‭ His drenchéd vessel, for the overthrow ‭ Of her nor him, but gat at length again, ‭ Wrastling with Neptune, hold of her; and then ‭ Sat in her bulk, insulting over death, ‭ Which, with the salt stream prest to stop his breath, ‭ He ’scap’d, and gave the sea again to give ‭ To other men. His ship so striv’d to live, ‭ Floating at random, cuff’d from wave to wave. ‭ As you have seen the North wind when he drave ‭ In autumn heaps of thorn-fed grasshoppers ‭ Hither and thither, one heap this way bears, ‭ Another that, and makes them often meet ‭ in his confus’d gales; so Ulysses’ fleet ‭ The winds hurl’d up and down; now Boreas ‭ Toss’d it to Notus, Notus gave it pass ‭ To Eurus, Eurus Zephyr made pursue ‭ The horrid tennis. This sport call’d the view ‭ Of Cadmus’ daughter, with the narrow heel, ‭ Ino Leucothea, that first did feel ‭ A mortal dame’s desires, and had a tongue, ‭ But now had th’ honour to be nam’d among ‭ The marine Godheads. She with pity saw ‭ Ulysses justled thus from flaw to flaw, ‭ And, like a cormorant in form and flight, ‭ Rose from a whirl-pool, on the ship did light, ‭ And thus bespake him: “Why is Neptune thus ‭ In thy pursuit extremely furious, ‭ Oppressing thee with such a world of ill, ‭ Ev’n to thy death? He must not serve his will, ‭ Though ’tis his study. Let me then advise ‭ As my thoughts serve; thou shalt not be unwise ‭ To leave thy weeds and ship to the commands ‭ Of these rude winds, and work out with thy hands ‭ Pass to Phæacia, where thy austere Fate ‭ Is to pursue thee with no more such hate. ‭ Take here this tablet, with this riband strung, ‭ And see it still about thy bosom hung; ‭ By whose eternal virtue never fear ‭ To suffer thus again, nor perish here. ‭ But when thou touchest with thy hand the shore, ‭ Then take it from thy neck, nor wear it more, ‭ But cast it far off from the continent, ‭ And then thy person far ashore present. ‭ Thus gave she him the tablet; and again, ‭ Turn’d to a cormorant, div’d, past sight, the main. ‭ Patient Ulysses sigh’d at this, and stuck ‭ In the conceit of such fair-spoken luck, ‭ And said: “Alas! I must suspect ev’n this, ‭ Lest any other of the Deities ‭ Add sleight to Neptune’s force, to counsel me ‭ To leave my vessel, and so far off see ‭ The shore I aim at. Not with thoughts too clear ‭ Will I obey her, but to me appear ‭ These counsels best: As long as I perceive ‭ My ship not quite dissolv’d, I will not leave ‭ The help she may afford me, but abide, ‭ And suffer all woes till the worst be tried. ‭ When she is split, I’ll swim. No miracle can, ‭ Past near and clear means, move a knowing man.” ‭ While this discourse employ’d him, Neptune rais’d ‭ A huge, a high, and horrid sea, that seiz’d ‭ Him and his ship, and toss’d them through the lake. ‭ As when the violent winds together take ‭ Heaps of dry chaff, and hurl them ev’ry way; ‭ So his long wood-stack Neptune strook astray ‭ Then did Ulysses mount on rib, perforce, ‭ Like to a rider of a running horse, ‭ To stay himself a time, while he might shift ‭ His drenched weeds, that were Calypso’s gift. ‭ When putting straight Leucothea’s amulet ‭ About his neck, he all his forces set ‭ To swim, and cast him prostrate to the seas. ‭ When pow’rful Neptune saw the ruthless prease ‭ Of perils siege him thus, he mov’d his head, ‭ And this betwixt him and his heart he said: ‭ “So, now feel ills enow, and struggle so, ‭ Till to your Jove-lov’d islanders you row. ‭ But my mind says, you will not so avoid ‭ This last task too, but be with suff’rance cloy’d.” ‭ This said, his rich-man’d horse he mov’d, and reach’d ‭ His house at Ægas. But Minerva fetch’d ‭ The winds from sea, and all their ways but one ‭ Barr’d to their passage; the bleak North alone ‭ She set to blow, the rest she charg’d to keep ‭ Their rages in, and bind themselves in sleep. ‭ But Boreas still flew high to break the seas, ‭ Till Jove-bred Ithacus the more with ease ‭ The navigation-skill’d Phæacian states ‭ Might make his refuge, Death and angry Fates ‭ At length escaping. Two nights, yet, and days ‭ He spent in wrastling with the sable seas; ‭ In which space, often did his heart propose ‭ Death to his eyes. But when Aurora rose, ‭ And threw the third light from her orient hair, ‭ The winds grew calm, and clear was all the air, ‭ Not one breath stirring. Then he might descry, ‭ Rais’d by the high seas, clear, and land was nigh. ‭ And then, look how to good sons that esteem ‭ Their father’s life dear, (after pains extreme, ‭ Felt in some sickness, that hath held him long ‭ Down to his bed, and with affections strong ‭ Wasted his body, made his life his load, ‭ As being inflicted by some angry God) ‭ When on their pray’rs they see descend at length ‭ Health from the heav’ns, clad all in spirit and strength, ‭ The sight is precious; so, since here should end ‭ Ulysses’ toils, which therein should extend ‭ Health to his country, held to him his sire ‭ And on which long for him disease did tire, ‭ And then, besides, for his own sake to see ‭ The shores, the woods so near, such joy had he, ‭ As those good sons for their recover’d sire. ‭ Then labour’d feet and all parts to aspire ‭ To that wish’d continent; which when as near ‭ He came, as Clamour might inform an ear, ‭ He heard a sound beat from the sea-bred rocks, ‭ Against which gave a huge sea horrid shocks, ‭ That belch’d upon the firm land weeds and foam, ‭ With which were all things hid there, where no room ‭ Of fit capacity was for any port, ‭ Nor from the sea for any man’s resort, ‭ The shores, the rocks, the cliff’s, so prominent were. ‭ “O,” said Ulysses then, “now Jupiter ‭ Hath giv’n me sight of an unhop’d for shore, ‭ Though I have wrought these seas so long, so sore. ‭ Of rest yet no place shows the slend’rest prints, ‭ The rugged shore so bristled is with flints, ‭ Against which ev’ry way the waves so flock, ‭ And all the shore shows as one eminent rock, ‭ So near which ’tis so deep, that not a sand ‭ Is there for any tired foot to stand, ‭ Nor fly his death-fast-following miseries, ‭ Lest, if he land, upon him foreright flies ‭ A churlish wave, to crush him ’gainst a cliff, ‭ Worse than vain rend’ring all his landing strife. ‭ And should I swim to seek a hav’n elsewhere, ‭ Or land less way-beat, I may justly fear ‭ I shall be taken with a gale again, ‭ And cast a huge way off into the main; ‭ And there the great Earth-shaker (having seen ‭ My so near landing, and again his spleen ‭ Forcing me to him) will some whale send out, ‭ (Of which a horrid number here about ‭ His Amphitrite breeds) to swallow me. ‭ I well have prov’d, with what malignity ‭ He treads my steps.” While this discourse he held, ‭ A curs’d surge ’gainst a cutting rock impell’d ‭ His naked body, which it gash’d and tore, ‭ And had his bones broke, if but one sea more ‭ Had cast him on it. But She prompted him, ‭ That never fail’d, and bade him no more swim ‭ Still off and on, but boldly force the shore, ‭ And hug the rock that him so rudely tore; ‭ Which he with both hands sigh’d and clasp’d, till past ‭ The billow’s rage was; when ’scap’d, back so fast ‭ The rock repuls’d it, that it reft his hold, ‭ Sucking him from it, and far back he roll’d ‭ And as the polypus that (forc’d from home ‭ Amidst the soft sea, and near rough land come ‭ For shelter ’gainst the storms that beat on her ‭ At open sea, as she abroad doth err) ‭ A deal of gravel, and sharp little stones, ‭ Needfully gathers in her hollow bones; ‭ So he forc’d hither by the sharper ill, ‭ Shunning the smoother, where he best hop’d, still ‭ The worst succeeded; for the cruel friend, ‭ To which he cling’d for succour, off did rend ‭ From his broad hands the soaken flesh so sore ‭ That off he fell, and could sustain no more. ‭ Quite under water fell he; and, past fate, ‭ Hapless Ulysses there had lost the state ‭ He held in life, if, still the grey-eyed Maid ‭ His wisdom prompting, he had not assay’d ‭ Another course, and ceas’d t’ attempt that shore, ‭ Swimming, and casting round his eye t’ explore ‭ Some other shelter. Then the mouth he found ‭ Of fair Callicoe’s flood, whose shores were crown’d ‭ With most apt succours: rocks so smooth they seem’d ‭ Polish’d of purpose; land that quite redeem’d ‭ With breathless coverts th’ others’ blasted shores. ‭ The flood he knew, and thus in heart implores: ‭ “King of this river, hear! Whatever name ‭ Makes thee invok’d, to thee I humbly frame ‭ My flight from Neptune’s furies. Rev’rend is ‭ To all the ever-living Deities ‭ What erring man soever seeks their aid. ‭ To thy both flood and knees a man dismay’d ‭ With varied suff’rance sues. Yield then some rest ‭ To him that is thy suppliant profest.” ‭ This, though but spoke in thought, the Godhead heard, ‭ Her current straight stay’d, and her thick waves clear’d ‭ Before him, smooth’d her waters, and, just where ‭ He pray’d half-drown’d, entirely sav’d him there. ‭ Then forth he came, his both knees falt’ring, both ‭ His strong hands hanging down, and all with froth ‭ His cheeks and nosthrils flowing, voice and breath ‭ Spent to all use, and down he sunk to death. ‭ The sea had soak’d his heart through; all his veins ‭ His toils had rack’d t’ a labouring woman’s pains. [5] ‭ Dead weary was he. But when breath did find ‭ A pass reciprocal, and in his mind ‭ His spirit was recollected, up he rose, ‭ And from his neck did th’ amulet unloose, ‭ That Ino gave him; which he hurl’d from him ‭ To sea. It sounding fell, and back did swim ‭ With th’ ebbing waters, till it straight arriv’d ‭ Where Ino’s fair hand it again receiv’d. ‭ Then kiss’d he th’ humble earth; and on he goes, ‭ Till bulrushes show’d place for his repose, ‭ Where laid, he sigh’d, and thus said to his soul: ‭ “O me, what strange perplexities control ‭ The whole skill of thy pow’rs in this event! ‭ What feel I? If till care-nurse night be spent ‭ I watch amidst the flood, the sea’s chill breath, ‭ And vegetant dews, I fear will be my death, ‭ So low brought with my labours. Towards day ‭ A passing sharp air ever breathes at sea. ‭ If I the pitch of this next mountain scale, ‭ And shady wood, and in some thicket fall ‭ Into the hands of Sleep, though there the cold ‭ May well be check’d, and healthful slumbers hold ‭ Her sweet hand on my pow’rs, all care allay’d, ‭ Yet there will beasts devour me. Best appaid ‭ Doth that course make me yet; for there, some strife, ‭ Strength, and my spirit, may make me make for life; ‭ Which, though impair’d, may yet be fresh applied, ‭ Where peril possible of escape is tried. ‭ But he that fights with heav’n, or with the sea, ‭ To indiscretion adds impiety.” ‭ Thus to the woods he hasted; which he found ‭ Not far from sea, but on far-seeing ground, ‭ Where two twin underwoods he enter’d on, ‭ With olive-trees and oil-trees overgrown; ‭ Through which the moist force of the loud-voic’d wind ‭ Did never beat, nor ever Phœbus shin’d, ‭ Nor show’r beat through, they grew so one in one, ‭ And had, by turns, their pow’r t’ exclude the sun. ‭ Here enter’d our Ulysses; and a bed ‭ Of leaves huge, and of huge abundance, spread ‭ With all his speed. Large he made it, for there ‭ For two or three men ample cov’rings were, ‭ Such as might shield them from the winter’s worst, ‭ Though steel it breathed, and blew as it would burst. [6] ‭ Patient Ulysses joy’d, that ever day ‭ Show’d such a shelter. In the midst he lay, ‭ Store of leaves heaping high on ev’ry side. ‭ And as in some out-field a man doth hide ‭ A kindled brand, to keep the seed of fire, ‭ No neighbour dwelling near, and his desire ‭ Serv’d with self store, he else would ask of none, ‭ But of his fore-spent sparks rakes th’ ashes on; ‭ So this out-place Ulysses thus receives, ‭ And thus nak’d virtue’s seed lies hid in leaves. ‭ Yet Pallas made him sleep as soon as men ‭ Whom delicacies all their flatt’ries deign, ‭ And all that all his labours could comprise ‭ Quickly concluded in his closed eyes. ‭ FINIS LIBRI QUINTI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] ᾽Επἱ σχεδἰης πογυδἐσμον, in rate multis vinculis ligatus.

‭[2] The piner—Hunger.

‭[3] This four day days’ work (you will say) is too much for one man: ‭and Pliny affirms, that Hiero (a king of Sicily) in five-and forty ‭days built two hundred and twenty ships, rigged them, and put to ‭sea with them.

‭[4] Συναγεἰρω—Mendicando colligo.

‭[5] Ὤιδεε of ὠδἰνω ἁ partu doleo.

‭[6] A metaphorical hyperbole, expressing the winter’s extremity of ‭sharpness. ‭ THE SIXTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Minerva in a vision stands ‭ Before Nausicaa: and commands ‭ She to the flood her weeds should bear; ‭ For now her nuptial day was near. ‭ Nausicaa her charge obeys, ‭ And then with other virgins plays. ‭ Their sports make wak’d Ulysses rise; ‭ Walk to them, and beseech supplies ‭ Of food and clothes. His naked sight ‭ Puts th’ other maids, afraid, to flight; ‭ Nausicaa only boldly stays, ‭ And gladly his desire obeys. ‭ He, furnish’d with her favour’s shown, ‭ Attends her and the rest to town.

‭ Ζη̑τα. ‭ Here olive leaves ‭ T’ hide shame began, ‭ The maid receives ‭ The naked man.

‭ The much-sustaining, patient, heav’nly man, ‭ Whom Toil and Sleep had worn so weak and wan, [1] ‭ Thus won his rest. In mean space Pallas went ‭ To the Phæacian city, and descent ‭ That first did broad Hyperia’s lands divide, ‭ Near the vast Cyclops, men of monstrous pride, ‭ That prey’d on those Hyperians, since they were ‭ Of greater pow’r; and therefore longer there ‭ Divine Nausithous dwelt not, but arose, ‭ And did for Scheria all his pow’rs dispose; ‭ Far from ingenious art-inventing men ‭ But there did he erect a city then, ‭ First drew a wall round, then he houses builds, ‭ And then a temple to the Gods, the fields ‭ Lastly dividing. But he, stoop’d by Fate, ‭ Div’d to th’ infernals; and Alcinous sate ‭ In his command, a man the Gods did teach ‭ Commanding counsels. His house held the reach ‭ Of grey Minerva’s project, to provide ‭ That great-soul’d Ithacus might be supplied ‭ With all things fitting his return. She went ‭ Up to the chamber, where the fair descent ‭ Of great Alcinous slept; a maid, whose parts ‭ In wit and beauty wore divine deserts. ‭ Well-deck’d her chamber was; of which the door ‭ Did seem to lighten, such a gloss it bore ‭ Betwixt the posts, and now flew ope to find ‭ The Goddess entry. Like a puft of wind ‭ She reach’d the virgin bed; neat which there lay ‭ Two maids, to whom the Graces did convey ‭ Figure and manners. But above the head ‭ Of bright Nausicaa did Pallas tread ‭ The subtle air, and put the person on ‭ Of Dymas’ daughter, from comparison ‭ Exempt in business naval. Like his seed ‭ Minerva look’d now; whom one year did breed [2] ‭ With bright Nausicaa, and who had gain’d ‭ Grace in her love, yet on her thus complain’d: ‭ “Nausicaa! Why bred thy mother one ‭ So negligent in rites so stood upon ‭ By other virgins? Thy fair garments lie ‭ Neglected by thee, yet thy nuptials nigh; ‭ When rich in all attire both thou shouldst be, ‭ And garments give to others honouring thee, ‭ That lead thee to the temple. Thy good name ‭ Grows amongst men for these things; they inflame ‭ Father and rev’rend mother with delight. ‭ Come, when the Day takes any wink from Night, ‭ Let’s to the river, and repurify ‭ Thy wedding garments. My society ‭ Shall freely serve thee for thy speedier aid, ‭ Because thou shalt no mote stand on the maid. ‭ The best of all Phæacia woo thy grace, ‭ Where thou wert bred, and ow’st thyself a race. ‭ Up, and stir up to thee thy honour’d sire, ‭ To give thee mules and coach, thee and thy tire, ‭ Veils, girdles, mantles, early to the flood ‭ To bear in state. It suits thy high-born blood, ‭ And far more fits thee, than to foot so far, ‭ For far from town thou know’st the bath-founts are.” ‭ This said, away blue-eyed Minerva went ‭ Up to Olympus, the firm continent ‭ That bears in endless being the Deified kind, ‭ That’s neither sous’d with show’rs, nor shook with wind, ‭ Nor chill’d with snow, but where Serenity flies ‭ Exempt from clouds, and ever-beamy skies ‭ Circle the glitt’ring hill, and all their days ‭ Give the delights of blesséd Deity praise. ‭ And hither Pallas flew, and left the maid, ‭ When she had all that might excite her said. ‭ Straight rose the lovely Morn, that up did raise ‭ Fair-veil’d Nausicaa, whose dream her praise ‭ To admiration took; who no time spent ‭ To give the rapture of her vision vent ‭ To her lov’d parents, whom she found within. ‭ Her mother set at fire, who had to spin ‭ A rock, whose tincture with sea-purple shin’d; ‭ Her maids about her. But she chanc’d to find ‭ Her father going abroad, to council call’d ‭ By his grave Senate. And to him exhal’d ‭ Her smother’d bosom was: “Lov’d sire,” said she, [3] ‭ “Will you not now command a coach for me, ‭ Stately and cómplete, fit for me to bear ‭ To wash at flood the weeds I cannot wear ‭ Before repurified? Yourself it fits ‭ To wear fair weeds, as ev’ry man that sits ‭ In place of council. And five sons you have, ‭ Two wed, three bachelors, that must be brave ‭ In ev’ry day’s shift, that they may go dance; ‭ For these three last with these things must advance ‭ Their states in marriage, and who else but I, ‭ Their sister, should their dancing rites supply?” ‭ This gen’ral cause she show’d, and would not name ‭ Her mind of nuptials to her sire, for shame. ‭ He understood her yet, and thus replied: ‭ “Daughter! nor these, nor any grace beside, ‭ I either will deny thee, or defer, ‭ Mules, nor a coach, of state and circular, ‭ Fitting at all parts. Go, my servants shall ‭ Serves thy desires, and thy command in all.” ‭ The servants then commanded soon obey’d, ‭ Fetch’d coach, and mules join’d in it. Then the Maid ‭ Brought from the chamber her rich weeds, and laid ‭ All up in coach; in which her mother plac’d ‭ A maund of victuals, varied well in taste, ‭ And other junkets. Wine she likewise fill’d ‭ Within a goat-skin bottle, and distill’d ‭ Sweet and moist oil into a golden cruse, ‭ Both for her daughter’s, and her handmaid’s, use, ‭ To soften their bright bodies, when they rose ‭ Cleans’d from their cold baths. Up to coach then goes ‭ Th’ observéd Maid, takes both the scourge and reins, ‭ And to her side her handmaid straight attains. ‭ Nor these alone, but other virgins, grac’d ‭ The nuptial chariot. The whole bevy plac’d, ‭ Nausicaa scourg’d to make the coach-mules run, ‭ That neigh’d, and pac’d their usual speed, and soon ‭ Both maids and weeds brought to the river-side, ‭ Where baths for all the year their use supplied, ‭ Whose waters were so pure they would not stain, ‭ But still ran fair forth, and did more remain ‭ Apt to purge stains, for that purg’d stain within, ‭ Which by the water’s pure store was not seen. ‭ These, here arriv’d, the mules uncoach’d, and drave ‭ Up to the gulfy river’s shore, that gave ‭ Sweet grass to them. The maids from coach then took ‭ Their clothes, and steep’d them in the sable brook: ‭ Then put them into springs, and trod them clean ‭ With cleanly feet; adventuring wagers then ‭ Who should have soonest and most cleanly done. ‭ When having thoroughly cleans’d, they spread them on ‭ The flood’s shore, all in order. And then, where ‭ The waves the pebbles wash’d, and ground was clear, ‭ They bath’d themselves, and all with glitt’ring oil ‭ Smooth’d their white skins; refreshing then their toil ‭ With pleasant dinner, by the river-side; ‭ Yet still watch’d when the sun their clothes had dried. ‭ Till which time, having din’d, Nausicaa ‭ With other virgins did at stool-ball play, ‭ Their shoulder-reaching head-tires laying by. ‭ Nausicaa, with the wrists of ivory, ‭ The liking stroke struck, singing first a song, ‭ As custom order’d, and amidst the throng ‭ Made such a show, and so past all was seen, ‭ As when the chaste-born, arrow-loving, Queen, ‭ Along the mountains gliding, either over ‭ Spartan Taygetus, whose tops far discover, ‭ Or Eurymanthus, in the wild boar’s chace, ‭ Or swift-hov’d hart, and with her Jove’s fair race, ‭ The field Nymphs, sporting; amongst whom, to see ‭ How far Diana had priority, ‭ Though all were fair, for fairness yet of all, ‭ As both by head and forehead being more tall, ‭ Latona triumph’d, since the dullest sight ‭ Might eas’ly judge whom her pains brought to light; ‭ Nausicaa so, whom never husband tam’d, ‭ Above them all in all the beauties flam’d. ‭ But when they now made homewards, and array’d, ‭ Ord’ring their weeds disorder’d as they play’d, ‭ Mules and coach ready, then Minerva thought ‭ What means to wake Ulysses might be wrought, ‭ That he might see this lovely-sighted maid, ‭ Whom she intended should become his aid, ‭ Bring him to town, and his return advance. ‭ Her mean was this, though thought a stool-ball chance: [4] ‭ The queen now, for the upstroke, struck the ball ‭ Quite wide off th’ other maids, and made it fall ‭ Amidst the whirlpools. At which out shriek’d all, ‭ And with the shriek did wise Ulysses wake; ‭ Who, sitting up, was doubtful who should make ‭ That sudden outcry, and in mind thus striv’d: ‭ “On what a people am I now arriv’d? ‭ At civil hospitable men, that fear ‭ The Gods? Or dwell injurious mortals here? ‭ Unjust, and churlish? Like the female cry ‭ Of youth it sounds. What are they? Nymphs bred high ‭ On tops of hills, or in the founts of floods, ‭ In herby marshes, or in leafy woods? ‭ Or are they high-spoke men I now am near? ‭ I’ll prove, and see.” With this, the wary peer ‭ Crept forth the thicket, and an olive bough ‭ Broke with his broad hand, which he did bestow ‭ In covert of his nakedness, and then ‭ Put hasty head out. Look how from his den ‭ A mountain lion looks, that, all embrued ‭ With drops of trees, and weather-beaten-hued, ‭ Bold of his strength, goes on, and in his eye ‭ A burning furnace glows, all bent to prey ‭ On sheep, or oxen, or the upland hart, ‭ His belly charging him, and he must part ‭ Stakes with the herdsman in his beasts’ attempt, ‭ Ev’n where from rape their strengths are most exempt; ‭ So wet, so weather-beat, so stung with need, ‭ Ev’n to the home-fields of the country’s breed ‭ Ulysses was to force forth his access, ‭ Though merely naked; and his sight did press ‭ The eyes of soft-hair’d virgins. Horrid was ‭ His rough appearance to them; the hard pass ‭ He had at sea stuck by him. All in flight ‭ The virgins scatter’d, frighted with this sight, ‭ About the prominent windings of the flood. ‭ All but Nausicaa fled; but she fast stood, ‭ Pallas had put a boldness in her breast, ‭ And in her fair limbs tender fear comprest. ‭ And still she stood him, as resolv’d to know ‭ What man he was, or out of what should grow ‭ His strange repair to them. And here was he ‭ Put to his wisdom; if her virgin knee ‭ He should be bold, but kneeling, to embrace, ‭ Or keep aloof, and try with words of grace, ‭ In humblest suppliance, if he might obtain ‭ Some cover for his nakedness, and gain ‭ Her grace to show and guide him to the town. ‭ The last he best thought, to be worth his own, ‭ In weighing both well; to keep still aloof, ‭ And give with soft words his desires their proof, ‭ Lest, pressing so near as to touch her knee, ‭ He might incense her maiden modesty. ‭ This fair and fil’d speech then shew’d this was he: ‭ “Let me beseech, O queen, this truth of thee, ‭ Are you of mortal, or the defied, race? ‭ If of the Gods, that th’ ample heav’ns embrace, ‭ I can resemble you to none above ‭ So near as to the chaste-born birth of Jove, ‭ The beamy Cynthia. Her you full present, ‭ In grace of ev’ry God-like lineament, ‭ Her goodly magnitude, and all th’ address ‭ You promise of her very perfectness. ‭ If sprung of humans, that inhabit earth, ‭ Thrice blest are both the authors of your birth, ‭ Thrice blest your brothers, that in your deserts ‭ Must, ev’n to rapture, bear delighted hearts, ‭ To see, so like the first trim of a tree, ‭ Your form adorn a dance. But most blest he, ‭ Of all that breathe, that hath the gift t’ engage ‭ Your bright neck in the yoke of marriage, ‭ And deck his house with your commanding merit ‭ I have not seen a man of so much spirit, ‭ Nor man, nor woman, I did ever see, ‭ At all parts equal to the parts in thee. ‭ T’ enjoy your sight, doth admiration seize ‭ My eyes, and apprehensive faculties. ‭ Lately in Delos (with a charge of men ‭ Arriv’d, that render’d me most wretched then, ‭ Now making me thus naked) I beheld ‭ The burthen of a palm, whose issue swell’d ‭ About Apollo’s fane, and that put on ‭ A grace like thee; for Earth had never none ‭ Of all her sylvan issue so adorn’d. ‭ Into amaze my very soul was turn’d, ‭ To give it observation; as now thee ‭ To view, O virgin, a stupidity ‭ Past admiration strikes me, join’d with fear ‭ To do a suppliant’s due, and press so near, ‭ As to embrace thy knees. Nor is it strange, ‭ For one of fresh and firmest spirit would change ‭ T’ embrace so bright an object. But, for me, ‭ A cruel habit of calamity ‭ Prepar’d the strong impression thou hast made; ‭ For this last day did fly night’s twentieth shade ‭ Since I, at length, escap’d the sable seas; ‭ When in the mean time th’ unrelenting prease ‭ Of waves and stern storms toss’d me up and down, ‭ From th’ isle Ogygia. And now God hath thrown ‭ My wrack on this shore, that perhaps I may ‭ My mis’ries vary here; for yet their stay, ‭ I fear, Heav’n hath not order’d, though, before ‭ These late afflictions, it hath lent me store. ‭ O queen, deign pity then, since first to you ‭ My fate importunes my distress to vow. ‭ No other dame, nor man, that this Earth own, ‭ And neighbour city, I have seen or known. ‭ The town then show me; give my nakedness ‭ Some shroud to shelter it, if to these seas ‭ Linen or woollen you have brought to cleanse. ‭ God give you, in requital, all th’ amends ‭ Your heart can wish, a husband, family, ‭ And good agreement. Nought beneath the sky ‭ More sweet, more worthy is, than firm consent ‭ Of man and wife in household government. ‭ It joys their wishers-well, their enemies wounds, ‭ But to themselves the special good redounds.” ‭ She answer’d: “Stranger! I discern in thee ‭ Nor sloth, nor folly, reigns; and yet I see ‭ Th’ art poor and wretched. In which I conclude, ‭ That industry nor wisdom make endued ‭ Men with those gifts that make them best to th’ eye; ‭ Jove only orders man’s felicity. ‭ To good and bad his pleasure fashions still ‭ The whole proportion of their good and ill. ‭ And he, perhaps, hath form’d this plight in thee, ‭ Of which thou must be patient, as he free. ‭ But after all thy wand’rings, since thy way, ‭ Both to our earth, and near our city, lay, ‭ As being expos’d to our cares to relieve, ‭ Weeds, and what else a human hand should give ‭ To one so suppliant and tam’d with woe, ‭ Thou shalt not want. Our city I will show, ‭ And tell our people’s name: This neighbour town, ‭ And all this kingdom, the Phæacians own. ‭ And (since thou seem’dst so fain to know my birth, ‭ And mad’st a question, if of heav’n or earth.) ‭ This earth hath bred me; and my father’s name ‭ Alcinous is, that in the pow’r and frame ‭ Of this isle’s rule is supereminent.” ‭ Thus, passing him, she to the virgins went, ‭ And said: “Give stay both to your feet and fright. ‭ Why thus disperse ye for a man’s mere sight? ‭ Esteem you him a Cyclop, that long since ‭ Made use to prey upon our citizens? ‭ This man no moist man is, (nor wat’rish thing, [5] ‭ That’s ever flitting, ever ravishing ‭ All it can compass; and, like it, doth range ‭ In rape of women, never stay’d in change). ‭ This man is truly manly, wise, and stay’d, [6] ‭ In soul more rich the more to sense decay’d, ‭ Who nor will do, nor suffer to be done, ‭ Acts lewd and abject; nor can such a one ‭ Greet the Phæacians with a mind envíous, ‭ Dear to the Gods they are, and he is pious, ‭ Besides, divided from the world we are, ‭ The out-part of it, billows circular ‭ The sea revolving round about our shore; ‭ Nor is there any man that enters more ‭ Than our own countrymen, with what is brought ‭ From other countries. This man, minding nought ‭ But his relief, a poor unhappy wretch, ‭ Wrack’d here, and hath no other land to fetch, ‭ Him now we must provide for. From Jove come [7] ‭ All strangers, and the needy of a home, ‭ Who any gift, though ne’er so small it be, ‭ Esteem as great, and take it gratefully. ‭ And therefore, virgins, give the stranger food, ‭ And wine; and see ye bathe him in the flood, ‭ Near to some shore to shelter most inclin’d. ‭ To cold-bath-bathers hurtful is the wind, ‭ Not only rugged making th’ outward skin, ‭ But by his thin pow’rs pierceth parts within. ‭ This said, their flight in a return they set, ‭ And did Ulysses with all grace entreat, ‭ Show’d him a shore, wind-proof, and full of shade, ‭ By him a shirt and utter mantle laid, ‭ A golden jug of liquid oil did add, ‭ Bad wash, and all things as Nausicaa bad. ‭ Divine Ulysses would not use their aid; ‭ But thus bespake them: “Ev’ry lovely maid, ‭ Let me entreat to stand a little by, [8] ‭ That I, alone, the fresh flood may apply ‭ To cleanse my bosom of the sea-wrought brine, ‭ And then use oil, which long time did not shine ‭ On my poor shoulders. I’ll not wash in sight ‭ Of fair-hair’d maidens. I should blush outright, ‭ To bathe all-bare by such a virgin light.” ‭ They mov’d, and mus’d a man had so much grace, ‭ And told their mistress what a man he was. ‭ He cleans’d his broad soil’d shoulders, back, and head ‭ Yet never tam’d, but now had foam and weed ‭ Knit in the fair curls. Which dissolv’d, and he ‭ Slick’d all with sweet oil, the sweet charity ‭ The untouch’d virgin show’d in his attire ‭ He cloth’d him with. Then Pallas put a fire, ‭ More than before, into his sparkling eyes, ‭ His late soil set off with his soon fresh guise. ‭ His locks, cleans’d, curl’d the more, and match’d, in pow’r ‭ To please an eye, the hyacinthian flow’r. ‭ And as a workman, that can well combine ‭ Silver and gold, and make both strive to shine, ‭ As being by Vulcan, and Minerva too, ‭ Taught how far either may be urg’d to go ‭ In strife of eminence, when work sets forth ‭ A worthy soul to bodies of such worth, ‭ No thought reproving th’ act, in any place, ‭ Nor Art no debt to Nature’s liveliest grace; ‭ So Pallas wrought in him a grace as great ‭ From head to shoulders, and ashore did seat ‭ His goodly presence. To which such a guise ‭ He show’d in going, that it ravish’d eyes. ‭ All which continued, as he sat apart, ‭ Nausicaa’s eye struck wonder through her heart, ‭ Who thus bespake her consorts: “Hear me, you ‭ Fair-wristed virgins! This rare man, I know, ‭ Treads not our country-earth, against the will ‭ Of some God thronéd on th’ Olympian hill. ‭ He show’d to me, till now, not worth the note, ‭ But now he looks as he had godhead got. ‭ I would to heav’n my husband were no worse, ‭ And would be call’d no better, but the course ‭ Of other husbands pleas’d to dwell out here. ‭ Observe and serve him with our utmost cheer.” ‭ She said, they heard and did. He drunk and eat ‭ Like to a harpy, having touch’d no meat ‭ A long before time. But Nausicaa now ‭ Thought of the more grace she did lately vow, ‭ Had horse to chariot join’d, and up she rose, ‭ Up cheer’d her guest, and said: “Guest, now dispose ‭ Yourself for town, that I may let you see ‭ My father’s court, where all the peers will be ‭ Of our Phæacian state. At all parts, then, ‭ Observe to whom and what place y’ are t’ attain; ‭ Though I need usher you with no advice, ‭ Since I suppose you absolutely wise. ‭ While we the fields pass, and men’s labours there, ‭ So long, in these maids’ guides, directly bear ‭ Upon my chariot (I must go before ‭ For cause that after comes, to which this more ‭ Be my induction) you shall then soon end ‭ Your way to town, whose tow’rs you see ascend [9] ‭ To such a steepness. On whose either side ‭ A fair port stands, to which is nothing wide ‭ An ent’rer’s passage; on whose both hands ride ‭ Ships in fair harbours; which once past, you win ‭ The goodly market-place (that circles in ‭ A fane to Neptune, built of curious stone, ‭ And passing ample) where munitión, ‭ Gables, and masts, men make, and polish’d oars; ‭ For the Phæacians are not conquerors ‭ By bows nor quivers; oars, masts, ships they are ‭ With which they plough the sea, and wage their war. ‭ And now the cause comes why I lead the way, ‭ Not taking you to coach: The men, that sway ‭ In work of those tools that so fit our state, ‭ Are rude mechanicals, that rare and late ‭ Work in the market-place; and those are they ‭ Whose bitter tongues I shun, who straight would say ‭ (For these vile vulgars are extremely proud, ‭ And foully-languag’d) ‘What is he, allow’d ‭ To coach it with Nausicaa, so large set, ‭ And fairly fashion’d? Where were these two met? ‭ He shall be sure her husband. She hath been ‭ Gadding in some place, and, of foreign men ‭ Fitting her fancy, kindly brought him home ‭ In her own ship. He must, of force, be come ‭ From some far region; we have no such man. ‭ It may be, praying hard, when her heart ran ‭ On some wish’d husband, out of heav’n some God ‭ Dropp’d in her lap; and there lies she at road ‭ Her cómplete life time. But, in sooth, if she, ‭ Ranging abroad, a husband, such as he ‭ Whom now we saw, laid hand on, she was wise, ‭ For none of all our nobles are of prize ‭ Enough for her; he must beyond sea come, ‭ That wins her high mind, and will have her home. ‭ Of our peers many have importun’d her, ‭ Yet she will none.’ Thus these folks will confer ‭ Behind my back; or, meeting, to my face ‭ The foul-mouth rout dare put home this disgrace; ‭ And this would be reproaches to my fame, ‭ For, ev’n myself just anger would inflame, ‭ If any other virgin I should see, ‭ Her parents living, keep the company ‭ Of any man to any end of love, ‭ Till open nuptials should her act approve. ‭ And therefore hear me, guest, and take such way, ‭ That you yourself may compass, in your stay, ‭ Your quick deduction by my father’s grace, ‭ And means to reach the root of all your race. ‭ We shall, not far out of our way to town, ‭ A never-fell’d grove find, that poplars crown, ‭ To Pallas sacred, where a fountain flows, ‭ And round about the grove a meadow grows, ‭ In which my father holds a manor-house, ‭ Deck’d all with orchards, green, and odorous, ‭ As far from town as one may hear a shout. ‭ There stay, and rest your foot-pains, till full out ‭ We reach the city; where, when you may guess ‭ We are arriv’d, and enter our access ‭ Within my father’s court, then put you on ‭ For our Phæacian state, where, to be shown ‭ My father’s house, desire. Each infant there ‭ Can bring you to it; and yourself will clear ‭ Distinguish it from others, for no shows ‭ The city-buildings make compar’d with those ‭ That king Alcinous’ seat doth celebrate. ‭ In whose roofs, and the court (where men of state, ‭ And suitors sit and stay) when you shall hide, ‭ Straight pass it, ent’ring further, where abide ‭ My mother, with her withdrawn housewif’ries, ‭ Who still sits in the fire-shine, and applies ‭ Her rock, all-purple, and of pompous show, ‭ Her chair plac’d ’gainst a pillar, all-a-row ‭ Her maids behind her set; and to her here ‭ My father’s dining-throne looks, seated where ‭ He pours his choice of wine in, like a God. ‭ This view once past, for th’ end of your abode, ‭ Address suit to my mother, that her mean ‭ May make the day of your redition seen, ‭ And you may frolic straight, though far away ‭ You are in distance from your wishéd stay. ‭ For, if she once be won to wish you well, ‭ Your hope may instantly your passport seal, ‭ And thenceforth sure abide to see your friends, ‭ Fair house, and all to which your heart contends.” ‭ This said, she us’d her shining scourge, and lash’d ‭ Her mules, that soon the shore left where she wash’d, ‭ And, knowing well the way, their pace was fleet, ‭ And thick they gather’d up their nimble feet. ‭ Which yet she temper’d so, and us’d her scourge [10] ‭ With so much skill, as not to over-urge ‭ The foot behind, and make them straggle so ‭ From close society. Firm together go ‭ Ulysses and her maids. And now the sun ‭ Sunk to the waters, when they all had won ‭ The never-fell’d, and sound-exciting, wood, ‭ Sacred to Pallas; where the god-like good ‭ Ulysses rested, and to Pallas pray’d: ‭ “Hear me, of goat-kept Jove th’ unconquer’d Maid! [11] ‭ Now throughly hear me, since, in all the time ‭ Of all my wrack, my pray’rs could never climb ‭ Thy far-off ears; when noiseful Neptune toss’d ‭ Upon his wat’ry bristles my emboss’d ‭ And rock-torn body. Hear yet now, and deign ‭ I may of the Phæacian state obtain ‭ Pity, and grace.” Thus pray’d he, and she heard, ‭ By no means yet, expos’d to sight, appear’d, ‭ For fear t’ offend her uncle, the supreme ‭ Of all the Sea-Gods, whose wrath still extreme ‭ Stood to Ulysses; and would never cease, ‭ Till with his country shore he crown’d his peace. ‭ FINIS LIBRI SEXTI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] ϒπνῳ καἱ καμἀτῳ ἁρημένος. Sonno et labore afflictus. Sleep ‭(καταχρηστικω̑ς) for the want of sleep.

‭[2] Intending Dymas’ daughter.

‭[3] This familiar and near wanton carriage of Nausicaa to her father, ‭joined with that virgin modesty expressed in her after, is much ‭praised by the gravest of Homer’s expositors; with her father’s ‭loving allowance of it, knowing her shamefastness and judgment ‭would not let her exceed at any part. Which note is here inserted, ‭not as if this were more worthy the observation than other ‭every-where strewed flowers of precept, but because this more ‭generally pleasing subject may perhaps find more fitness for the ‭stay of most readers.

‭[4] The piety and wisdom of the Poet was such, that (agreeing with ‭the Sacred Letter) not the least of things he makes come to pass ‭sine Numinis providentiâ. As Spondanus well notes of him.

‭[5] Διερὸς βροτός. Cui vitalis vel sensualis humiditas inest. ‭βροτὸς ὰ ῥέω, ut dicatur quasi ῥοτὸς, i.e. ὁ ἐν ῥοᾓ ὢν, quod ‭nihil sit magis fluxum quam homo.

‭[6] Ανήρ virili animo præditus, fortis, magnanimus. Nor are ‭those affirmed to be men, qui servile quidpiam et abjectum ‭faciunt, vel, facere sustinent: according to this of Herodotus in ‭Polym. πολλοὶ μὲν ἄνθρωποι ει͒εν, ὀλίγοι δὲ ἄνδρες. Many ‭men’s forms sustain, but few are men.

‭[7] According to another translator: ‭ “Ab Jove nam supplex pauper procedit et hospes, ‭ Res brevis, at chara est, magni quoque munaris instar.” ‭Which I cite to show his good when he keeps him to the original, ‭and near in any degree expounds it.

‭[8] He taught their youths modesty by his aged judgment. As ‭receiving the custom of maids then used to that entertainment of ‭men, notwithstanding the modesty of that age, could not be ‭corrupted inwardly for those outward kind observations of guests ‭and strangers, and was therefore privileged. It is easy to avoid ‭show; and those, that most curiously avoid the outward ‭construction, are ever most tainted with the inward corruption.

‭[9] The city’s description so far forth as may in part induce her ‭promised reason why she took not Ulysses to coach with her.

‭[10] Not without some little note of our omnisufficient Homer’s ‭general touch of the least fitness lying in his way, may this courtly ‭discretion he describes in Nausicaa be observed, if you please.

‭[11] More of our Poet’s curious and sweet piety. ‭ THE SEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Nausicaa arrives at town; ‭ And then Ulysses. He makes known ‭ His suit to Arete: who view ‭ Takes of his vesture, which she knew, ‭ And asks him from whose hands it came. ‭ He tells, with all the hapless frame ‭ Of his affairs in all the while ‭ Since he forsook Calypso’s isle. ‭ ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ητα. ‭ The honour’d minds, ‭ And welcome things, ‭ Ulysses finds ‭ In Scheria’s kings.

‭ Thus pray’d the wise and God-observing man. ‭ The Maid, by free force of her palfreys, wan ‭ Access to town, and the renownéd court ‭ Reach’d of her father; where, within the port, ‭ She stay’d her coach, and round about her came ‭ Her brothers, made as of immortal frame, ‭ Who yet disdain’d not, for her love, mean deeds, ‭ But took from coach her mules, brought in her weeds. [1] ‭ And she ascends her chamber; where purvey’d ‭ A quick fire was by her old chamber-maid, ‭ Eurymedusa, th’ Aperæan born, ‭ And brought by sea from Apera t’ adorn ‭ The court of great Alcinous, because ‭ He gave to all the blest Phæacians laws, ‭ And, like a heav’n-born pow’r in speech, acquir’d ‭ The people’s ears. To one then so admir’d, ‭ Eurymedusa was esteem’d no worse ‭ Than worth the gift; yet now, grown old, was nurse ‭ To ivory-arm’d Nausicaa, gave heat ‭ To all her fires, and dress’d her privy meat. ‭ Then rose Ulysses, and made way to town; ‭ Which ere he reach’d, a mighty mist was thrown ‭ By Pallas round about him, in her care, ‭ Lest, in the sway of envies popular, ‭ Some proud Phæacian might foul language pass, ‭ Justle him up, and ask him what he was. ‭ Ent’ring the lovely town yet, through the cloud ‭ Pallas appear’d, and like a young wench show’d ‭ Bearing a pitcher, stood before him so ‭ As if objected purposely to know ‭ What there he needed; whom he question’d thus: ‭ “Know you not, daughter, where Alcinous, ‭ That rules this town, dwells? I, a poor distrest ‭ Mere stranger here, know none I may request ‭ To make this court known to me.” She replied: ‭ “Strange father, I will see you satisfied ‭ In that request. My father dwells just by ‭ The house you seek for; but go silently, ‭ Nor ask, nor speak to any other, I ‭ Shall be enough to show your way. The men ‭ That here inhabit do not entertain ‭ With ready kindness strangers, of what worth ‭ Or state soever, nor have taken forth ‭ Lessons of civil usage or respect ‭ To men beyond them. They, upon their pow’rs ‭ Of swift ships building, top the wat’ry tow’rs, ‭ And Jove hath giv’n them ships, for sail so wrought, ‭ They cut a feather, and command a thought.” [2] ‭ This said, she usher’d him, and after he ‭ Trod in the swift steps of the Deity. ‭ The free-sail’d seamen could not get a sight ‭ Of our Ulysses yet, though he forthright ‭ Both by their houses and their persons past, ‭ Pallas about him such a darkness cast ‭ By her divine pow’r, and her rev’rend care, ‭ She would not give the town-born cause to stare. ‭ He wonder’d, as he past, to see the ports; ‭ The shipping in them; and for all resorts ‭ The goodly market-steads; and aisles beside ‭ For the heroës; walls so large and wide; ‭ Rampires so high, and of such strength withall, ‭ It would with wonder any eye appall. ‭ At last they reach’d the court, and Pallas said: ‭ “Now, honour’d stranger, I will see obey’d ‭ Your will, to show our ruler’s house; ’tis here; ‭ Where you shall find kings celebrating cheer. ‭ Enter amongst them, nor admit a fear. ‭ More bold a man is, he prevails the more, ‭ Though man nor place lie ever saw before. ‭ You first shall find the queen in court, whose name ‭ Is Arete, of parents born the same ‭ That was the king her spouse; their pedigree [3] ‭ I can report. The great Earth-shaker, he ‭ Of Peribœa (that her sex out-shone, ‭ And youngest daughter was t’ Eurymedon, ‭ Who of th’ unmeasur’d-minded giants sway’d ‭ Th’ imperial sceptre, and the pride allay’d ‭ Of men so impious with cold death, and died ‭ Himself soon after) got the magnified ‭ In mind, Nausithous; whom the kingdom’s state ‭ First held in supreme rule. Nausithous gat ‭ Rhexenor, and Alcinous, now king. ‭ Rhexenor (whose seed did no male fruit spring, ‭ And whom the silver-bow-grac’d Phœbus slew ‭ Young in the court) his shed blood did renew ‭ In only Arete, who now is spouse ‭ To him that rules the kingdom in this house, ‭ And is her uncle king Alcinous, ‭ Who honours her past equal. She may boast ‭ More honour of him than the honour’d most [4] ‭ Of any wife in earth can of her lord, ‭ How many more soever realms afford, ‭ That keep house under husbands. Yet no more ‭ Her husband honours her, than her blest store ‭ Of gracious children. All the city cast ‭ Eyes on her as a Goddess, and give taste ‭ Of their affections to her in their pray’rs, ‭ Still as she decks the street; for, all affairs ‭ Wrapt in contention, she dissolves to men. ‭ Whom she affects, she wants no mind to deign ‭ Goodness enough. If her heart stand inclin’d ‭ To your dispatch, hope all you wish to find, ‭ Your friends, your longing family, and all ‭ That can within your most affections fall.” ‭ This said, away the grey-eyed Goddess flew ‭ Along th’ untam’d sea, left the lovely hue ‭ Scheria presented, out-flew Marathon, ‭ And ample-streeted Athens lighted on; ‭ Where to the house, that casts so thick a shade, [5] ‭ Of Erechtheüs she ingression made. ‭ Ulysses to the lofty-builded court ‭ Of king Alcinous made bold resort; ‭ Yet in his heart cast many a thought, before ‭ The brazen pavement of the rich court bore ‭ His enter’d person. Like heav’n’s two main lights ‭ The rooms illustrated both days and nights. ‭ On ev’ry side stood firm a wall of brass, ‭ Ev’n from the threshold to the inmost pass, ‭ Which bore a roof up that all-sapphire was. ‭ The brazen thresholds both sides did enfold ‭ Silver pilasters, hung with gates of gold; ‭ Whose portal was of silver; over which ‭ A golden cornice did the front enrich. ‭ On each side, dogs, of gold and silver fram’d, ‭ The house’s guard stood: which the Deity lam’d ‭ With knowing inwards had inspir’d, and made ‭ That death nor age should their estates invade. ‭ Along the wall stood ev’ry way a throne, ‭ From th’ entry to the lobby, ev’ry one ‭ Cast over with a rich-wrought cloth of state. ‭ Beneath which the Phæacian princes sate ‭ At wine and food, and feasted all the year. ‭ Youths forg’d of gold, at ev’ry table there, ‭ Stood holding flaming torches, that, in night, ‭ Gave through the house each honour’d guest his light ‭ And, to encounter feast with housewif’ry, ‭ In one room fifty women did apply ‭ Their sev’ral tasks. Some apple-colour’d corn ‭ Ground in fair querns, and some did spindles turn, ‭ Some work in looms; no hand least rest receives, ‭ But all had motion apt as aspen leaves. ‭ And from the weeds they wove, so fast they laid, ‭ And so thick thrust together thread by thread, ‭ That th’ oil, of which the wool had drunk his fill, ‭ Did with his moisture in light dews distill. ‭ As much as the Phæacian men excell’d ‭ All other countrymen in art to build ‭ A swift-sail’d ship; so much the women there ‭ For work of webs, past other women were. ‭ Past mean, by Pallas’ means, they understood ‭ The grace of good works; and had wits as good. ‭ Without the hall, and close upon the gate, ‭ A goodly orchard-ground was situate, ‭ Of near ten acres; about which was led ‭ A lofty quickset. In it flourished ‭ High and broad fruit trees, that pomegranates bore, ‭ Sweet figs, pears, olives; and a number more ‭ Most useful plants did there produce their store, ‭ Whose fruits the hardest winter could not kill, ‭ Nor hottest summer wither. There was still ‭ Fruit in his proper season all the year. ‭ Sweet Zephyr breath’d upon them blasts that were ‭ Of varied tempers. These he made to bear ‭ Ripe fruits, these blossoms. Pear grew after pear, ‭ Apple succeeded apple, grape the grape, ‭ Fig after fig came; time made never rape ‭ Of any dainty there. A spritely vine ‭ Spread here his root, whose fruit a hot sunshine ‭ Made ripe betimes; here grew another green. ‭ Here some were gath’ring, here some pressing, seen. ‭ A large-allotted sev’ral each fruit had; ‭ And all th’ adorn’d grounds their appearance made ‭ In flow’r and fruit, at which the king did aim ‭ To the precisest order he could claim. ‭ Two fountains grac’d the garden; of which, one ‭ Pour’d out a winding stream that over-run ‭ The grounds for their use chiefly, th’ other went ‭ Close by the lofty palace gate, and lent ‭ The city his sweet benefit. And thus ‭ The Gods the court deck’d of Alcinous. ‭ Patient Ulysses stood a while at gaze, ‭ But, having all observ’d, made instant pace ‭ Into the court; where all the peers he found, ‭ And captains of Phæacia, with cups-crown’d ‭ Off’ring to sharp-eyed Hermes, to whom last ‭ They us’d to sacrifice, when sleep had cast ‭ His inclination through their thoughts. But these ‭ Ulysses pass’d, and forth went; nor their eyes ‭ Took note of him, for Pallas stopp’d the light ‭ With mists about him, that, unstay’d, he might ‭ First to Alcinous, and Arete, ‭ Present his person; and, of both them, she, ‭ By Pallas’ counsel, was to have the grace ‭ Of foremost greeting. Therefore his embrace ‭ He cast about her knee. And then off flew ‭ The heav’nly air that hid him. When his view ‭ With silence and with admiration strook ‭ The court quite through; but thus he silence broke: ‭ “Divine Rhexenor’s offspring, Arete, ‭ To thy most honour’d husband, and to thee, ‭ A man whom many labours have distrest ‭ Is come for comfort, and to ev’ry guest. ‭ To all whom heav’n vouchsafe delightsome lives, ‭ And after to your issue that survives ‭ A good resignment of the goods ye leave, ‭ With all the honour that yourselves receive ‭ Amongst your people. Only this of me ‭ Is the ambition; that I may but see ‭ (By your vouchsaf’d means, and betimes vouchsaf’d) ‭ My country-earth; since I have long been left ‭ To labours, and to errors, barr’d from end, ‭ And far from benefit of any friend,” ‭ He said no more, but left them dumb with that, ‭ Went to the hearth, and in the ashes sat, ‭ Aside the fire. At last their silence brake, ‭ And Echinëus, th’ old heroë, spake; ‭ A man that all Phæacians pass’d in years, ‭ And in persuasive eloquence all the peers, ‭ Knew much, and us’d it well; and thus spake he: ‭ “Alcinous! It shews not decently, ‭ Nor doth your honour what you see admit, ‭ That this your guest should thus abjectly sit, ‭ His chair the earth, the hearth his cushion, ‭ Ashes as if appos’d for food. A throne, ‭ Adorn’d with due rites, stands you more in hand ‭ To see his person plac’d in, and command ‭ That instantly your heralds fill-in wine, ‭ That to the God that doth in lightnings shine ‭ We may do sacrifice; for he is there, ‭ Where these his rev’rend suppliants appear. ‭ Let what you have within be brought abroad, ‭ To sup the stranger. All these would have show’d ‭ This fit respect to him, but that they stay ‭ For your precedence, that should grace the way.” ‭ When this had added to the well-inclin’d ‭ And sacred order of Alcinous’ mind, ‭ Then of the great-in-wit the hand he seis’d, ‭ And from the ashes his fair person rais’d, ‭ Advanc’d him to a well-adornéd throne, ‭ And from his seat rais’d his most lovéd son, ‭ Laodamas, that next himself was set, ‭ To give him place. The handmaid then did get ‭ An ewer of gold, with water fill’d, which plac’d ‭ Upon a caldron, all with silver grac’d, ‭ She pour’d out on their hands. And then was spread ‭ A table, which the butler set with bread, ‭ As others serv’d with other food the board, ‭ In all the choice the present could afford. ‭ Ulysses meat and wine took; and then thus ‭ The king the herald call’d: “Pontonous! ‭ Serve wine through all the house, that all may pay ‭ Rites to the Lightner, who is still in way ‭ With humble suppliants, and them pursues ‭ With all benign and hospitable dues.” ‭ Pontonous gave act to all he will’d, ‭ And honey-sweetness-giving-minds wine fill’d, [6] ‭ Disposing it in cups for all to drink. ‭ All having drunk what either’s heart could think ‭ Fit for due sacrifice, Alcinous said: ‭ “Hear me, ye dukes that the Phæacians lead, ‭ And you our counsellors, that I may now ‭ Discharge the charge my mind suggests to you, ‭ For this our guest: Feast past, and this night’s sleep, ‭ Next morn, our senate summon’d, we will keep ‭ Justs, sacred to the Gods, and this our guest ‭ Receive in solemn court with fitting feast; ‭ Then think of his return, that, under hand ‭ Of our deduction, his natural land ‭ (Without more toil or care, and with delight, ‭ And that soon giv’n him, how far-hence dissite ‭ Soever it can be) he may ascend; ‭ And in the mean time without wrong attend, ‭ Or other want, fit means to that ascent. [7] ‭ What, after, austere Fates shall make th’ event ‭ Of his life’s thread, now spinning, and began ‭ When his pain’d mother freed his root of man, ‭ He must endure in all kinds. If some God ‭ Perhaps abides with us in his abode, ‭ And other things will think upon than we, ‭ The Gods’ wills stand, who ever yet were free ‭ Of their appearance to us, when to them ‭ We offer’d hecatombs of fit esteem, ‭ And would at feast sit with us, ev’n where we ‭ Order’d our session. They would likewise be ‭ Encount’rers of us, when in way alone ‭ About his fit affairs went any one. ‭ Nor let them cloak themselves in any care ‭ To do us comfort, we as near them are, ‭ As are the Cyclops, or the impious race [8] ‭ Of earthy giants, that would heav’n outface.” ‭ Ulysses answer’d: “Let some other doubt ‭ Employ your thoughts than what your words give out, ‭ Which intimate a kind of doubt that I ‭ Should shadow in this shape a Deity. ‭ I bear no such least semblance, or in wit, ‭ Virtue, or person. What may well befit ‭ One of those mortals, whom you chiefly know ‭ Bears up and down the burthen of the woe ‭ Appropriate to poor man, give that to me; ‭ Of whose moans I sit in the most degree, ‭ And might say more, sustaining griefs that all ‭ The Gods consent to; no one ’twixt their fall ‭ And my unpitied shoulders letting down ‭ The least diversion. Be the grace then shown, ‭ To let me taste your free-giv’n food in peace. ‭ Through greatest grief the belly must have ease; ‭ Worse than an envious belly nothing is. ‭ It will command his strict necessities, ‭ Of men most griev’d in body or in mind, ‭ That are in health, and will not give their kind ‭ A desp’rate wound. When most with cause I grieve, ‭ It bids me still, Eat, man, and drink, and live; ‭ And this makes all forgot. Whatever ill ‭ I ever bear, it ever bids me fill. ‭ But this ease is but forc’d, and will not last, ‭ Till what the mind likes be as well embrac’d; ‭ And therefore let me wish you would partake ‭ In your late purpose; when the morn shall make ‭ Her next appearance, deign me but the grace, ‭ Unhappy man, that I may once embrace ‭ My country-earth. Though I be still thrust at ‭ By ancient ills, yet make me but see that. ‭ And then let life go, when withal I see ‭ My high-roof’d large house, lands, and family.” ‭ This all approv’d; and each will’d ev’ry one, ‭ Since he hath said so fairly, set him gone. ‭ Feast past and sacrifice, to sleep all vow ‭ Their eyes at either’s house. Ulysses now ‭ Was left here with Alcinous, and his Queen, ‭ The all-lov’d Arete. The handmaids then ‭ The vessel of the banquet took away. ‭ When Arete set eye on his array; ‭ Knew both his out and under weed, which she ‭ Made with her maids; and mus’d by what means he ‭ Obtain’d their wearing; which she made request ‭ To know, and wings gave to these speeches: “Guest! ‭ First let me ask, what, and from whence you are? ‭ And then, who grac’d you with the weeds you wear? ‭ Said you not lately, you had err’d at seas, ‭ And thence arriv’d here?” Laertiades ‭ To this thus answer’d: “’Tis a pain, O Queen, ‭ Still to be op’ning wounds wrought deep, and green, ‭ Of which the Gods have open’d store in me; ‭ Yet your will must be serv’d. Far hence, at sea, ‭ There lies an isle, that bears Ogygia’s name, ‭ Where Atlas’ daughter, the ingenious dame, ‭ Fair-hair’d Calypso lives; a Goddess grave, ‭ And with whom men nor Gods society have; ‭ Yet I, past man unhappy, liv’d alone, ‭ By Heav’n’s wrath forc’d, her house-companion. ‭ For Jove had with a fervent lightning cleft ‭ My ship in twain, and far at black sea left ‭ Me and my soldiers; all whose lives I lost. ‭ I in mine arms the keel took, and was tost ‭ Nine days together up from wave to wave. ‭ The tenth grim night, the angry Deities drave ‭ Me and my wrack on th’ isle, in which doth dwell ‭ Dreadful Calypso; who exactly well ‭ Receiv’d and nourish’d me, and promise made ‭ To make me deathless, nor should age invade ‭ My pow’rs with his deserts through all my days. ‭ All mov’d not me, and therefore, on her stays, ‭ Sev’n years she made me lie; and there spent I ‭ The long time, steeping in the misery ‭ Of ceaseless tears the garments I did wear, ‭ From her fair hand. The eighth revolvéd year ‭ (Or by her chang’d mind, or by charge of Jove) ‭ She gave provok’d way to my wish’d remove, ‭ And in a many-jointed ship, with wine ‭ Dainty in savour, bread, and weeds divine, ‭ Sign’d, with a harmless and sweet wind, my pass. ‭ Then sev’nteen days at sea I homeward was, ‭ And by the eighteenth the dark hills appear’d ‭ That your earth thrusts up. Much my heart was cheer’d, ‭ Unhappy man, for that was but a beam, ‭ To show I yet had agonies extreme ‭ To put in suff''rance, which th’ Earth-shaker sent, ‭ Crossing my way with tempests violent, ‭ Unmeasur’d seas up-lifting, nor would give ‭ The billows leave to let my vessel live ‭ The least time quiet, that ev’n sigh’d to bear ‭ Their bitter outrage, which, at last, did tear ‭ Her sides in pieces, set on by the winds. ‭ I yet through-swum the waves that your shore binds, ‭ Till wind and water threw me up to it; ‭ When, coming forth, a ruthless billow smit ‭ Against huge rocks, and an accessless shore, ‭ My mangl’d body. Back again I bore, ‭ And swum till I was fall’n upon a flood, ‭ Whose shores, methought, on good advantage stood ‭ For my receipt, rock-free, and fenc’d from wind; ‭ And this I put for, gath’ring up my mind. ‭ Then the divine night came, and treading earth, ‭ Close by the flood that had from Jove her birth, ‭ Within a thicket I repos’d; when round ‭ I ruffled up fall’n leaves in heap; and found, ‭ Let fall from heav’n, a sleep interminate. ‭ And here my heart, long time excruciate, ‭ Amongst the leaves I rested all that night, ‭ Ev’n till the morning and meridian light. ‭ The sun declining then, delightsome sleep ‭ No longer laid my temples in his steep, ‭ But forth I went, and on the shore might see ‭ Your daughter’s maids play. Like a Deity ‭ She shin’d above them; and I pray’d to her, ‭ And she in disposition did prefer ‭ Noblesse, and wisdom, no more low than might ‭ Become the goodness of a Goddess’ height. ‭ Nor would you therefore hope, suppos’d distrest ‭ As I was then, and old, to find the least ‭ Of any grace from her, being younger far. ‭ With young folks Wisdom makes her commerce rare. ‭ Yet she in all abundance did bestow ‭ Both wine, that makes the blood in humans grow, [9] ‭ And food, and bath’d me in the flood, and gave ‭ The weeds to me which now ye see me have. ‭ This through my griefs I tell you, and ’tis true.” ‭ Alcinous answer’d: “Guest! my daughter knew ‭ Least of what most you give her; nor became ‭ The course she took, to let with ev’ry dame ‭ Your person lackey; nor hath with them brought ‭ Yourself home too; which first you had besought.” ‭ “O blame her not,” said he, “heroical lord, ‭ Nor let me hear against her worth a word. ‭ She faultless is, and wish’d I would have gone ‭ With all her women home, but I alone ‭ Would venture my receipt here, having fear ‭ And rev’rend awe of accidents that were ‭ Of likely issue; both your wrath to move, ‭ And to inflame the common people’s love ‭ Of speaking ill, to which they soon give place. ‭ We men are all a most suspicious race.” ‭ “My guest,” said he, “I use not to be stirr’d ‭ To wrath too rashly; and where are preferr’d ‭ To men’s conceits things that may both ways fail, ‭ The noblest ever should the most prevail. ‭ Would Jove our Father, Pallas, and the Sun, ‭ That, were you still as now, and could but run ‭ One fate with me, you would my daughter wed, ‭ And be my son-in-law, still vow’d to lead ‭ Your rest of life here! I a house would give, ‭ And household goods, so freely you would live, ‭ Confin’d with us. But ’gainst your will shall none ‭ Contain you here, since that were violence done ‭ To Jove our Father. For your passage home, ‭ That you may well know we can overcome ‭ So great a voyage, thus it shall succeed: ‭ To-morrow shall our men take all their heed, ‭ While you securely sleep, to see the seas ‭ In calmest temper, and, if that will please, ‭ Show you your country and your house ere night, ‭ Though far beyond Eubœa be that sight. ‭ And this Eubœa, as our subjects say ‭ That have been there and seen, is far away, ‭ Farthest from us of all the parts they know; ‭ And made the trial when they help’d to row ‭ The gold-lock’d Rhadamanth, to give him view ‭ Of earth-born Tityus; whom their speeds did show ‭ In that far-off Eubœa, the same day ‭ They set from hence; and home made good their way ‭ With ease again, and him they did convey. ‭ Which I report to you, to let you see ‭ How swift my ships are, and how matchlessly ‭ My young Phæacians with their oars prevail, ‭ To beat the sea through, and assist a sail.” ‭ This cheer’d Ulysses, who in private pray’d: ‭ “I would to Jove our Father, what he said, ‭ He could perform at all parts; he should then ‭ Be glorified for ever, and I gain ‭ My natural country.” This discourse they had; ‭ When fair-arm’d Arete her handmaids bad ‭ A bed make in the portico, and ply ‭ With clothes, the cov’ring tapestry, ‭ The blankets purple; well-napp’d waistcoats too, ‭ To wear for more warmth. What these had to do, ‭ They torches took and did. The bed purvey’d, ‭ They mov’d Ulysses for his rest, and said: ‭ “Come guest, your bed is fit, now frame to rest.” ‭ Motion of sleep was gracious to their guest; ‭ Which now he took profoundly, being laid ‭ Within a loop-hole tow’r, where was convey’d ‭ The sounding portico. The King took rest ‭ In a retir’d part of the house; where drest ‭ The Queen her self a bed, and trundlebed, ‭ And by her lord repos’d her rev’rend head. ‭ FINIS LIBRI SEPTIMI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] Hac fuit illius sæculi simplicitas: nam vel fraternus quoque ‭amor tantus fuit, ut libenter hanc redeunti charissimæ sorori ‭operam præstiterint. Spond.

‭[2] Νέες ώκει̑αι ὡσεὶ πτερὸν ἠὲ νόημα, naves veloces veluti penna, ‭atque cogitatio.

‭[3] For the more perspicuity of this pedigree, I have here set down ‭the diagram, as Spondanus hath it. Neptune begat Nausithous of ‭Peribœa. By Nausithous, Rhexenor, Alcinous, were begot. By ‭Rhexenor, Arete, the wife of her uncle Alcinous.

‭[4] The honour of Arete (or virtue) alleg.

‭[5] Casts so thick a shade—πυκινός spissus.

‭[6] The word that bears this long epithet is translated only dulce: ‭which signifies more, Μελίϕρονα οι͒νον ἐκίρνα Vinum quod ‭melleâ dulcedine animum perfundit, et oblectat.

‭[7] Ascent to his country’s shore.

‭[8] Eustathius will have this comparison of the Phæacians with the ‭Giants and Cyclops to proceed out of the inveterate virulency of ‭Antinous to the Cyclops; who were cause (as is before said) of ‭their remove from their country; and with great endeavour labours ‭the approbation of it; but (under his peace) from the purpose: for ‭the sense of the Poet is clear, that the Cyclops and Giants being in ‭part the issue of the Gods, and yet afterward their defiers, (as ‭Polyp. hereafter dares profess) Antinous (out of bold and manly ‭reason, even to the face of one that might have been a God, for the ‭past manly appearance he made there) would tell him, and the rest ‭in him, that if they graced those Cyclops with their open ‭appearance, that, though descended from them, durst yet deny ‭them, they might much more do them the honour of their open ‭presence that adored them.

‭[9] Αἴθοψ οι͒νος, Vinum calefaciendi vim habens. ‭ THE EIGHTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ The Peers of the Phæacian State ‭ A Council call, to consolate ‭ Ulysses with all means for home. ‭ The Council to a banquet come, ‭ Invited by the King. Which done, ‭ Assays for hurling of the stone ‭ The youths make with the stranger-king. ‭ Demodocus, at feast, doth sing ‭ Th’ adult’ry of the God of Arms ‭ With Her that rules in amorous charms; ‭ And after sings the entercourse ‭ Of acts about th’ Epæan horse. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Θη̑τα. ‭ The council’s frame ‭ At fleet applied. ‭ In strifes of game ‭ Ulysses tried.

‭ Now when the rosy-finger’d Morn arose, ‭ The sacred pow’r Alcinous did dispose ‭ Did likewise rise; and, like him, left his ease ‭ The city-razer Laertiades. ‭ The Council at the navy was design’d; ‭ To which Alcinous, with the sacred mind, ‭ Came first of all. On polish’d stones they sate, ‭ Near to the navy. To increase the state, ‭ Minerva took the herald’s form on her, ‭ That serv’d Alcinous, studious to prefer ‭ Ulysses’ suit for home. About the town ‭ She made quick way, and fill’d with the renown ‭ Of that design the ears of ev’ry man, ‭ Proclaiming thus: “Peers Phæacensian! ‭ And Men of Council, all haste to the court, ‭ To hear the stranger that made late resort ‭ To King Alcinous, long time lost at sea, ‭ And is in person like a Deity.” ‭ This all their pow’rs set up, and spirit instill’d, ‭ And straight the court and seats with men were fill’d. ‭ The whole state wonder’d at Laertes’ son, ‭ When they beheld him. Pallas put him on ‭ A supernatural and heav’nly dress, ‭ Enlarg’d him with a height, and goodliness ‭ In breast and shoulders, that he might appear ‭ Gracious, and grave, and reverend, and bear ‭ A perfect hand on his performance there ‭ In all the trials they resolv’d t’ impose. ‭ All met, and gather’d in attention close, ‭ Alcinous thus bespake them: “Dukes, and lords, ‭ Hear me digest my hearty thoughts in words. ‭ This stranger here, whose travels found my court, ‭ I know not, nor can tell if his resort ‭ From East or West comes; but his suit is this: ‭ That to his country-earth we would dismiss ‭ His hither-forcéd person, and doth bear ‭ The mind to pass it under ev’ry peer; ‭ Whom I prepare, and stir up, making known ‭ My free desire of his deductión. ‭ Nor shall there ever any other man ‭ That tries the goodness Phæacensian ‭ In me, and my court’s entertainment, stay, ‭ Mourning for passage, under least delay. ‭ Come then, a ship into the sacred seas, ‭ New-built, now launch we; and from out our prease ‭ Choose two-and-fifty youths, of all, the best ‭ To use an oar. All which see straight imprest, ‭ And in their oar-bound seats. Let others hie ‭ Home to our court, commanding instantly ‭ The solemn preparation of a feast, ‭ In which provision may for any guest ‭ Be made at my charge. Charge of these low things ‭ I give our youth. You, sceptre-bearing kings, ‭ Consort me home, and help with grace to use ‭ This guest of ours; no one man shall refuse. ‭ Some other of you haste, and call to us ‭ The sacred singer, grave Demodocus, ‭ To whom hath God giv’n song that can excite ‭ The heart of whom he listeth with delight.” ‭ This said, he led. The sceptre-bearers lent ‭ Their free attendance; and with all speed went ‭ The herald for the sacred man-in-song. ‭ Youths two-and-fifty, chosen from the throng, ‭ Went, as was will’d, to the untam’d sea’s shore; ‭ Where come, they launch’d the ship, the mast it bore ‭ Advanc’d, sails hoiséd, ev’ry seat his oar ‭ Gave with a leather thong. The deep moist then ‭ They further reach’d. The dry streets flow’d with men, ‭ That troop’d up to the king’s capacious court, ‭ Whose porticos were chok’d with the resort, ‭ Whose walls were hung with men, young, old, thrust there ‭ In mighty concourse; for whose promis’d cheer ‭ Alcinous slew twelve sheep, eight white-tooth’d swine, ‭ Two crook-haunch’d beeves; which flay’d and dress’d, divine ‭ The show was of so many a jocund guest, ‭ All set together at so set a feast. ‭ To whose accomplish’d state the herald then ‭ The lovely singer led; who past all mean ‭ The Muse affected, gave him good, and ill, ‭ His eyes put out, but put in soul at will. ‭ His place was giv’n him in a chair all grac’d ‭ With silver studs, and ’gainst a pillar plac’d: ‭ Where, as the centre to the state, he rests, ‭ And round about the circle of the guests. ‭ The herald on a pin above his head ‭ His soundful harp hung, to whose height he led ‭ His hand for taking of it down at will, ‭ A board set by with food, and forth did fill ‭ A bowl of wine, to drink at his desire. ‭ The rest then fell to feast, and, when the fire ‭ Of appetite was quench’d, the Muse inflam’d ‭ The sacred singer. Of men highliest fam’d ‭ He sung the glories, and a poem penn’d, ‭ That in applause did ample heav’n ascend. ‭ Whose subject was, the stern Contentión Betwixt Ulysseses and great Thetis’ son, ‭ As, at a banquet sacred to the Gods, ‭ In dreadful language they express’d their odds. ‭ When Agamemnon sat rejoic’d in soul ‭ To hear the Greek peers jar in terms so foul; ‭ For augur Phœbus in presage had told ‭ The King of men (desirous to unfold ‭ The war’s perplex’d end, and being therefore gone ‭ In heav’nly Pythia to the porch of stone,) ‭ That then the end of all griefs should begin ‭ ’Twixt Greece and Troy, when Greece (with strife to win ‭ That wish’d conclusion) in her kings should jar, ‭ And plead, if force or wit must end the war. ‭ This brave Contention did the poet sing, ‭ Expressing so the spleen of either king, ‭ That his large purple weed Ulysses held ‭ Before his face and eyes, since thence distill’d ‭ Tears uncontain’d; which he obscur’d, in fear ‭ To let th’ observing presence note a tear. ‭ But, when his sacred song the mere divine ‭ Had giv’n an end, a goblet crown’d with wine ‭ Ulysses, drying his wet eyes, did seize, [1] ‭ And sacrific’d to those Gods that would please ‭ T’ inspire the poet with a song so fit ‭ To do him honour, and renown his wit. ‭ His tears then stay’d. But when again began, ‭ By all the kings’ desires, the moving man, ‭ Again Ulysses could not choose but yield ‭ To that soft passion, which again, withheld, ‭ He kept so cunningly from sight, that none, ‭ Except Alcinous himself alone, ‭ Discern’d him mov’d so much. But he sat next, ‭ And heard him deeply sigh; which his pretext ‭ Could not keep hid from him. Yet he conceal’d ‭ His utt’rance of it, and would have it held ‭ From all the rest, brake off the song, and this ‭ Said to those oar-affecting peers of his: ‭ “Princes, and peers! We now are satiate ‭ With sacred song that fits a feast of state, ‭ With wine and food. Now then to field, and try ‭ In all kinds our approv’d activity, ‭ That this our guest may give his friends to know, ‭ In his return, that we as little owe ‭ To fights and wrastlings, leaping, speed-of race, ‭ As these our court-rites; and commend our grace ‭ In all to all superior.” Forth he led, ‭ The peers and people troop’d up to their head. ‭ Nor must Demodocus be left within; ‭ Whose harp the herald hung upon the pin, ‭ His hand in his took, and abroad he brought ‭ The heav’nly poet, out the same way wrought ‭ That did the princes, and what they would see ‭ With admiration, with his company ‭ They wish’d to honour. To the place of game ‭ These throng’d; and after routs of other came, ‭ Of all sort, infinite. Of youths that strove, ‭ Many and strong rose to their trial’s love. ‭ Up rose Acroneus, and Ocyalus, ‭ Elatreus, Prymneus, and Anchialus, [2] ‭ Nauteus, Eretmeus, Thoen, Proreüs, ‭ Pontëus, and the strong Amphialus ‭ Son to Tectonides Polyneüs. ‭ Up rose to these the great Euryalus, ‭ In action like the Homicide of War. ‭ Naubolides, that was for person far ‭ Past all the rest, but one he could not pass, ‭ Nor any thought improve, Laodamas. ‭ Up Anabesinëus then arose; ‭ And three sons of the Sceptre-state, and those ‭ Were Halius, the fore-prais’d Laodamas, ‭ And Clytonëus like a God in grace. ‭ These first the foot-game tried, and from the lists ‭ Took start together. Up the dust in mists ‭ They hurl’d about, as in their speed they flew; ‭ But Clytonëus first of all the crew ‭ A stitch’s length in any fallow field ‭ Made good his pace; when, where the judges yield ‭ The prize and praise, his glorious speed arriv’d. ‭ Next, for the boist’rous wrastling game they striv’d; ‭ At which Euryalus the rest outshone. ‭ At leap Amphialus, At the hollow stone ‭ Elatreüs excell’d. At buffets, last, ‭ Laodamas, the king’s fair son, surpast. ‭ When all had striv’d in these assays their fill, ‭ Laodamas said: “Come friends, let’s prove what skill ‭ This stranger hath attain’d to in our sport. ‭ Methinks, he must be of the active sort, ‭ His calves, thighs, hands, and well-knit shoulders show ‭ That Nature disposition did bestow ‭ To fit with fact their form. Nor wants he prime. ‭ But sour affliction, made a mate with time, ‭ Makes time the more seen. Nor imagine I, ‭ A worse thing to enforce debility ‭ Than is the sea, though nature ne’er so strong ‭ Knits one together.” “Nor conceive you wrong,” ‭ Replied Euryalus, “but prove his blood ‭ With what you question.” In the midst then stood ‭ Renown’d Laodamas, and prov’d him thus: ‭ “Come, stranger-father, and assay with us ‭ Your pow’rs in these contentions. If your show ‭ Be answer’d with your worth, ’tis fit that you ‭ Should know these conflicts. Nor doth glory stand ‭ On any worth more, in a man’s command, ‭ Than to be strenuous both of foot and hand. ‭ Come then, make proof with us, discharge your mind ‭ Of discontentments; for not far behind ‭ Comes your deduction, ship is ready now, [3] ‭ And men, and all things.” “Why,” said he, “dost thou ‭ Mock me, Laodamas, and these strifes bind ‭ My pow’rs to answer? I am more inclin’d ‭ To cares than conflict. Much sustain’d I have, ‭ And still am suff’ring. I come here to crave, ‭ In your assemblies, means to be dismist, ‭ And pray both kings and subjects to assist.” ‭ Euryalus an open brawl began, ‭ And said: “I take you, sir, for no such man ‭ As fits these honour’d strifes. A number more ‭ Strange men there are that I would choose before. ‭ To one that loves to lie aship-board much, ‭ Or is the prince of sailors; or to such ‭ As traffic far and near, and nothing mind ‭ But freight, and passage, and a foreright wind; ‭ Or to a victualler of a ship; or men ‭ That set up all their pow’rs for rampant gain; ‭ I can compare, or hold you like to be: ‭ But, for a wrastler, or of quality ‭ Fit for contentions noble, you abhor ‭ From worth of any such competitor.” ‭ Ulysses, frowning, answer’d: “Stranger, far ‭ Thy words are from the fashions regular ‭ Of kind, or honour. Thou art in thy guise ‭ Like to a man that authors injuries. [4] ‭ I see, the Gods to all men give not all ‭ Manly addiction, wisdom, words that fall, ‭ Like dice, upon the square still. Some man takes ‭ Ill form from parents, but God often makes ‭ That fault of form up with observ’d repair ‭ Of pleasing speech, that makes him held for fair, ‭ That makes him speak securely, makes him shine ‭ In an assembly with a grace divine. ‭ Men take delight to see how ev’nly lie ‭ His words asteep in honey modesty. ‭ Another, then, hath fashion like a God, ‭ But in his language he is foul and broad. ‭ And such art thou. A person fair is giv’n, ‭ But nothing else is in thee sent from heav’n; ‭ For in thee lurks a base and earthy soul, ‭ And t’ hast compell’d me, with a speech most foul, ‭ To be thus bitter. I am not unseen ‭ In these fair strifes, as thy words overween, ‭ But in the first rank of the best I stand; ‭ At least I did, when youth and strength of hand ‭ Made me thus confident, but now am worn ‭ With woes and labours, as a human born ‭ To bear all anguish. Suffer’d much I have. ‭ The war of men, and the inhuman wave, ‭ Have I driv’n through at all parts. But with all ‭ My waste in suff’rance, what yet may fall ‭ In my performance, at these strifes I’ll try. ‭ Thy speech hath mov’d, and made my wrath run high.” ‭ This said, with robe and all, he grasp’d a stone, ‭ A little graver than was ever thrown ‭ By these Phæacians in their wrastling rout, ‭ More firm, more massy; which, turn’d round about, ‭ He hurried from him with a hand so strong ‭ It sung, and flew, and over all the throng, ‭ That at the others’ marks stood, quite it went; ‭ Yet down fell all beneath it, fearing spent ‭ The force that drave it flying from his hand, ‭ As it a dart were, or a walking wand; ‭ And far past all the marks of all the rest ‭ His wing stole way; when Pallas straight imprest ‭ A mark at fall of it, resembling then ‭ One of the navy-giv’n Phæacian men, ‭ And thus advanc’d Ulysses: “One, though blind, ‭ O stranger, groping, may thy stone’s fall find, ‭ For not amidst the rout of marks it fell, ‭ But far before all. Of thy worth think well, ‭ And stand in all strifes. No Phæacian here ‭ This bound can either better or come near.” ‭ Ulysses joy’d to hear that one man yet ‭ Us’d him benignly, and would truth abet ‭ In those contentions; and then thus smooth ‭ He took his speech down: “Reach me that now, youth, ‭ You shall, and straight I think, have one such more, ‭ And one beyond it too. And now, whose core ‭ Stands sound and great within him, since ye have ‭ Thus put my spleen up, come again and brave ‭ The guest ye tempted, with such gross disgrace, ‭ At wrastling, buffets, whirlbat, speed o’ race; ‭ At all, or either, I except at none, ‭ But urge the whole state of you; only one, ‭ I will not challenge in my forced boast, ‭ And that’s Laodamas, for he’s mine host. [5] ‭ And who will fight, or wrangle, with his friend? ‭ Unwise he is, and base, that will contend ‭ With him that feeds him in a foreign place; ‭ And takes all edge off from his own sought grace. ‭ None else except I here, nor none despise, ‭ But wish to know, and prove his faculties, ‭ That dares appear now. No strife ye can name ‭ Am I unskill’d in; reckon any game ‭ Of all that are, as many as there are ‭ In use with men. For archery I dare ‭ Affirm myself not mean. Of all a troop ‭ I’ll make the first foe with mine arrow stoop, ‭ Though with me ne’er so many fellows bend ‭ Their bows at mark’d men, and affect their end. ‭ Only was Philoctetes with his bow ‭ Still my superior, when we Greeks would show ‭ Our archery against our foes of Troy. ‭ But all, that now by bread frail life enjoy, ‭ I far hold my inferiors. Men of old, ‭ None now alive shall witness me so bold, ‭ To vaunt equality with, such men as these, ‭ Œchalián Eurytus, Hercules, ‭ Who with their bows durst with the Gods contend; ‭ And therefore caught Eurytus soon his end, ‭ Nor died at home, in age, a rev’rend man. ‭ But by the great incenséd Delphian ‭ Was shot to death, for daring competence ‭ With him in all an archer’s excellence. ‭ A spear I’ll hurl as far as any man ‭ Shall shoot a shaft. How at a race I can ‭ Bestir my feet, I only yield to fear, ‭ And doubt to meet with my superior here. ‭ So many seas so too much have misus’d ‭ My limbs for race, and therefore have diffus’d ‭ A dissolution through my lovéd knees.” ‭ This said, he still’d all talking properties. ‭ Alcinous only answer’d: “O my guest, ‭ In good part take we what you have been prest ‭ With speech to answer. You would make appear ‭ Your virtues therefore, that will still shine where ‭ Your only look is. Yet must this man give ‭ Your worth ill language; when, he does not live ‭ In sort of mortals (whencesoe’er he springs, ‭ That judgment hath to speak becoming things) ‭ That will deprave your virtues. Note then now ‭ My speech, and what my love presents to you, ‭ That you may tell heroës, when you come ‭ To banquet with your wife and birth at home, ‭ (Mindful of our worth) what deservings Jove ‭ Hath put on our parts likewise, in remove ‭ From sire to son, as an inherent grace ‭ Kind, and perpetual. We must needs give place ‭ To other countrymen, and freely yield ‭ We are not blameless in our fights of field, ‭ Buffets, nor wrastlings; but in speed of feet, ‭ And all the equipage that fits a fleet, ‭ We boast us best; for table ever spread ‭ With neighbour feasts, for garments varied, ‭ For poesy, music, dancing, baths, and beds. ‭ And now, Phæacians, you that bear your heads ‭ And feet with best grace in enamouring dance, ‭ Enflame our guest here, that he may advance ‭ Our worth past all the world’s to his home-friends, ‭ As well for the unmatch’d grace that commends. ‭ Your skill in footing of a dance, as theirs ‭ That fly a race best. And so, all affairs, ‭ At which we boast us best, he best may try, ‭ As sea-race, land-race, dance, and poesy. ‭ Some one with instant speed to court retire, ‭ And fetch Demodocus’s soundful lyre.” ‭ This said the God-grac’d king; and quick resort ‭ Pontonous made for that fair harp to court. ‭ Nine of the lot-choos’d public rulers rose, ‭ That all in those contentions did dispose, ‭ Commanding a most smooth ground, and a wide, ‭ And all the people in fair game aside. ‭ Then with the rich harp came Pontonous, ‭ And in the midst took place Demodocus. ‭ About him then stood forth the choice young men, [6] ‭ That on man’s first youth made fresh entry then, ‭ Had art to make their natural motion sweet, ‭ And shook a most divine dance from their feet, ‭ That twinkled star-like, mov’d as swift, and fine, ‭ And beat the air so thin, they made it shine. ‭ Ulysses wonder’d at it, but amaz’d ‭ He stood in mind to hear the dance so phras’d. ‭ For, as they danc’d, Demodocus did sing, ‭ The bright-crown’d Venus’ love with Battle’s King; ‭ As first they closely mix’d in th’ house of fire. ‭ What worlds of gifts won her to his desire, ‭ Who then the night-and-day-bed did defile ‭ Of good king Vulcan. But in little while ‭ The Sun their mixture saw, and came and told. ‭ The bitter news did by his ears take hold ‭ Of Vulcan’s heart. Then to his forge he went, ‭ And in his shrewd mind deep stuff did invent. ‭ His mighty anvil in the stock he put, ‭ And forg’d a net that none could loose or cut, ‭ That when it had them it might hold them fast. ‭ Which having finish’d, he made utmost haste ‭ Up to the dear room where his wife he woo’d, ‭ And, madly wrath with Mars, he all bestrow’d ‭ The bed, and bed-posts, all the beam above ‭ That cross’d the chamber; and a circle strove ‭ Of his device to wrap in all the room. ‭ And ’twas as pure, as of a spider’s loom ‭ The woof before ’tis wov’n. No man nor God ‭ Could set his eye on it, a sleight so odd ‭ His art show’d in it. All his craft bespent ‭ About the bed, he feign’d as if he went ‭ To well-built Lemnos, his most lovéd town ‭ Of all towns earthly; nor left this unknown ‭ To golden-bridle-using Mars, who kept ‭ No blind watch over him, but, seeing stept ‭ His rival so aside, he hasted home ‭ With fair-wreath’d Venus’ love stung, who was come ‭ New from the court of her most mighty Sire. ‭ Mars enter’d, wrung her hand, and the retire ‭ Her husband made to Lemnos told, and said; ‭ “Now, love, is Vulcan gone, let us to bed, ‭ He’s for the barbarous Sintians.” Well appay’d ‭ Was Venus with it; and afresh assay’d ‭ Their old encounter. Down they went; and straight ‭ About them cling’d the artificial sleight ‭ Of most wise Vulcan; and were so ensnar’d, ‭ That neither they could stir their course prepar’d ‭ In any limb about them, nor arise. ‭ And then they knew, they would no more disguise ‭ Their close conveyance, but lay, forc’d, stone-still. ‭ Back rush’d the both-foot-cook’d, but straight in skill, ‭ From his near scout-hole turn’d, nor ever went ‭ To any Lemnos, but the sure event ‭ Left Phœbus to discover, who told all. ‭ Then home hopp’d Vulcan, full of grief and gall, ‭ Stood in the portal, and cried out so high, ‭ That all the Gods heard; “Father of the sky, ‭ And ev’ry other deathless God,” said he, ‭ “Come all, and a ridiculous object see, ‭ And yet not sufferable neither. Come, ‭ And witness how, when still I step from home, ‭ Lame that I am, Jove’s daughter doth profess ‭ To do me all the shameful offices, ‭ Indignities, despites, that can be thought; ‭ And loves this all-things-making-come-to-nought, ‭ Since he is fair forsooth, foot-sound, and I ‭ Took in my brain a little, legg’d awry. ‭ And no fault mine, but all my parent’s fault, ‭ Who should not get, if mock me, with my halt. ‭ But see how fast they sleep, while I, in moan, ‭ Am only made an idle looker on. ‭ One bed their turn serves, and it must be mine; ‭ I think yet, I have made their self-loves shine. ‭ They shall no more wrong me, and none perceive; ‭ Nor will they sleep together, I believe, ‭ With too hot haste again. Thus both shall lie ‭ In craft, and force, till the extremity ‭ Of all the dow’r I gave her sire (to gain ‭ A doggéd set-fac’d girl, that will not stain ‭ Her face with blushing, though she shame her head) ‭ He pays me back. She’s fair, but was no maid.” ‭ While this long speech was making, all were come ‭ To Vulcan’s wholly-brazen-founded home, ‭ Earth-shaking Neptune, useful Mercury, ‭ And far-shot Phœbus. No She-Deity, ‭ For shame, would show there. All the give-good Gods ‭ Stood in the portal, and past periods ‭ Gave length to laughters, all rejoic’d to see ‭ That which they said, that no impiety ‭ Finds good success at th’ end. “And now,” said one, ‭ “The slow outgoes the swift. Lame Vulcan, known ‭ To be the slowest of the Gods, outgoes ‭ Mars the most swift. And this is that which grows ‭ To greatest justice: that adult’ry’s sport, ‭ Obtain’d by craft, by craft of other sort ‭ (And lame craft too) is plagued, which grieves the more, ‭ That sound limbs turning lame the lame restore.” [7] ‭ This speech amongst themselves they entertain’d, ‭ When Phœbus thus ask’d Hermes: “Thus enchain’d ‭ Wouldst thou be, Hermes, to be thus disclos’d? ‭ Though with thee golden Venus were repos’d?” ‭ He soon gave that an answer: “O,” said he, ‭ “Thou king of archers, would ’twere thus with me! ‭ Though thrice so much shame; nay, though infinite ‭ Were pour’d about me, and that ev’ry light, ‭ In great heav’n shining, witness’d all my harms, ‭ So golden Venus slumber’d in mine arms.” ‭ The Gods again laugh’d; even the Watery State ‭ Wrung out a laughter, but propitiate ‭ Was still for Mars, and pray’d the God of Fire ‭ He would dissolve him, off’ring the desire ‭ He made to Jove to pay himself, and said, ‭ All due debts should be by the Gods repaid. ‭ “Pay me, no words,” said he, “where deeds lend pain, ‭ Wretched the words are giv’n for wretched men. ‭ How shall I bind you in th’ Immortals’ sight, ‭ If Mars be once loos’d, nor will pay his right?” [8] ‭ “Vulcan,” said he, “if Mars should fly, nor see ‭ Thy right repaid, it should be paid by me.” ‭ “Your word, so giv’n, I must accept,” said he. ‭ Which said, he loos’d them. Mars then rush’d from sky, ‭ And stoop’d cold Thrace. The laughing Deity ‭ For Cyprus was, and took her Paphian state, ‭ Where she a grove, ne’er cut, had consecrate, ‭ All with Arabian odours fum’d, and hath ‭ An altar there, at which the Graces bathe, ‭ And with immortal balms besmooth, her skin, ‭ Fit for the bliss Immortals solace in; ‭ Deck’d her in to-be-studiéd attire, ‭ And apt to set beholders’ hearts on fire. ‭ This sung the sacred muse, whose notes and words ‭ The dancers’ feet kept as his hands his chords. ‭ Ulysses much was pleas’d, and all the crew. ‭ This would the king have varied with a new ‭ And pleasing measure, and performéd by ‭ Two, with whom none would strive in dancery; ‭ And those his sons were, that must therefore dance ‭ Alone, and only to the harp advance, ‭ Without the words. And this sweet couple was ‭ Young Halius, and divine Laodamas; ‭ Who danc’d a ball-dance. Then the rich-wrought ball, ‭ That Polybus had made, of purple all, ‭ They took to hand. One threw it to the sky, ‭ And then danc’d back; the other, capering high, ‭ Would surely catch it ere his foot touch’d ground, ‭ And up again advanc’d it, and so found ‭ The other cause of dance; and then did he ‭ Dance lofty tricks, till next it came to be ‭ His turn to catch, and serve the other still. ‭ When they had kept it up to either’s will, ‭ They then danc’d ground tricks, oft mix’d hand in hand, ‭ And did so gracefully their change command, ‭ That all the other youth that stood at pause, ‭ With deaf’ning shouts, gave them the great applause. ‭ Then said Ulysses: “O, past all men here ‭ Clear, not in pow’r, but in desert as clear, ‭ You said your dancers did the world surpass, ‭ And they perform it clear, and to amaze.” ‭ This won Alcinous’ heart, and equal prize ‭ He gave Ulysses, saying: “Matchless wise, ‭ Princes and rulers, I perceive our guest, ‭ And therefore let our hospitable best ‭ In fitting gifts be giv’n him: Twelve chief kings ‭ There are that order all the glorious things ‭ Of this our kingdom; and, the thirteenth, I ‭ Exist, as crown to all. Let instantly ‭ Be thirteen garments giv’n him, and of gold ‭ Precious, and fine, a talent. While we hold ‭ This our assembly, be all fetch’d, and giv’n, ‭ That to our feast prepar’d, as to his heav’n, ‭ Our guest may enter. And, that nothing be ‭ Left unperform’d that fits his dignity, ‭ Euryalus shall here conciliate ‭ Himself with words and gifts, since past our rate ‭ He gave bad language.” This did all commend ‭ And give in charge; and ev’ry king did send ‭ His herald for his gift. Euryalus, ‭ Answ’ring for his part, said: “Alcinous! ‭ Our chief of all, since you command, I will ‭ To this our guest by all means reconcile, ‭ And give him this entirely-metall’d sword, ‭ The handle massy silver, and the board, ‭ That gives it cover, all of ivory, ‭ New, and in all kinds worth his quality.” ‭ This put he straight into his hand, and said: ‭ “Frolic, O guest and father; if words fled ‭ Have been offensive, let swift whirlwinds take ‭ And ravish them from thought. May all Gods make ‭ Thy wife’s sight good to thee, in quick retreat ‭ To all thy friends, and best-lov’d breeding seat, ‭ Their long miss quitting with the greater joy; ‭ In whose sweet vanish all thy worst annoy.” ‭ “And frolic thou to all height, friend,” said he, ‭ “Which heav’n confirm with wish’d felicity; ‭ Nor ever give again desire to thee ‭ Of this sword’s use, which with affects so free, ‭ In my reclaim, thou hast bestow’d on me.” ‭ This said, athwart his shoulders he put on ‭ The right fair sword; and then did set the sun. ‭ When all the gifts were brought, which back again ‭ (With king Alcinous in all the train) ‭ Were by the honour’d heralds borne to court; ‭ Which his fair sons took, and from the resort ‭ Laid by their rev’rend mother. Each his throne ‭ Of all the peers (which yet were overshone ‭ In king Alcinous’ command) ascended; ‭ Whom he to pass as much in gifts contended, ‭ And to his queen said: “Wife! See brought me here ‭ The fairest cabinet I have, and there ‭ Impose a well-cleans’d in, and utter, weed. ‭ A caldron heat with water, that with speed ‭ Our guest well-bath’d, and all his gifts made sure, ‭ It may a joyful appetite procure ‭ To his succeeding feast, and make him hear ‭ The poet’s hymn with the securer ear. ‭ To all which I will add my bowl of gold, ‭ In all frame curious, to make him hold ‭ My memory always dear, and sacrifice ‭ With it at home to all the Deities.” ‭ Then Arete her maids charg’d to set on ‭ A well-siz’d caldron quickly. Which was done, ‭ Clear water pour’d in, flame made so entire, ‭ It gilt the brass, and made the water fire. ‭ In mean space, from her chamber brought the queen ‭ A wealthy cabinet, where, pure and clean, ‭ She put the garments, and the gold bestow’d ‭ By that free state, and then the other vow’d ‭ By her Alcinous, and said: “Now, guest, ‭ Make close and fast your gifts, lest, when you rest ‭ Aship-board sweetly, in your way you meet ‭ Some loss, that less may make your next sleep sweet.” ‭ This when Ulysses heard, all sure he made ‭ Enclos’d and bound safe; for the saving trade ‭ The rev’rend-for-her-wisdom, Circe, had ‭ In foreyears taught him. Then the handmaid bad ‭ His worth to bathing; which rejoic’d his heart, ‭ For, since he did with his Calypso part, ‭ He had no hot baths; none had favour’d him, ‭ Nor been so tender of his kingly limb. ‭ But all the time he spent in her abode, ‭ He liv’d respected as he were a God. ‭ Cleans’d then and balm’d, fair shirt and robe put on, ‭ Fresh come from bath, and to the feasters gone, ‭ Nausicaa, that from the Gods’ hands took ‭ The sov’reign beauty of her blessed look, ‭ Stood by a well-carv’d column of the room, ‭ And through her eye her heart was overcome ‭ With admiration of the port imprest ‭ In his aspéct, and said: “God save you, guest! ‭ Be cheerful, as in all the future state ‭ Your home will show you in your better fate. ‭ But yet, ev’n then, let this remember’d be, ‭ Your life’s price I lent, and you owe it me.” ‭ The varied-in-all-counsels gave reply: ‭ “Nausicaa! Flow’r of all this empery! ‭ So Juno’s husband, that the strife for noise ‭ Makes in the clouds, bless me with strife of joys, ‭ In the desir’d day that my house shall show, ‭ As I, as I to a Goddess there shall vow, ‭ To thy fair hand that did my being give, ‭ Which I’ll acknowledge ev’ry hour I live.” ‭ This said, Alcinous plac’d him by his side. ‭ Then took they feast, and did in parts divide ‭ The sev’ral dishes, fill’d out wine, and then ‭ The striv’d-for-for-his-worth of worthy men, [9] ‭ And rev’renc’d-of-the-state, Demodocus ‭ Was brought in by the good Pontonous. ‭ In midst of all the guests they gave him place, ‭ Against a lofty pillar, when this grace ‭ The grac’d-with-wisdom did him: From the chine, ‭ That stood before him, of a white-tooth’d swine, ‭ Being far the daintiest joint, mix’d through with fat, ‭ He carv’d to him, and sent it where he sat ‭ By his old friend the herald, willing thus: ‭ “Herald, reach this to grave Demodocus, ‭ Say, I salute him, and his worth embrace. ‭ Poets deserve, past all the human race, ‭ Rev’rend respect and honour, since the queen ‭ Of knowledge, and the supreme worth in men, ‭ The Muse, informs them, and loves all their race.” ‭ This reach’d the herald to him, who the grace ‭ Receiv’d encourag’d; which, when feast was spent, ‭ Ulysses amplified to this ascent: ‭ “Demodocus! I must prefer you far, ‭ Past all your sort, if, or the Muse of war, ‭ Jove’s daughter, prompts you, that the Greeks respects, ‭ Or if the Sun, that those of Troy affects. ‭ For I have heard you, since my coming, sing ‭ The fate of Greece to an admiréd string. ‭ How much our suff’rance was, how much we wrought, ‭ How much the actions rose-to when we fought. ‭ So lively forming, as you had been there, ‭ Or to some free relater lent your ear. ‭ Forth then, and sing the wooden horse’s frame, ‭ Built by Epëus, by the martial Dame ‭ Taught the whole fabric; which, by force of sleight, ‭ Ulysses brought into the city’s height, ‭ When he had stuff’d it with as many men ‭ As levell’d lofty Ilion with the plain. ‭ With all which if you can as well enchant, ‭ As with expression quick and elegant ‭ You sung the rest, I will pronounce you clear ‭ Inspir’d by God, past all that ever were.” ‭ This said, ev’n stirr’d by God up, he began, ‭ And to his song fell, past the forms of man, ‭ Beginning where the Greeks aship-board went, ‭ And ev’ry chief had set on fire his tent, ‭ When th’ other kings, in great Ulysses’ guide, ‭ In Troy’s vast market place the horse did hide, ‭ From whence the Trojans up to Ilion drew ‭ The dreadful engine. Where sat all arew ‭ Their kings about it; many counsels giv’n ‭ How to dispose it. In three ways were driv’n ‭ Their whole distractions. First, if they should feel ‭ The hollow wood’s heart, search’d with piercing steel; ‭ Or from the battlements drawn higher yet ‭ Deject it headlong; or that counterfeit ‭ So vast and novel set on sacred fire, ‭ Vow’d to appease each anger’d Godhead’s ire. ‭ On which opinion, they, thereafter, saw, ‭ They then should have resolv’d; th’ unalter’d law ‭ Of fate presaging, that Troy then should end, ‭ When th’ hostile horse she should receive to friend, ‭ For therein should the Grecian kings lie hid, ‭ To bring the fate and death they after did. ‭ He sung, besides, the Greeks’ eruptión ‭ From those their hollow crafts, and horse foregone; ‭ And how they made depopulation tread ‭ Beneath her feet so high a city’s head. ‭ In which affair, he sung in other place, ‭ That of that ambush some man else did race ‭ The Ilion tow’rs than Laertiades; ‭ But here he sung, that he alone did seize, [10] ‭ With Menelaus, the ascended roof ‭ Of prince Deiphobus, and Mars-like proof ‭ Made of his valour, a most dreadful fight ‭ Daring against him; and there vanquish’d quite, ‭ In little time, by great Minerva’s aid, ‭ All Ilion’s remnant, and Troy level laid. ‭ This the divine expressor did so give ‭ Both act and passion, that he made it live, ‭ And to Ulysses’ facts did breathe a fire ‭ So deadly quick’ning, that it did inspire [11] ‭ Old death with life, and render’d life so sweet, ‭ And passionate, that all there felt it fleet; ‭ Which made him pity his own cruelty, ‭ And put into that ruth so pure an eye ‭ Of human frailty, that to see a man ‭ Could so revive from death, yet no way can ‭ Defend from death, his own quick pow’rs it made ‭ Feel there death’s horrors, and he felt life fade, ‭ In tears his feeling brain swet; for, in things [12] ‭ That move past utt’rance, tears ope all their springs. ‭ Nor are there in the pow’rs that all life bears ‭ More true interpreters of all than tears. ‭ And as a lady mourns her sole-lov’d lord, ‭ That fall’n before his city by the sword, ‭ Fighting to rescue from a cruel fate ‭ His town and children, and in dead estate ‭ Yet panting seeing him, wraps him in her arms, ‭ Weeps, shrieks, and pours her health into his arms, ‭ Lies on him, striving to become his shield ‭ From foes that still assail him, spears impell’d ‭ Through back and shoulders, by whose points embrued, ‭ They raise and lead him into servitude, ‭ Labour, and languor; for all which the dame ‭ Eats down her cheeks with tears, and feeds life’s flame ‭ With miserable suff’rance; so this king ‭ Of tear-swet anguish op’d a boundless spring; ‭ Nor yet was seen to any one man there ‭ But king Alcinous, who sat so near ‭ He could not ‘scape him, sighs, so chok’d, so brake ‭ From all his tempers; which the king did take ‭ Both note and grave respect of, and thus spake: ‭ “Hear me, Phæacian councillors and peers, ‭ And cease Demodocus; perhaps all ears ‭ Are not delighted with his song, for, ever ‭ Since the divine Muse sung, ‘our guest hath never ‭ Contain’d from secret mournings. It may fall, ‭ That something sung he hath been grieved with all, ‭ As touching his particular. Forbear, ‭ That feast may jointly comfort all hearts here, ‭ And we may cheer our guest up; ’tis our best ‭ In all due honour. For our rev’rend guest ‭ Is all our celebration, gifts, and all, ‭ His love hath added to our festival. ‭ A guest, and suppliant too, we should esteem ‭ Dear as our brother, one that doth but dream ‭ He hath a soul, or touch but at a mind ‭ Deathless and manly, should stand so inclin’d. ‭ Nor cloak you longer with your curious wit, ‭ Lov’d guest, what ever we shall ask of it. ‭ It now stands on your honest state to tell, ‭ And therefore give your name, nor more conceal ‭ What of your parents, and the town that bears ‭ Name of your native, or of foreigners ‭ That near us border, you are call’d in fame. ‭ There’s no man living walks without a name, ‭ Noble nor base, but had one from his birth ‭ Impos’d as fit as to be borne. What earth, ‭ People, and city, own you, give to know. ‭ Tell but our ships all, that your way must show. ‭ For our ships know th’ expressed minds of men, ‭ And will so most intentively retain ‭ Their scopes appointed, that they never err, ‭ And yet use never any man to steer, ‭ Nor any rudders have, as others need. ‭ They know men’s thoughts, and whither tends their speed, ‭ And there will set them; for you cannot name [13] ‭ A city to them, nor fat soil, that Fame ‭ Hath any notice giv’n, but well they know, ‭ And they will fly to them, though they ebb and flow ‭ In blackest clouds and nights; and never bear ‭ Of any wrack or rock the slend’rest fear. ‭ But this I heard my sire Nausithous say. ‭ Long since, that Neptune, seeing us convey ‭ So safely passengers of all degrees, ‭ Was angry with us; and upon our seas ‭ A well-built ship we had, near harbour come ‭ From safe deduction of some stranger home, ‭ Made in his flitting billows stick stone still; ‭ And dimm’d our city, like a mighty hill ‭ With shade cast round about it. This report, ‭ The old king made; [14] in which miraculous sort, ‭ If God had done such things, or left undone, ‭ At his good pleasure be it. But now, on, ‭ And truth relate us, both whence you err’d, ‭ And to what clime of men would be transferr’d, ‭ With all their fair towns, be they as they are, ‭ If rude, unjust, and all irregular, ‭ Or hospitable, bearing minds that please ‭ The mighty Deity. Which one of these ‭ You would be set at, say, and you are there. ‭ And therefore what afflicts you? Why, to hear ‭ The fate of Greece and Ilion, mourn you so? ‭ The Gods have done it; as to all they do ‭ Destine destruction, that from thence may rise ‭ A poem to instruct posterities. ‭ Fell any kinsman before Ilion? ‭ Some worthy sire-in-law, or like-near son, ‭ Whom next our own blood and self-race we love? ‭ Or any friend perhaps, in whom did move ‭ A knowing soul, and no unpleasing thing? ‭ Since such a good one is no underling ‭ To any brother; for, what fits true friends, ‭ True wisdom is, that blood and birth transcends. ‭ FINIS LIBRI OCTAVI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] The continued piety of Ulysses through all places, times, and ‭occasions.

‭[2] Since the Phæacians were not only dwellers by sea, but studious ‭also of sea qualities, their names seem to usurp their faculties ‭therein. All consisting of sea-faring signification, except ‭Laodamas, As Acroneus, summa seu extrema navis pars. ‭Ocyalus, velox in mari. Elatreus, or ᾽Ελατὴρ, ἐλατη̑ρος, ‭Remex, etc.

‭[3] The word is πομπή, signifying deductio, quâ trausvehendum ‭curamus eum qui nobiscum aliquando est versatus.

‭[4] ᾽Ατάσθαλος damnorum magnorum auctor.

‭[5] He names Laodamas only for all the other brothers; since in his ‭exception, the others’ envies were curbed: for brothers either are ‭or should be of one acceptation in all fit things, And Laodamas, he ‭calls his host, being eldest son to Alcinous: the heir being ever the ‭young master; nor might he conveniently prefer Alcinous in his ‭exception, since he stood not in competition at these contentions.

‭[6] Μαρμαρυγὰς ποδω̑ν. Μαρμαρυγὴ signifies splendor ‭vibrans; a twincked splendor; μαρμαρύσσειν, vibrare veluti ‭radios solares.

‭[7] Intending the sound of foot, when they outgo the soundest.

‭[8] This is τὸ τὰ μικρὰ μεγάλως, etc. Parva magnè dicere; grave ‭sentence out of lightest vapour.

‭[9] ’Ερίηρον ἀοιδὸν, Poetam cujus hominibus digna est societas.

‭[10] As by the divine fury directly inspired so, for Ulysses’ glory.

‭[11] In that the slaughters he made were expressed so lively.

‭[12] Τήκετο ᾽Οδυσσεύς. Τήκω, metaph. signifying consumo, ‭tabesco.

‭[13] This τερατολογία or affirmation of miracles, how impossible ‭soever in these times assured, yet in those ages they were neither ‭absurd nor strange. Those inanimate things having (it seemed) ‭certain Genii, in whose powers they supposed their ships’ faculties. ‭As others have affirmed oaks to have sense of hearing; and so the ‭ship of Argos was said to have a mast made of Dodonean oak, that ‭was vocal, and could speak.

‭[14] Intending his father Nausithous. ‭ THE NINTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses here is first made known; ‭ Who tells the stern contention ‭ His pow’rs did ’gainst the Cicons try; ‭ And thence to the Lotophagi ‭ Extends his conquest; and from them ‭ Assays the Cyclop Polypheme, ‭ And, by the crafts his wits apply, ‭ He puts him out his only eye. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ ᾿Ιω̑τα. ‭ The strangely fed ‭ Lotophagi. ‭ The Cicons fled. ‭ The Cyclop’s eye.

‭ Ulysses thus resolv’d the king’s demands: ‭ “Alcinous, in whom this empire stands, ‭ You should not of so natural right disherit ‭ Your princely feast, as take from it the spirit. ‭ To hear a poet, that in accent brings ‭ The Gods’ breasts down, and breathes them as he sings, ‭ Is sweet, and sacred; nor can I conceive, ‭ In any common-weal, what more doth give ‭ Note of the just and blessed empery, ‭ Than to see comfort universally ‭ Cheer up the people, when in ev’ry roof ‭ She gives observers a most human proof ‭ Of men’s contents. To see a neighbour’s feast ‭ Adorn it through; and thereat hear the breast ‭ Of the divine Muse; men in order set; ‭ A wine-page waiting; tables crown’d with meat, ‭ Set close to guests that are to use it skill’d; ‭ The cup-boards furnish’d, and the cups still fill’d; ‭ This shows, to my mind, most humanely fair. ‭ Nor should you, for me, still the heav’nly air, ‭ That stirr’d my soul so; for I love such tears ‭ As fall from fit notes, beaten through mine ears ‭ With repetitions of what heav’n hath done, ‭ And break from hearty apprehensión ‭ Of God and goodness, though they show my ill. ‭ And therefore doth my mind excite me still, ‭ To tell my bleeding moan; but much more now, ‭ To serve your pleasure, that to over-flow ‭ My tears with such cause may by sighs be driv’n, ‭ Though ne’er so much plagued I may seem by heav’n. ‭ And now my name; which way shall lead to all ‭ My mis’ries after, that their sounds may fall ‭ Through your ears also, and show (having fled ‭ So much affliction) first, who rests his head ‭ In your embraces, when, so far from home, ‭ I knew not where t’ obtain it resting room. ‭ I am Ulysses Laertiades, ‭ The fear of all the world for policies, ‭ For which my facts as high as heav’n resound. ‭ I dwell in Ithaca, earth’s most renown’d, ‭ All over-shadow’d with the shake-leaf hill, [1] ‭ Tree-fam’d Neritus; whose near confines fill ‭ Islands a number, well-inhabited, ‭ That under my observance taste their bread; ‭ Dulichius, Samos, and the full-of-food [2] ‭ Zacynthus, likewise grac’d with store of wood. ‭ But Ithaca, though in the seas it lie, ‭ Yet lies she so aloft she casts her eye ‭ Quite over all the neighbour continent; ‭ Far northward situate, and, being lent ‭ But little favour of the morn and sun, ‭ With barren rocks and cliffs is over-run; ‭ And yet of hardy youths a nurse of name; ‭ Nor could I see a soil, where’er I came, ‭ More sweet and wishful. Yet, from hence was I ‭ Withheld with horror by the Deity, ‭ Divine Calypso, in her cavy house, ‭ Enflam’d to make me her sole lord and spouse. ‭ Circe Ææa too, that knowing dame, ‭ Whose veins the like affections did enflame, ‭ Detain’d me likewise. But to neither’s love ‭ Could I be tempted; which doth well approve, ‭ Nothing so sweet is as our country’s earth, [3] ‭ And joy of those from whom we claim our birth. ‭ Though roofs far richer we far off possess, ‭ Yet, from our native, all our more is less. ‭ To which as I contended, I will tell ‭ The much-distress-conferring facts that fell ‭ By Jove’s divine prevention, since I set ‭ From ruin’d Troy my first foot in retreat. ‭ From Ilion ill winds cast me on the coast ‭ The Cicons hold, where I employ’d mine host ‭ For Ismarus, a city built just by ‭ My place of landing; of which victory ‭ Made me expugner. I depeopled it, ‭ Slew all the men, and did their wives remit, ‭ With much spoil taken; which we did divide, ‭ That none might need his part. I then applied ‭ All speed for flight; but my command therein, ‭ Fools that they were, could no observance win ‭ Of many soldiers, who, with spoil fed high, ‭ Would yet fill higher, and excessively ‭ Fell to their wine, gave slaughter on the shore ‭ Clov’n-footed beeves and sheep in mighty store. ‭ In mean space, Cicons did to Cicons cry, ‭ When, of their nearest dwellers, instantly ‭ Many and better soldiers made strong head, ‭ That held the continent, and managéd ‭ Their horse with high skill, on which they would fight, ‭ When fittest cause serv’d, and again alight, ‭ With soon seen vantage, and on foot contend. ‭ Their concourse swift was, and had never end; ‭ As thick and sudden ’twas, as flow’rs and leaves ‭ Dark spring discovers, when she light receives. [4] ‭ And then began the bitter Fate of Jove ‭ To alter us unhappy, which ev’n strove ‭ To give us suff’rance. At our fleet we made ‭ Enforcéd stand; and there did they invade ‭ Our thrust-up forces; darts encounter’d darts, ‭ With blows on both sides; either making parts ‭ Good upon either, while the morning shone, ‭ And sacred day her bright increase held on, ‭ Though much out-match’d in number; but as soon ‭ As Phœbus westward fell, the Cicons won ‭ Much hand of us; six proved soldiers fell, ‭ Of ev’ry ship, the rest they did compel! ‭ To seek of Flight escape from Death and Fate.

‭ Thence sad in heart we sail’d; and yet our state ‭ Was something cheer’d, that (being o’er-match’d so much ‭ In violent number) our retreat was such ‭ As sav’d so many. Our dear loss the less, ‭ That they surviv’d, so like for like success. ‭ Yet left we not the coast, before we call’d ‭ Home to our country-earth the souls exhal’d ‭ Of all the friends the Cicons overcame. ‭ Thrice call’d we on them by their sev’ral name, [5] ‭ And then took leave. Then from the angry North ‭ Cloud-gath’ring Jove a dreadful storm call’d forth ‭ Against our navy, cover’d shore and all ‭ With gloomy vapours. Night did headlong fall ‭ From frowning heav’n. And then hurl’d here and there ‭ Was all our navy; the rude winds did tear ‭ In three, in four parts, all their sails; and down ‭ Driv’n under hatches were we, prest to drown. ‭ Up rush’d we yet again, and with tough hand ‭ (Two days, two nights, entoil’d) we gat near land, ‭ Labours and sorrows eating up our minds. ‭ The third clear day yet, to more friendly winds ‭ We masts advanc’d, we white sails spread, and sate. ‭ Forewinds and guides again did iterate ‭ Our ease and home-hopes; which we clear had reach’d, ‭ Had not, by chance, a sudden north-wind fetch’d, ‭ With an extreme sea, quite about again ‭ Our whole endeavours, and our course constrain ‭ To giddy round, and with our bow’d sails greet ‭ Dreadful Maleia, calling back our fleet ‭ As far forth as Cythera. Nine days more ‭ Adverse winds toss’d me; and the tenth, the shore, ‭ Where dwelt the blossom-fed Lotophagi, ‭ I fetch’d, fresh water took in, instantly ‭ Fell to our food aship-board, and then sent ‭ Two of my choice men to the continent ‭ (Adding a third, a herald) to discover ‭ What sort of people were the rulers over ‭ The land next to us. Where, the first they met, ‭ Were the Lotophagi, that made them eat ‭ Their country-diet, and no ill intent ‭ Hid in their hearts to them; and yet th’ event ‭ To ill converted it, for having eat ‭ Their dainty viands, they did quite forget ‭ (As all men else that did but taste their feast) ‭ Both countrymen and country, nor addrest ‭ Any return t’ inform what sort of men ‭ Made fix’d abode there, but would needs maintain ‭ Abode themselves there, and eat that food ever. ‭ I made out after, and was feign to sever ‭ Th’ enchanted knot by forcing their retreat; ‭ That striv’d, and wept, and would not leave their meat ‭ For heav’n itself. But, dragging them to fleet, ‭ I wrapt in sure bands both their hands and feet, ‭ And cast them under hatches, and away ‭ Commanded all the rest without least stay, ‭ Lest they should taste the lote too, and forget ‭ With such strange raptures their despis’d retreat. ‭ All then aboard, we beat the sea with oars, ‭ And still with sad hearts sail’d by out-way shores, ‭ Till th’ out-law’d Cyclops’ land we fetch’d; a race ‭ Of proud-liv’d loiterers, that never sow, ‭ Nor put a plant in earth, nor use a plow, ‭ But trust in God for all things; and their earth, ‭ Unsown, unplow’d, gives ev’ry offspring birth ‭ That other lands have; wheat, and barley, vines ‭ That bear in goodly grapes delicious wines; ‭ And Jove sends show’rs for all. No councils there, ‭ Nor councillors, nor laws; but all men bear ‭ Their heads aloft on mountains, and those steep, ‭ And on their tops too; and their houses keep ‭ In vaulty caves, their households govern’d all ‭ By each man’s law, impos’d in several, ‭ Nor wife, nor child awed, but as he thinks good, ‭ None for another caring. But there stood ‭ Another little isle, well stor’d with wood, ‭ Betwixt this and the entry; neither nigh ‭ The Cyclops’ isle, nor yet far off doth lie, ‭ Men’s want it suffer’d, but the men’s supplies ‭ The goats made with their inarticulate cries. ‭ Goats beyond number this small island breeds, ‭ So tame, that no access disturbs their feeds, ‭ No hunters, that the tops of mountains scale, ‭ And rub through woods with toil, seek them at all. ‭ Nor is the soil with flocks fed down, not plow’d, ‭ Nor ever in it any seed was sow’d. ‭ Nor place the neighbour Cyclops their delights ‭ In brave vermilion-prow-deck’d ships; nor wrights ‭ Useful, and skilful in such works as need ‭ Perfection to those traffics that exceed ‭ Their natural confines, to fly out and see ‭ Cities of men, and take in mutually ‭ The prease of others; to themselves they live, ‭ And to their island that enough would give ‭ A good inhabitant; and time of year ‭ Observe to all things art could order there. ‭ There, close upon the sea, sweet meadows spring; ‭ That yet of fresh streams want no watering ‭ To their soft burthens, but of special yield. ‭ Your vines would be there; and your common field ‭ But gentle work make for your plow, yet bear ‭ A lofty harvest when you came to shear; ‭ For passing fat the soil is. In it lies ‭ A harbour so oppórtune, that no ties, ‭ Halsers, or gables need, nor anchors cast. ‭ Whom storms put in there are with stay embrac’d, [6] ‭ Or to their full wills safe, or winds aspire ‭ To pilots’ uses their more quick desire. ‭ At entry of the haven, a silver ford ‭ Is from a rock-impressing fountain pour’d, ‭ All set with sable poplars. And this port ‭ Were we arriv’d at, by the sweet resort ‭ Of some God guiding us, for ’twas a night ‭ So ghastly dark all port was past our sight, ‭ Clouds hid our ships, and would not let the moon ‭ Afford a beam to us, the whole isle won ‭ By not an eye of ours. None thought the blore, ‭ That then was up, shov’d waves’ against the shore, ‭ That then to an unmeasur’d height put on; ‭ We still at sea esteem’d us, till alone ‭ Our fleet put in itself. And then were strook ‭ Our gather’d sails; our rest ashore we took, ‭ And day expected. When the morn gave fire, ‭ We rose, and walk’d, and did the isle admire; ‭ The Nymphs, Jove’s daughters, putting up a herd ‭ Of mountain goats to us, to render cheer’d ‭ My fellow soldiers. To our fleet we flew, ‭ Our crooked bows took, long-pil’d darts, and drew ‭ Ourselves in three parts out; when, by the grace ‭ That God vouchsaf’d, we made a gainful chace. ‭ Twelve ships we had, and ev’ry ship had nine ‭ Fat goats allotted [it], ten only mine. ‭ Thus all that day, ev’n till the sun was set, ‭ We sat and feasted, pleasant wine and meat ‭ Plenteously taking; for we had not spent ‭ Our ruddy wine aship-board, supplement ‭ Of large sort each man to his vessel drew, ‭ When we the sacred city overthrew ‭ That held the Cicons. Now then saw we near ‭ The Cyclops’ late-prais’d island, and might hear ‭ The murmur of their sheep and goats, and see ‭ Their smokes ascend. The sun then set, and we, ‭ When night succeeded, took our rest ashore. ‭ And when the world the morning’s favour wore, ‭ I call’d my friends to council, charging them ‭ To make stay there, while I took ship and stream, ‭ With some associates, and explor’d what men ‭ The neighbour isle held; if of rude disdain, ‭ Churlish and tyrannous, or minds bewray’d ‭ Pious and hospitable. Thus much said, ‭ I boarded, and commanded to ascend ‭ My friends and soldiers, to put off, and lend ‭ Way to our ship. They boarded, sat, and beat ‭ The old sea forth, till we might see the seat ‭ The greatest Cyclop held for his abode, ‭ Which was a deep cave, near the common road ‭ Of ships that touch’d there, thick with laurels spread, ‭ Where many sheep and goats lay shadowéd; ‭ And, near to this, a hall of torn-up stone, ‭ High built with pines, that heav’n and earth attone, ‭ And lofty-fronted oaks; in which kept house ‭ A man in shape immane, and monsterous, ‭ Fed all his flocks alone, nor would afford ‭ Commerce with men, but had a wit abhorr’d, ‭ His mind his body answ’ring. Nor was he ‭ Like any man that food could possibly ‭ Enhance so hugely, but, beheld alone, ‭ Show’d like a steep hill’s top, all overgrown ‭ With trees and brambles; little thought had I ‭ Of such vast objects. When, arriv’d so nigh, ‭ Some of my lov’d friends I made stay aboard, ‭ To guard my ship; and twelve with me I shor’d, ‭ The choice of all. I took besides along ‭ A goat-skin flagon of wine, black and strong, ‭ That Maro did present, Evantheus’ son, ‭ And priest to Phœbus, who had mansión ‭ In Thracian Ismarus (the town I took). ‭ He gave it me, since I (with rev’rence strook ‭ Of his grave place, his wife and children’s good) ‭ Freed all of violence. Amidst a wood, ‭ Sacred to Phœbus, stood his house; from whence ‭ He fetch’d me gifts of varied excellence; ‭ Sev’n talents of fine gold; a bowl all fram’d ‭ Of massy silver; but his gift most fam’d ‭ Was twelve great vessels, fill’d with such rich wine ‭ As was incorruptible and divine. ‭ He kept it as his jewel, which none knew ‭ But he himself, his wife, and he that drew. ‭ It was so strong that never any fill’d ‭ A cup, where that was but by drops instill’d, ‭ And drunk it off, but ’twas before allay’d ‭ With twenty parts in water; yet so sway’d ‭ The spirit of that little, that the whole ‭ A sacred odour breath’d about the bowl. ‭ Had you the odour smelt and scent it cast, ‭ It would have vex’d you to forbear the taste. ‭ But then, the taste gain’d too, the spirit it wrought ‭ To dare things high set-up-an-end my thought. ‭ Of this a huge great flagon full I bore, ‭ And, in a good large knapsack, victuals store; ‭ And long’d to see this heap of fortitude, ‭ That so illit’rate was and upland rude ‭ That laws divine nor human he had learn’d. ‭ With speed we reach’d the cavern; nor discern’d ‭ His presence there, his flocks he fed at field. ‭ Ent’ring his den, each thing beheld did yield ‭ Our admiration; shelves with cheeses heap’d; ‭ Sheds stuff’d with lambs and goats, distinctly kept, ‭ Distinct the biggest, the more mean distinct, ‭ Distinct the youngest. And in their precinct, ‭ Proper and placeful, stood the troughs and pails, ‭ In which he milk’d; and what was giv’n at meals, ‭ Set up a creaming; in the ev’ning still ‭ All scouring bright as dew upon the hill. ‭ Then were my fellows instant to convey ‭ “Kids, cheeses, lambs, aship-board, and away ‭ Sail the salt billow. I thought best not so, ‭ But better otherwise; and first would know, ‭ What guest-gifts he would spare me. Little knew ‭ My friends on whom they would have prey’d. His view ‭ Prov’d after, that his inwards were too rough ‭ For such bold usage. We were bold enough ‭ In what I suffer’d; which was there to stay, ‭ Make fire and feed there, though bear none away. ‭ There sat we, till we saw him feeding come, ‭ And on his neck a burthen lugging home, ‭ Most highly huge, of sere-wood, which the pile ‭ That fed his fire supplied all supper-while. ‭ Down by his den he threw it, and up rose ‭ A tumult with the fall. Afraid, we close ‭ Withdrew ourselves, while he into a cave ‭ Of huge receipt his high-fed cattle drave, ‭ All that he milk’d; the males he left without ‭ His lofty roofs, that all bestrow’d about ‭ With rams and buck-goats were. And then a rock ‭ He lift aloft, that damm’d up to his flock ‭ The door they enter’d; ’twas so hard to wield, ‭ That two-and-twenty waggons, all four-wheel’d, ‭ (Could they be loaded, and have teams that were ‭ Proportion’d to them) could not stir it there. ‭ Thus making sure, he kneel’d and milk’d his ewes, ‭ And braying goats, with all a milker’s dues; ‭ Then let in all their young. Then quick did dress ‭ His half milk up for cheese, and in a press ‭ Of wicker press’d it; put in bowls the rest, ‭ To drink and eat, and serve his supping feast. ‭ All works dispatch’d thus, he began his fire; ‭ Which blown, he saw us, and did thus inquire: ‭ ῾Ho! guests! What are ye? Whence sail ye these seas? ‭ Traffic, or rove ye, and like thieves oppress ‭ Poor strange adventurers, exposing so ‭ Your souls to danger, and your lives to woe?’ ‭ This utter’d he, when fear from our hearts took ‭ The very life, to be so thunder-strook ‭ With such a voice, and such a monster see; ‭ But thus I answer’d: ‘Erring Grecians, we ‭ From Troy were turning homewards, but by force ‭ Of adverse winds, in far diverted course, ‭ Such unknown ways took, and on rude seas toss’d, ‭ As Jove decreed, are cast upon this coast, ‭ Of Agamemnon, famous Atreus’ son, ‭ We boast ourselves the soldiers; who hath won [7] ‭ Renown that reacheth heav’n, to overthrow ‭ So great a city, and to ruin so ‭ So many nations. Yet at thy knees lie ‭ Our prostrate bosoms, forc’d with pray’rs to try ‭ If any hospitable right, or boon ‭ Of other nature, such as have been won ‭ By laws of other houses, thou wilt give. ‭ Rev’rence the Gods, thou great’st of all that live. ‭ We suppliants are; and hospitable Jove ‭ Pours wreak on all whom pray’rs want pow’r to move, ‭ And with their plagues together will provide ‭ That humble guests shall have their wants supplied.’ ‭ He cruelly answer’d: ‘O thou fool,’ said he, ‭ To come so far, and to importune me ‭ With any God’s fear, or observéd love! ‭ We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove, ‭ Nor other Bless’d ones; we are better far. ‭ To Jove himself dare I bid open war, ‭ To thee, and all thy fellows, if I please. ‭ But tell me, where’s the ship, that by the seas ‭ Hath brought thee hither? If far off, or near, ‭ Inform me quickly.’ These his temptings were; ‭ But I too much knew not to know his mind, ‭ And craft with craft paid, telling him the wind ‭ (Thrust up from sea by Him that shakes the shore) ‭ Had dash’d our ships against his rocks, and tore ‭ Her ribs in pieces close upon his coast, ‭ And we from high wrack sav’d, the rest were lost. ‭ He answer’d nothing, but rush’d in, and took ‭ Two of my fellows up from earth, and strook ‭ Their brains against it. Like two whelps they flew ‭ About his shoulders, and did all embrue ‭ The blushing earth. No mountain lion tore ‭ Two lambs so sternly, lapp’d up all their gore ‭ Gush’d from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb ‭ (Trembling with life yet) ravish’d into him. ‭ Both flesh and marrow-stufféd bones he eat, ‭ And ev’n th’ uncleanséd entrails made his meat. ‭ We, weeping, cast our hands to heav’n, to view ‭ A sight so horrid. Desperation flew, ‭ With all our after lives, to instant death, ‭ In our believ’d destruction. But when breath ‭ The fury of his appetite had got, ‭ Because the gulf his belly reach’d his throat, ‭ Man’s flesh, and goat’s milk, laying lay’r on lay’r, ‭ Till near chok’d up was all the pass for air, ‭ Along his den, among’st his cattle, down ‭ He rush’d, and streak’d him. ‘When my mind was grown ‭ Desp’rate to step in, draw my sword, and part ‭ His bosom where the strings about the heart ‭ Circle the liver, and add strength of hand. ‭ But that rash thought, more stay’d, did countermand, ‭ For there we all had perish’d, since it past ‭ Our pow’rs to lift aside a log so vast, ‭ As barr’d all outscape; and so sigh’d away ‭ The thought all night, expecting active day. ‭ Which come, he first of all his fire enflames, ‭ Then milks his goats and ewes, then to their dams ‭ Lets in their young, and, wondrous orderly, ‭ With manly haste dispatch’d his housewif’ry. ‭ Then to his breakfast, to which other two ‭ Of my poor friends went; which eat, out then go ‭ His herds and fat flocks, lightly putting by ‭ The churlish bar, and clos’d it instantly; ‭ For both those works with ease as much he did, ‭ As you would ope and shut your quiver lid. ‭ With storms of whistlings then his flock he drave ‭ Up to the mountains; and occasion gave ‭ For me to use my wits, which to their height ‭ I striv’d to screw up, that a vengeance might ‭ By some means fall from thence, and Pallas now ‭ Afford a full ear to my neediest vow. ‭ This then my thoughts preferr’d: A huge club lay ‭ Close by his milk-house, which was now in way ‭ To dry and season, being an olive-tree ‭ Which late he fell’d, and, being green, must be ‭ Made lighter for his manage. ’Twas so vast, ‭ That we resembled it to some fit mast, ‭ To serve a ship of burthen that was driv’n ‭ With twenty oars, and had a bigness giv’n ‭ To bear a huge sea. Full so thick, so tall, ‭ We judg’d this club; which I, in part, hew’d small, ‭ And cut a fathom off. The piece I gave ‭ Amongst my soldiers, to take down, and shave; ‭ Which done, I sharpen’d it at top, and then, ‭ Harden’d in fire, I hid it in the den ‭ Within a nasty dunghill reeking there, ‭ Thick, and so moist it issued ev’rywhere. ‭ Then made I lots cast by my friends to try ‭ Whose fortune serv’d to dare the bor’d-out eye ‭ Of that man-eater; and the lot did fall ‭ On four I wish’d to make my aid of all, ‭ And I the fifth made, chosen like the rest. ‭ Then came the even, and he came from the feast ‭ Of his fat cattle, drave in all; nor kept ‭ One male abroad; if, or his memory slept ‭ By Gods’ direct will, or of purpose was ‭ His driving in of all then, doth surpass ‭ My comprehension. But he clos’d again ‭ The mighty bar, milk’d, and did still maintain ‭ All other observation as before. ‭ His work all done, two of my soldiers more ‭ At once he snatch’d up, and to supper went. ‭ Then dar’d I words to him, and did present ‭ A bowl of wine, with these words: ‘Cyclop! take ‭ A bowl of wine, from my hand, that may make ‭ Way for the man’s flesh thou hast eat, and show ‭ What drink our ship held; which in sacred vow ‭ I offer to thee to take ruth on me ‭ In my dismission home. Thy rages be ‭ Now no more sufferable. How shall men, ‭ Mad and inhuman that thou art, again ‭ Greet thy abode, and get thy actions grace, ‭ If thus thou ragest, and eat’st up their race.’ ‭ He took, and drunk, and vehemently joy’d ‭ To taste the sweet cup; and again employ’d ‭ My flagon’s pow’rs, entreating more, and said: ‭ ῾Good guest, again afford my taste thy aid, ‭ And let me know thy name, and quickly now, ‭ That in thy recompense I may bestow ‭ A hospitable gift on thy desert, ‭ And such a one as shall rejoice thy heart. ‭ For to the Cyclops too the gentle earth ‭ Bears gen’rous wine, and Jove augments her birth, ‭ In store of such, with show’rs; but this rich wine ‭ Fell from the river, that is mere divine, ‭ Of nectar and ambrosia.’ This again ‭ I gave him, and again; nor could the fool abstain, ‭ But drunk as often. When the noble juice ‭ Had wrought upon his spirit, I then gave use ‭ To fairer language, saying: ‘Cyclop! now, ‭ As thou demand’st, I’ll tell my name, do thou ‭ Make good thy hospitable gift to me. ‭ My name is No-Man; No-Man each degree ‭ Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.’ ‭ He answer’d, as his cruel soul became: ‭ ‘No-Man! I’ll eat thee last of all thy friends; ‭ And this is that in which so much amends ‭ I vow’d to thy deservings, thus shall be ‭ My hospitable gift made good to thee.’ ‭ This said, he upwards fell, but then bent round ‭ His fleshy neck; and Sleep, with all crowns crown’d, ‭ Subdued the savage. From his throat brake out ‭ My wine, with man’s-flesh gobbets, like a spout, ‭ When, loaded with his cups, he lay and snor’d; ‭ And then took I the club’s end up, and gor’d ‭ The burning coal-heap, that the point might heat; ‭ Confirm’d my fellow’s minds, lest Fear should let ‭ Their vow’d assay, and make them fly my aid. ‭ Straight was the olive-lever, I had laid ‭ Amidst the huge fire to get hard’ning, hot, ‭ And glow’d extremely, though ’twas green; which got ‭ From forth the cinders, close about me stood ‭ My hardy friends; but that which did the good ‭ Was God’s good inspiratión, that gave ‭ A spirit beyond the spirit they us’d to have; ‭ Who took the olive spar, made keen before, ‭ And plung’d it in his eye, and up I bore, ‭ Bent to the top close, and help’d pour it in, ‭ With all my forces. And as you have seen ‭ A ship-wright bore a naval beam, he oft ‭ Thrusts at the auger’s froofe, works still aloft, ‭ And at the shank help others, with a cord ‭ Wound round about to make it sooner bor’d, ‭ All plying the round still; so into his eye ‭ The fiery stake we labour’d to imply. ‭ Out gush’d the blood that scalded, his eye-ball ‭ Thrust out a flaming vapour, that scorch’d all ‭ His brows and eye-lids, his eye-strings did crack, ‭ As in the sharp and burning rafter brake. ‭ And as a smith, to harden any tool, ‭ Broad axe, or mattock, in his trough doth cool ‭ The red-hot substance, that so fervent is ‭ It makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss; ‭ So sod and hiss’d his eye about the stake. ‭ He roar’d withal, and all his cavern brake ‭ In claps like thunder. We did frighted fly, ‭ Dispers’d in corners. He from forth his eye ‭ The fixed stake pluck’d; after which the blood ‭ Flow’d freshly forth; and, mad, he hurl’d the wood ‭ About his hovel. Out he then did cry ‭ For other Cyclops, that in caverns by ‭ Upon a windy promontory dwell’d; ‭ Who, hearing how impetuously he yell’d, ‭ Rush’d ev’ry way about him, and inquir’d, ‭ What ill afflicted him, that he exspir’d ‭ Such horrid clamours, and in sacred Night ‭ To break their sleeps so? Ask’d him, if his fright ‭ Came from some mortal that his flocks had driv’n? ‭ Or if by craft, or might, his death were giv’n? ‭ He answer’d from his den: ‘By craft, nor might, ‭ No-Man hath giv’n me death.’ They then said right, ‭ ‘If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone, ‭ That which is done to thee by Jove is done; ‭ And what great Jove inflicts no man can fly. ‭ Pray to thy Father yet, a Deity, ‭ And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.’ ‭ Thus spake they, leaving him; when all-on-fire ‭ My heart with joy was, that so well my wit ‭ And name deceiv’d him; whom now pain did split, ‭ And groaning up and down he groping tried ‭ To find the stone, which found, he put aside; ‭ But in the door sat, feeling if he could ‭ (As his sheep issued) on some man lay hold; ‭ Esteeming me a fool, that could devise ‭ No stratagem to ‘scape his gross surprise. ‭ But I, contending what I could invent ‭ My friends and me from death so eminent ‭ To get deliver’d, all my wiles I wove ‭ (Life being the subject) and did this approve: ‭ Fat fleecy rams, most fair, and great, lay there, ‭ That did a burden like a violet bear. [8] ‭ These, while this learn’d-in-villainy did sleep, ‭ I yok’d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep, ‭ Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore ‭ A man about his belly, the two more ‭ March’d on his each side for defence. I then, ‭ Choosing myself the fairest of the den, ‭ His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac’d ‭ His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast ‭ With both my hands, arm’d with as fast a mind. ‭ And thus each man hung, till the morning shin’d; ‭ Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad ‭ His male-flocks first, the females unmilk’d stood ‭ Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore ‭ With being unemptied, but their shepherd more ‭ With being unsighted; which was cause his mind ‭ Went not a milking. He, to wreak inclin’d, ‭ The backs felt, as they pass’d, of those male dams, ‭ Gross fool! believing, we would ride his rams! ‭ Nor ever knew that any of them bore ‭ Upon his belly any man before. ‭ The last ram came to pass him, with his wool ‭ And me together loaded to the full, ‭ For there did I hang; and that ram he stay’d, ‭ And me withal had in his hands, my head ‭ Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least. ‭ This ram he grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast! ‭ Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d ‭ To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d ‭ The tender blossom of a flow’r, and held ‭ State in thy steps, both to the flood and field, ‭ First still at fold at even, now last remain? ‭ Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again, ‭ Which that abhorr’d man No-Man did put out, ‭ Assisted by his execrable rout, ‭ When he had wrought me down with wine? But he ‭ Must not escape my wreak so cunningly. ‭ I would to heav’n thou knew’st, and could but speak, ‭ To tell me where he lurks now! I would break ‭ His brain about my cave, strew’d here and there, ‭ To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were ‭ Th’ inflictions of a man I priz’d at nought.’ ‭ Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought ‭ A little from his hold, myself first los’d, ‭ And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d, ‭ His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land, ‭ Ev’n till they all were in my ship’s command; ‭ And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight, ‭ Escap’d from death. But, for our loss, outright ‭ They brake in tears; which with a look I stay’d, ‭ And bade them take our boot in. They obey’d, ‭ And up we all went, sat, and us’d our oars. ‭ But having left as far the savage shores ‭ As one might hear a voice, we then might see ‭ The Cyclop at the haven; when instantly ‭ I stay’d our oars, and this insultance us’d: ‭ ῾Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abus’d ‭ Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least ‭ Against a man immartial, and a guest, ‭ And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were ‭ Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear, ‭ That fear’d not to devour thy guests, and break ‭ All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak, ‭ And all the Gods, by me.’ This blew the more ‭ His burning fury; when the top he tore ‭ From off a huge rock, and so right a throw ‭ Made at our ship, that just before the prow ‭ It overflew and fell, miss’d mast and all ‭ Exceeding little; but about the fall ‭ So fierce a wave it rais’d, that back it bore ‭ Our ship so far, it almost touch’d the shore. ‭ A bead-hook then, a far-extended one, ‭ I snatch’d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone ‭ Some little way; and straight commanded all ‭ To help me with their oars, on pain to fall ‭ Again on our confusion. But a sign ‭ I with my head made, and their oars were mine ‭ In all performance. When we off were set, ‭ (Then first, twice further) my heart was so great, ‭ It would again provoke him, but my men ‭ On all sides rush’d about me, to contain, ‭ And said: ‘Unhappy! why will you provoke ‭ A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke, ‭ Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back ‭ Our ship so far, and near hand forc’d our wrack? ‭ Should he again but hear your voice resound, ‭ And any word reach, thereby would be found ‭ His dart’s direction, which would, in his fall, ‭ Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all; ‭ So much dart wields the monster.’ Thus urg’d they ‭ Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way ‭ To that wrath which so long I held deprest, ‭ By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast: ‭ ‘Cyclop! if any ask thee, who impos’d [9] ‭ Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d, ‭ Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son, ‭ Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won ‭ Surname of City-razer, bor’d it out.’ ‭ At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about ‭ He drave affrighted echoes through the air, ‭ And said: ‘O beast! I was premonish’d fair, ‭ By aged prophecy, in one that was ‭ A great and good man, this should come to pass; ‭ And how ’tis prov’d now! Augur Telemus, ‭ Surnam’d Eurymides (that spent with us ‭ His age in augury, and did exceed ‭ In all presage of truth) said all this deed ‭ Should this event take, author’d by the hand ‭ Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann’d ‭ With great and goodly personage, and bore ‭ A virtue answerable; and this shore ‭ Should shake with weight of such a conqueror; ‭ When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing, ‭ A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring, ‭ That brought supply to all, and with his wine ‭ Put out the flame where all my light did shine. ‭ Come, land again, Ulysses! that my hand ‭ May guest-rites give thee, and the great command, ‭ That Neptune hath at sea, I may convert ‭ To the deduction where abides thy heart, ‭ With my solicitings, whose son I am, ‭ And whose fame boasts to bear my father’s name. ‭ Nor think my hurt offends me, for my sire ‭ Can soon repose in it the visual fire, ‭ At his free pleasure; which no pow’r beside ‭ Can boast, of men, or of the Deified.’ ‭ I answer’d: ‘Would to God! I could compell ‭ Both life and soul from thee, and send to hell ‭ Those spoils of nature! Hardly Neptune then ‭ Could cure thy hurt, and give thee all again.’ ‭ Then flew fierce vows to Neptune, both his hands ‭ To star-born heav’n cast: ‘O thou that all lands ‭ Gird’st in thy ambient circle, and in air ‭ Shak’st the curl’d tresses of thy sapphire hair, ‭ If I be thine, or thou mayst justly vaunt ‭ Thou art my father, hear me now, and grant ‭ That this Ulysses, old Laertes’ son, ‭ That dwells in Ithaca, and name hath won ‭ Of City-ruiner, may never reach ‭ His natural region. Or if to fetch ‭ That, and the sight of his fair roofs and friends, ‭ Be fatal to him, let him that amends ‭ For all his miseries, long time and ill, ‭ Smart for, and fail of; nor that fate fulfill, ‭ Till all his soldiers quite are cast away ‭ In others’ ships. And when, at last, the day ‭ Of his sole-landing shall his dwelling show, ‭ Let Detriment prepare him wrongs enow.’ ‭ Thus pray’d he Neptune; who, his sire, appear’d, ‭ And all his pray’r to ev’ry syllable heard. ‭ But then a rock, in size more amplified ‭ Than first, he ravish’d to him, and implied ‭ A dismal strength in it, when, wheel’d about, ‭ He sent it after us; nor flew it out ‭ From any blind aim, for a little pass ‭ Beyond our fore-deck from the fall there was, ‭ With which the sea our ship gave back upon, ‭ And shrunk up into billows from the stone, ‭ Our ship again repelling near as near ‭ The shore as first. But then our rowers were, ‭ Being warn’d, more arm’d, and stronglier stemm’d the flood ‭ That bore back on us, till our ship made good ‭ The other island, where our whole fleet lay, ‭ In which our friends lay mourning for our stay, ‭ And ev’ry minute look’d when we should land. ‭ Where, now arriv’d, we drew up to the sand, ‭ The Cyclops’ sheep dividing, that none there ‭ Of all our privates might be wrung, and bear ‭ Too much on pow’r. The ram yet was alone ‭ By all my friends made all my portion ‭ Above all others; and I made him then ‭ A sacrifice for me and all my men [10] ‭ To cloud-compelling Jove that all commands, ‭ To whom I burn’d the thighs; but my sad hands ‭ Receiv’d no grace from him, who studied how ‭ To offer men and fleet to overthrow.

‭ All day, till sun-set, yet, we sat and eat, ‭ And lib’ral store took in of wine and meat. ‭ The sun then down, and place resign’d to shade, ‭ We slept. Morn came, my men I rais’d, and made ‭ All go aboard, weigh anchor, and away. ‭ They boarded, sat, and beat the aged sea; ‭ And forth we made sail, sad for loss before, ‭ Any yet had comfort since we lost no more.” ‭ FINIS LIBRI NONI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] Εἰνοσίϕυλλον, quatientem seu agitantem frondes.

‭[2] Quædam quibus corpus alitur et vita sustentatur ὕλη ‭appellantur.

‭[3] Amor patriœ.

‭[4] After night, in the first of the morning.

‭[5] The ancient custom of calling home the dead.

‭[6] The description of all these countries have admirable allegories ‭besides their artly and pleasing relation.

‭[7] This his relation of Agamemnon, and his glory and theirs for ‭Troy’s sack, with the piety of suppliants’ receipt, to him that was so ‭barbarous and impious, must be intended spoken by Ulysses, with ‭supposition that his hearers would note, still as he spake, how vain ‭they would show to the Cyclops; who respected little Agamemnon, ‭or their valiant exploit against Troy, or the Gods themselves. For ‭otherwise, the serious observation of the words (though good and ‭grave, if spoken to another) want their intentional sharpness and ‭life.

‭[8] Wool of a violet colour.

‭[9] Ulysses’ continued insolence, no more to repeat what he said to ‭the Cyclop, than to let his hearers know epithets, and estimation in ‭the world.

‭[10] No occasion let pass to Ulysses’ piety in our Poet’s singular wit ‭and wisdom. ‭ THE TENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses now relates to us ‭ The grace he had with Æolus, ‭ Great Guardian of the hollow Winds; ‭ Which in a leather bag he binds, ‭ And gives Ulysses; all but one, ‭ Which Zephyr was, who fill’d alone ‭ Ulysses’ sails. The bag once seen, ‭ While he slept, by Ulysses’ men, ‭ They thinking it did gold enclose, ‭ To find it, all the winds did loose, ‭ Who back flew to their Guard again. ‭ Forth sail’d he; and did next attain ‭ To where the Læstrygonians dwell. ‭ Where he eleven ships lost, and fell ‭ On the Ææan coast, whose shore ‭ He sends Eurylochus t’ explore, ‭ Dividing with him half his men. ‭ Who go, and turn no more again, ‭ All, save Eurylochus, to swine ‭ By Circe turn’d. Their stays incline ‭ Ulysses to their search; who got ‭ Of Mercury an antidote, ‭ Which moly was, ’gainst Circe’s charms, ‭ And so avoids his soldiers’ harms. ‭ A year with Circe all remain, ‭ And then their native forms regain. ‭ On utter shores a time they dwell, ‭ While Ithacus descends to hell. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Κάππα. ‭ Great Æolus, ‭ And Circe, friends ‭ Finds Ithacus; ‭ And hell descends.

‭ “To the Æolian island we attain’d, ‭ That swum about still on the sea, where reign’d ‭ The God-lov’d Æolus Hippotades. ‭ A wall of steel it had; and in the seas ‭ A wave-beat-smooth rock mov’d about the wall. ‭ Twelve children in his house imperial ‭ Were born to him; of which six daughters were, ‭ And six were sons, that youth’s sweet flow’r did bear. ‭ His daughters to his sons he gave as wives; ‭ Who spent in feastful comforts all their lives, ‭ Close seated by their sire and his grave spouse. ‭ Past number were the dishes that the house ‭ Made ever savour; and still full the hall ‭ As long as day shin’d; in the night-time, all ‭ Slept with their chaste wives, each his fair carv’d bed ‭ Most richly furnish’d; and this life they led. ‭ We reach’d the city and fair roofs of these, ‭ Where, a whole month’s time, all things that might please ‭ The king vouchsaf’d us; of great Troy inquir’d, ‭ The Grecian fleet, and how the Greeks retir’d. ‭ To all which I gave answer as behov’d. ‭ The fit time come when I dismission mov’d, ‭ He nothing would deny me, but addrest ‭ My pass with such a bounty, as might best ‭ Teach me contentment; for he did enfold ‭ Within an ox-hide, flay’d at nine years old, ‭ All th’ airy blasts that were of stormy kinds. ‭ Saturnius made him Steward of his Winds, ‭ And gave him pow’r to raise and to assuage. ‭ And these he gave me, curb’d thus of their rage, ‭ Which in a glitt’ring silver band I bound, ‭ And hung-up in my ship, enclos’d so round ‭ That no egression any breath could find; ‭ Only he left abroad the Western Wind, ‭ To speed our ships, and us with blasts secure. ‭ But our securities made all unsure; ‭ Nor could he consummate our course alone, ‭ When all the rest had got egressión; ‭ Which thus succeeded: Nine whole days and nights ‭ We sail’d in safety; and the tenth, the lights ‭ Borne on our country-earth we might descry, ‭ So near we drew; and yet ev’n then fell I, ‭ Being overwatch’d, into a fatal sleep, ‭ For I would suffer no man else to keep ‭ The foot that rul’d my vessel’s course, to lead [1] ‭ The faster home. My friends then Envy fed ‭ About the bag I hung-up, and suppos’d ‭ That gold and silver I had there enclos’d, ‭ As gift from Æolus, and said: ‘O heav’n! ‭ What grace and grave price is by all men giv’n ‭ To our commander! Whatsoever coast ‭ Or town he comes to, how much he engrost ‭ Of fair and precious prey, and brought from Troy! ‭ We the same voyage went, and yet enjoy ‭ In our return these empty hands for all. ‭ This bag, now, Æolus was so liberal ‭ To make a guest-gift to him; let us try ‭ Of what consists the fair-bound treasury, ‭ And how much gold and silver it contains.’ ‭ Ill counsel present approbation gains. ‭ They op’d the bag, and out the vapours brake, ‭ When instant tempest did our vessel take, ‭ That bore us back to sea, to mourn anew ‭ Our absent country. Up amaz’d I flew, ‭ And desp’rate things discours’d; if I should cast ‭ Myself to ruin in the seas, or taste ‭ Amongst the living more moan, and sustain? ‭ Silent, I did so, and lay hid again ‭ Beneath the hatches, while an ill wind took ‭ My ships back to Æolia, my men strook ‭ With woe enough. We pump’d and landed then, ‭ Took food, for all this; and of all my men ‭ I took a herald to me, and away ‭ Went to the court of Æolus, where they ‭ Were feasting still; he, wife, and children, set ‭ Together close. We would not at their meat ‭ Thrust in; but humbly on the threshold sat. ‭ He then, amaz’d, my presence wonder’d at, ‭ And call’d to me: ‘Ulysses! How thus back ‭ Art thou arriv’d here? What foul spirit brake ‭ Into thy bosom, to retire thee thus? ‭ We thought we had deduction curious ‭ Giv’n thee before, to reach thy shore and home; ‭ Did it not like thee?’ I, ev’n overcome ‭ With worthy sorrow, answer’d: ‘My ill men ‭ Have done me mischief, and to them hath been ‭ My sleep th’ unhappy motive; but do you, ‭ Dearest of friends, deign succour to my vow. ‭ Your pow’rs command it.’ Thus endeavour’d I ‭ With soft speech to repair my misery. ‭ The rest with ruth sat dumb. But thus spake he: ‭ ‘Avaunt, and quickly quit my land of thee, ‭ Thou worst of all that breathe. It fits not me ‭ To convoy, and take-in, whom Heav’ns expose. ‭ Away, and with thee go the worst of woes, ‭ That seek’st my friendship, and the Gods thy foes.’ ‭ Thus he dismiss’d me sighing. Forth we sail’d, ‭ At heart afflicted. And now wholly fail’d ‭ The minds my men sustain’d, so spent they were ‭ With toiling at their oars, and worse did bear ‭ Their growing labours; and they caus’d their grought ‭ By self-will’d follies; nor now ever thought ‭ To see their country more. Six nights and days ‭ We sail’d; the seventh we saw fair Lamos raise ‭ Her lofty tow’rs, the Læstrygonian state ‭ That bears her ports so far disterminate; ‭ Where shepherd shepherd calls out, he at home [2] ‭ Is call’d out by the other that doth come ‭ From charge abroad, and then goes he to sleep, ‭ The other issuing; he whose turn doth keep ‭ The night observance hath his double hire, ‭ Since day and night in equal length expire ‭ About that region, and the night’s watch weigh’d ‭ At twice the day’s ward, since the charge that’s laid ‭ Upon the night’s-man (besides breach of sleep) ‭ Exceeds the days-man’s; for one oxen keep, ‭ The other sheep. But when the haven we found, ‭ (Exceeding famous, and environ’d round ‭ With one continuate rock, which so much bent ‭ That both ends almost met, so prominent ‭ They were, and made the haven’s mouth passing strait) ‭ Our whole fleet in we got; in whose receit ‭ Our ships lay anchor’d close. Nor needed we ‭ Fear harm on any stays, Tranquillity [3] ‭ So purely sat there, that waves great nor small ‭ Did ever rise to any height at all. ‭ And yet would I no entry make, but stay’d ‭ Alone without the haven, and thence survey’d, ‭ From out a lofty watch-tow’r raised there, ‭ The country round about; nor anywhere ‭ The work of man or beast appear’d to me, ‭ Only a smoke from earth break I might see. ‭ I then made choice of two, and added more, ‭ A herald for associate, to explore ‭ What sort of men liv’d there. They went, and saw ‭ A beaten way, through which carts us’d to draw ‭ Wood from the high hills to the town, and met ‭ A maid without the port, about to get ‭ Some near spring-water. She the daughter was ‭ Of mighty Læstrygonian Antiphas, ‭ And to the clear spring call’d Artacia went, ‭ To which the whole town for their water sent. ‭ To her they came, and ask’d who govern’d there, ‭ And what the people whom he order’d were? ‭ She answer’d not, but led them through the port, ‭ As making haste to show her father’s court. ‭ Where enter’d, they beheld, to their affright, ‭ A woman like a mountain-top in height, ‭ Who rush’d abroad, and from the council-place ‭ Call’d home her horrid husband Antiphas, [4] ‭ Who, deadly-minded, straight he snatch’d up one, ‭ And fell to supper. Both the rest were gone; ‭ And to the fleet came. Antiphas a cry ‭ Drave through the city; which heard, instantly ‭ This way and that innumerable sorts, ‭ Not men, but giants, issued through the ports, ‭ And mighty flints from rocks tore, which they threw ‭ Amongst our ships; through which an ill noise flew ‭ Of shiver’d ships, and life-expiring men, ‭ That were, like fishes, by the monsters slain, ‭ And borne to sad feast. While they slaughter’d these, ‭ That were engag’d in all th’ advantages ‭ The close-mouth’d and most dead-calm haven could give, ‭ I, that without lay, made some means to live, ‭ My sword drew, cut my gables, and to oars ‭ Set all my men; and, from the plagues those shores ‭ Let fly amongst us, we made haste to fly, ‭ My men close working as men loth to die. ‭ My ship flew freely off; but theirs that lay ‭ On heaps in harbours could enforce no way ‭ Through these stern fates that had engag’d them there. ‭ Forth our sad remnant sail’d, yet still retain’d ‭ The joys of men, that our poor few remain’d. ‭ Then to the isle Ææa we attain’d, ‭ Where fair-hair’d, dreadful, eloquent Circe reign’d, ‭ Ææta’s sister both by dame and sire, ‭ Both daughters to Heav’n’s man-enlight’ning Fire, ‭ And Perse, whom Oceanus begat, ‭ The ship-fit port here soon we landed at, ‭ Some God directing us. Two days, two nights, ‭ We lay here pining in the fatal spights ‭ Of toil and sorrow; but the next third day ‭ When fair Aurora had inform’d, quick way ‭ I made out of my ship, my sword and lance ‭ Took for my surer guide, and made advance ‭ Up to a prospect; I assay to see ‭ The works of men, or hear mortality ‭ Exspire a voice. When I had climb’d a height, ‭ Rough and right hardly accessible, I might ‭ Behold from Circe’s house, that in a grove ‭ Set thick with trees stood, a bright vapour move, ‭ I then grew curious in my thought to try [5] ‭ Some fit inquiry, when so spritely fly ‭ I saw the yellow smoke; but my discourse [6] ‭ A first retiring to my ship gave force, ‭ To give my men their dinner, and to send ‭ (Before th’ adventure of myself) some friend. ‭ Being near my ship, of one so desolate ‭ Some God had pity, and would recreate ‭ My woes a little, putting up to me ‭ A great and high-palm’d hart, that (fatally, ‭ Just in my way itself to taste a flood) ‭ Was then descending; the sun heat had sure ‭ Importun’d him, besides the temperature ‭ His natural heat gave. Howsoever, I ‭ Made up to him, and let my jav’lin fly, ‭ That struck him through the mid-part of his chine, ‭ And made him, braying, to the dust confine ‭ His flying forces. Forth his spirit flew; ‭ When I stept in, and from the death’s wound drew ‭ My shrewdly-bitten lance; there let him lie ‭ Till I, of cut-up osiers, did imply ‭ A withe a fathom long, with which his feet ‭ I made together in a sure league meet, ‭ Stoop’d under him, and to my neck I heav’d ‭ The mighty burden, of which I receiv’d ‭ A good part on my lance, for else I could ‭ By no means with one hand alone uphold ‭ (Join’d with one shoulder) such a deathful load. ‭ And so, to both my shoulders, both hands stood ‭ Needful assistants; for it was a deer ‭ Goodly-well-grown. When (coming something near ‭ Where rode my ships) I cast it down, and rear’d ‭ My friends with kind words; whom by name I cheer’d, ‭ In note particular, and said: ‘See, friends, ‭ We will not yet to Pluto’s house; our ends ‭ Shall not be hasten’d, though we be declin’d ‭ In cause of comfort, till the day design’d ‭ By Fate’s fix’d finger. Come, as long as food ‭ Or wine lasts in our ship, let’s spirit our blood, ‭ And quit our care and hunger both in one.’ ‭ This said, they frolick’d, came, and look’d upon ‭ With admiration the huge-bodied beast; ‭ And when their first-serv’d eyes had done their feast, ‭ They wash’d, and made a to-be-striv’d-for meal [7] ‭ In point of honour. On which all did dwell ‭ The whole day long. And, to our venison’s store, ‭ We added wine till we could wish no more. ‭ Sun set, and darkness up, we slept, till light ‭ Put darkness down; and then did I excite ‭ My friends to counsel, utt’ring this: ‘Now, friends, [8] ‭ Afford unpassionate ear; though ill Fate lends ‭ So good cause to your passion, no man knows ‭ The reason whence and how the darkness grows; ‭ The reason how the morn is thus begun; ‭ The reason how the man-enlight’ning sun ‭ Dives under earth; the reason how again ‭ He rears his golden head. Those counsels, then, ‭ That pass our comprehension, we must leave ‭ To him that knows their causes; and receive ‭ Direction from him in our acts, as far ‭ As he shall please to make them regular, ‭ And stoop them to our reason. In our state ‭ What then behoves us? Can we estimate, ‭ With all our counsels, where we are? Or know ‭ (Without instruction, past our own skills) how, ‭ Put off from hence, to steer our course the more? ‭ I think we cannot. We must then explore ‭ These parts for information; in which way ‭ We thus far are: Last morn I might display ‭ (From off a high-rais’d cliff) an island lie ‭ Girt with th’ unmeasur’d sea, and is so nigh ‭ That in the midst I saw the smoke arise ‭ Through tufts of trees. This rests then to advise, ‭ Who shall explore this?’ This struck dead their hearts, ‭ Rememb’ring the most execrable parts ‭ That Læstrygonian Antiphas had play’d, ‭ And that foul Cyclop that their fellows bray’d ‭ Betwixt his jaws; which mov’d them so, they cried. ‭ But idle tears had never wants supplied. ‭ I in two parts divided all, and gave ‭ To either part his captain. I must have ‭ The charge of one; and one of God-like look, ‭ Eurylochus, the other. Lots we shook, ‭ Put in a casque together, which of us ‭ Should lead th’ attempt; and ’twas Eurylochus. ‭ He freely went, with two-and-twenty more; ‭ All which took leave with tears; and our eyes wore ‭ The same wet badge of weak humanity. ‭ These in a dale did Circe’s house descry, ‭ Of bright stone built, in a conspicuous way. ‭ Before her gates hill-wolves, and lions, lay; ‭ Which with her virtuous drugs so tame she made, ‭ That wolf nor lion would one man invade ‭ With any violence, but all arose, ‭ Their huge long tails wagg’d, and in fawns would close, ‭ As loving dogs, when masters bring them home ‭ Relics of feast, in all observance come, ‭ And soothe their entries with their fawns and bounds, ‭ All guests still bringing some scraps for their hounds; ‭ So, on these men, the wolves and lions ramp’d, ‭ Their horrid paws set up. Their spirits were damp’d ‭ To see such monstrous kindness, stay’d at gate, ‭ And heard within the Goddess elevate ‭ A voice divine, as at her web she wrought, ‭ Subtle, and glorious, and past earthly thought, ‭ As all the housewif’ries of Deities are. ‭ To hear a voice so ravishingly rare, ‭ Polités (one exceeding dear to me, ‭ A prince of men, and of no mean degree ‭ In knowing virtue, in all acts whose mind [9] ‭ Discreet cares all ways us’d to turn, and wind) ‭ Was yet surpris’d with it, and said: ‘O friends, ‭ Some one abides within here, that commends ‭ The place to us, and breathes a voice divine, ‭ As she some web wrought, or her spindle’s twine ‭ She cherish’d with her song; the pavement rings ‭ With imitation of the tunes she sings. ‭ Some woman, or some Goddess, ’tis. Assay ‭ To see with knocking.’ Thus said he, and they ‭ Both knock’d, and call’d; and straight her shining gates ‭ She open’d, issuing, bade them in to cates. ‭ Led, and unwise, they follow’d; all but one, ‭ Which was Eurylochus, who stood alone ‭ Without the gates, suspicious of a sleight. ‭ They enter’d, she made sit; and her deceit ‭ She cloak’d with thrones, and goodly chairs of state; ‭ Set herby honey, and the delicate ‭ Wine brought from Smynra, to them; meal and cheese; ‭ But harmful venoms she commix’d with these, ‭ That made their country vanish from their thought. ‭ Which eat, she touch’d them with a rod that wrought ‭ Their transformation far past human wonts; ‭ Swine’s snouts, swine’s bodies, took they, bristles, grunts, ‭ But still retain’d the souls they had before, ‭ Which made them mourn their bodies’ change the more. ‭ She shut them straight in styes, and gave them meat, ‭ Oak-mast, and beech, and cornel-fruit, they eat, ‭ Grov’lling like swine on earth, in foulest sort. ‭ Eurylochus straight hasted the report ‭ Of this his fellows’ most remorseful fate, ‭ Came to the ships, but so excruciate ‭ Was with his woe, he could not speak a word, ‭ His eyes stood full of tears, which show’d how stor’d ‭ His mind with moan remain’d. We all admir’d, ‭ Ask’d what had chanc’d him, earnestly desir’d ‭ He would resolve us. At the last, our eyes ‭ Enflam’d in him his fellows’ memories, [10] ‭ And out his grief burst thus: ‘You will’d; we went ‭ Through those thick woods you saw; when a descent ‭ Show’d us a fair house, in a lightsome ground, ‭ Where, at some work, we heard a heav’nly sound ‭ Breath’d from a Goddess’, or a woman’s, breast. ‭ They knock’d, she op’d her bright gates; each her guest ‭ Her fair invitement made; nor would they stay, ‭ Fools that they were, when she once led the way. ‭ I enter’d not, suspecting some deceit. ‭ When all together vanish’d, nor the sight ‭ Of anyone (though long I look’d) mine eye ‭ Could any way discover.’ Instantly, ‭ My sword and bow reach’d, I bad show the place, ‭ When down he fell, did both my knees embrace, ‭ And pray’d with tears thus: ‘O thou kept of God, ‭ Do not thyself lose, nor to that abode ‭ Lead others rashly; both thyself, and all ‭ Thou ventur’st thither, I know well, must fall ‭ In one sure ruin. With these few then fly; ‭ We yet may shun the others’ destiny.’ ‭ I answer’d him: ‘Eurylochus! Stay thou, ‭ And keep the ship then, eat and drink; I now ‭ Will undertake th’ adventure; there is cause ‭ In great Necessity’s unalter’d laws.’ ‭ This said, I left both ship and seas, and on ‭ Along the sacred valleys all alone ‭ Went in discov’ry, till at last I came ‭ Where of the main-med’cine-making Dame ‭ I saw the great house; where encounter’d me ‭ The golden-rod-sustaining Mercury, ‭ Ev’n ent’ring Circe’s doors. He met me in ‭ A young man’s likeness, of the first-flow’r’d chin, ‭ Whose form hath all the grace of one so young. ‭ He first call’d to me, then my hand he wrung, ‭ And said: ‘Thou no-place-finding-for-repose, ‭ Whither, alone, by these hill-confines, goes ‭ Thy erring foot? Th’ art ent’ring Circe’s house, ‭ Where, by her med’cines, black, and sorcerous, ‭ Thy soldiers all are shut in well-arm’d styes, ‭ And turn’d to swine. Art thou arriv’d with prize ‭ Fit for their ransoms? Thou com’st out no more, ‭ If once thou ent’rest, like thy men before ‭ Made to remain here. But I’ll guard thee free, ‭ And save thee in her spite. Receive of me ‭ This fair and good receipt; with which once arm’d, ‭ Enter her roofs, for th’ art to all proof charm’d ‭ Against the ill day. I will tell thee all ‭ Her baneful counsel: With a festival ‭ She’ll first receive thee, but will spice thy bread ‭ With flow’ry poisons; yet unalteréd ‭ Shall thy firm form be, for this remedy ‭ Stands most approv’d ’gainst all her sorcery, ‭ Which thus particularly shun: When she ‭ Shall with her long rod strike thee, instantly ‭ Draw from thy thigh thy sword, and fly on her ‭ As to her slaughter. She, surpris’d with fear ‭ And love, at first, will bid thee to her bed. ‭ Nor say the Goddess nay, that welcoméd ‭ Thou may’st with all respect be, and procure ‭ Thy fellows’ freedoms. But before, make sure ‭ Her favours to thee; and the great oath take ‭ With which the blesséd Gods assurance make ‭ Of all they promise; that no prejudice ‭ (By stripping thee of form, and faculties) ‭ She may so much as once attempt on thee.’ ‭ This said, he gave his antidote to me, ‭ Which from the earth he pluck’d, and told me all ‭ The virtue of it, with what Deities call ‭ The name it bears; and Moly [11] they impose ‭ For name to it. The root is hard to loose ‭ From hold of earth by mortals; but God’s pow’r ‭ Can all things do. ’Tis black, but bears a flow’r ‭ As white as milk. And thus flew Mercury ‭ Up to immense Olympus, gliding by ‭ The sylvan island. I made back my way ‭ To Circe’s house, my mind of my assay ‭ Much thought revolving. At her gates I stay’d ‭ And call’d; she heard, and her bright doors display’d, ‭ Invited, led; I follow’d in, but trac’d ‭ With some distraction. In a throne she plac’d ‭ My welcome person; of a curious frame ‭ ’Twas, and so bright I sat as in a flame; ‭ A foot-stool added. In a golden bowl ‭ She then suborn’d a potion, in her soul ‭ Deform’d things thinking; for amidst the wine ‭ She mix’d her man-transforming medicine; ‭ Which when she saw I had devour’d, she then ‭ No more observ’d me with her soothing vein, ‭ But struck me with her rod, and to her stye ‭ Bad, out, away, and with thy fellows lie. ‭ I drew my sword, and charg’d her, as I meant ‭ To take her life. When out she cried, and bent ‭ Beneath my sword her knees, embracing mine, ‭ And, full of tears, said: ‘Who? Of what high line ‭ Art thou the issue? Whence? What shores sustain ‭ Thy native city? I amaz’d remain ‭ That, drinking these my venoms, th’ art not turn’d. ‭ Never drunk any this cup but be mourn’d ‭ In other likeness, if it once had pass’d ‭ The ivory bounders of his tongue and taste. ‭ All but thyself are brutishly declin’d. ‭ Thy breast holds firm yet, and unchang’d thy mind. ‭ Thou canst be therefore none else but the man ‭ Of many virtues, Ithacensian, ‭ Deep-soul’d, Ulysses, who; I oft was told, ‭ By that sly God that bears the rod of gold, ‭ Was to arrive here in retreat from Troy. ‭ Sheathe then thy sword, and let my bed enjoy ‭ So much a man, that when the bed we prove, ‭ We may believe in one another’s love.’ ‭ I then: ‘O Circe, why entreat’st thou me ‭ To mix in any human league with thee, ‭ When thou my friends hast beasts turn’d; and thy bed ‭ Tender’st to me, that I might likewise lead ‭ A beast’s life with thee, soften’d, naked stripp’d, ‭ That in my blood thy banes may more be steep’d? ‭ I never will ascend thy bed, before, ‭ I may affirm, that in heav’n’s sight you swore ‭ The great oath of the Gods, that all attempt ‭ To do me ill is from your thoughts exempt.’ ‭ I said, she swore, when, all the oath-rites said, ‭ I then ascended her adornéd bed, ‭ But thus prepar’d: Four handmaids served her there, ‭ That daughters to her silver fountains were, ‭ To her bright-sea-observing sacred floods, ‭ And to her uncut consecrated woods. ‭ One deck’d the throne-tops with rich cloths of state, ‭ And did with silks the foot-pace consecrate. ‭ Another silver tables set before ‭ The pompous throne, and golden dishes’ store ‭ Serv’d in with sev’ral feast. A third fill’d wine. ‭ The fourth brought water, and made fuel shine ‭ In ruddy fires beneath a womb of brass. ‭ Which heat, I bath’d; and od’rous water was ‭ Disperpled lightly on my head and neck, ‭ That might my late heart-hurting sorrows check ‭ With the refreshing sweetness; and, for that, ‭ Men sometimes may be something delicate. ‭ Bath’d, and adorn’d, she led me to a throne ‭ Of massy silver, and of fashión ‭ Exceeding curious. A fair foot-stool set, ‭ Water appos’d, and ev’ry sort of meat ‭ Set on th’ elaborately-polish’d board, ‭ She wish’d my taste employ’d; but not a word ‭ Would my ears taste of taste; my mind had food ‭ That must digest; eye-meat would do me good. ‭ Circe (observing that I put no hand ‭ To any banquet, having countermand ‭ From weightier cares the light cates could excuse) ‭ Bowing her near me, these wing’d words did use; ‭ ‘Why sits Ulysses like one dumb, his mind ‭ Less’ning with languors? Nor to food inclin’d, ‭ Nor wine? Whence comes it? Out of any fear ‭ Of more illusion? You must needs forbear ‭ That wrongful doubt, since you have heard me swear.’ ‭ ‘O Circe!’ I replied, ‘what man is he, ‭ Aw’d with the rights of true humanity, ‭ That dares taste food or wine, before he sees ‭ His friends redeem’d from their deformities? ‭ If you be gentle, and indeed incline ‭ To let me taste the comfort of your wine, ‭ Dissolve the charms that their forc’d forms enchain, ‭ And show me here my honour’d friends like men.’ ‭ This said, she left her throne, and took her rod, ‭ Went to her stye, and let my men abroad, ‭ Like swine of nine years old. They opposite stood, ‭ Observ’d their brutish form, and look’d for food; ‭ When, with another med’cine, ev’ry one ‭ All over smear’d, their bristles all were gone, ‭ Produc’d by malice of the other bane, ‭ And ev’ry one, afresh, look’d up a man, ‭ Both younger than they were, of stature more, ‭ And all their forms much goodlier than before. ‭ All knew me, cling’d about me, and a cry ‭ Of pleasing mourning flew about so high ‭ The horrid roof resounded; and the queen ‭ Herself was mov’d to see our kind so keen, ‭ Who bad me now bring ship and men ashore, ‭ Our arms, and goods in caves hid, and restore ‭ Myself to her, with all my other men. ‭ I granted, went, and op’d the weeping vein ‭ In all my men; whose violent joy to see ‭ My safe return was passing kindly free ‭ Of friendly tears, and miserably wept. ‭ You have not seen young heifers (highly kept, ‭ Fill’d full of daisies at the field, and driv’n ‭ Home to their hovels, all so spritely giv’n ‭ That no room can contain them, but about ‭ Bace by the dams, and let their spirits out ‭ In ceaseless bleating) of more jocund plight ‭ Than my kind friends, ev’n crying out with sight ‭ Of my return so doubted; circled me ‭ With all their welcomes, and as cheerfully ‭ Dispos’d their rapt minds, as if there they saw ‭ Their natural country, cliffy Ithaca, ‭ And ev’n the roofs where they were bred and born, ‭ And vow’d as much, with tears; ‘O your return ‭ As much delights us as in you had come ‭ Our country to us, and our natural home. ‭ But what unhappy fate hath reft our friends?’ ‭ I gave unlook’d-for answer, that amends ‭ Made for their mourning, bad them first of all ‭ Our ship ashore draw, then in caverns stall ‭ Our foody cattle, hide our mutual prize, ‭ ῾And then,᾿ said I, ῾attend me, that your eyes, ‭ In Circe’s sacred house, may see each friend ‭ Eating and drinking banquets out of end.᾿ ‭ They soon obey’d; all but Eurylochus, ‭ Who needs would stay them all, and counsell’d thus: ‭ ῾O wretches! whither will ye? Why are you ‭ Fond of your mischiefs, and such gladness show ‭ For Circe’s house, that will transform ye all ‭ To swine, or wolves, or lions? Never shall ‭ Our heads get out, if once within we be, ‭ But stay compell’d by strong necessity. ‭ So wrought the Cyclop, when t’ his cave our friends ‭ This bold one led on, and brought all their ends ‭ By his one indiscretion.᾿ I for this ‭ Thought with my sword (that desp’rate head of his ‭ Hewn from his neck) to gash upon the ground ‭ His mangled body, though my blood was bound ‭ In near alliance to him. But the rest ‭ With humble suit contain’d me, and request, ‭ That I would leave him with my ship alone, ‭ And to the sacred palace lead them on. ‭ I led them; nor Eurylochus would stay ‭ From their attendance on me, our late fray ‭ Struck to his heart so. But mean time, my men, ‭ In Circe’s house, were all, in sev’ral bain, ‭ Studiously sweeten’d, smug’d with oil, and deck’d ‭ With in and out weeds, and a feast secret ‭ Serv’d in before them; at which close we found ‭ They all were set, cheer’d, and carousing round, ‭ When mutual sight had, and all thought on, then ‭ Feast was forgotten, and the moan again [12] ‭ About the house flew, driv’n with wings of joy. ‭ But then spake Circe: ‘Now, no more annoy, ‭ I know myself what woes by sea, and shore, ‭ And men unjust have plagued enough before ‭ Your injur’d virtues. Here then feast as long, ‭ And be as cheerful, till ye grow as strong ‭ As when ye first forsook your country-earth. ‭ Ye now fare all like exiles; not a mirth, ‭ Flash’d in amongst ye, but is quench’d again ‭ With still-renew’d tears, though the beaten vein ‭ Of your distresses should, me think, be now ‭ Benumb with suff’rance.’ We did well allow ‭ Her kind persuasions, and the whole year stay’d ‭ In varied feast with her. When, now array’d ‭ The world was with the spring, and orby hours ‭ Had gone the round again through herbs and flow’rs, ‭ The months absolv’d in order, till the days ‭ Had run their full race in Apollo’s rays; ‭ My friends remember’d me of home, and said; ‭ If ever fate would sign my pass, delay’d ‭ It should be now no more. I heard them well, ‭ Yet that day spent in feast, till darkness fell, ‭ And sleep his virtues through our vapours shed. ‭ When I ascended sacred Circe’s bed, ‭ Implor’d my pass, and her performéd vow ‭ Which now my soul urg’d, and my soldiers now ‭ Afflicted me with tears to get them gone. ‭ All these I told her, and she answer’d these: ‭ “Much-skill’d Ulysses Laertiades! ‭ Remain no more against your wills with me, ‭ But take your free way; only this must be ‭ Perform’d before you steer your course for home: ‭ You must the way to Pluto overcome, ‭ And stern Persephoné, to form your pass, ‭ By th’ aged Theban soul Tiresias, ‭ The dark-brow’d prophet, whose soul yet can see ‭ Clearly, and firmly; grave Persephoné, ‭ Ev’n dead, gave him a mind, that he alone ‭ Might sing truth’s solid wisdom, and not one ‭ Prove more than shade in his comparison.᾿ ‭ This broke my heart; I sunk into my bed, ‭ Mourn’d, and would never more be comforted ‭ With light, nor life. But having now exprest ‭ My pains enough to her in my unrest, ‭ That so I might prepare her ruth, and get ‭ All I held fit for an affair so great, ‭ I said: ‘O Circe, who shall steer my course ‭ To Pluto’s kingdom? Never ship had force ‭ To make that voyage.’ The divine-in-voice ‭ Said; ‘Seek no guide, raise you your mast, and hoise ‭ Your ship’s white sails, and then sit yon at peace, ‭ The fresh North Spirit shall waft ye through the Seas. ‭ But, having past the ocean, you shall see ‭ A little shore, that to Persephoné ‭ Puts up a consecrated wood, where grows ‭ Tall firs, and sallows that their fruits soon lose. ‭ Cast anchor in the gulfs, and go alone ‭ To Pluto’s dark house, where, to Acheron Cocytusus runs, and Pyriphlegethon, ‭ Cocytus born of Styx, and where a rock ‭ Of both the met floods bears the roaring shock. ‭ The dark heroë, great Tiresias, ‭ Now coming near, to gain propitious pass, ‭ Dig of a cubit ev’ry way a pit, ‭ And pour to all that are deceas’d in it ‭ A solemn sacrifice. For which, first take ‭ Honey and wine, and their commixtion make; ‭ Then sweet wine neat; and thirdly water pour; ‭ And lastly add to these the whitest flour. ‭ Then vow to all the weak necks of the dead ‭ Off’rings a number; and, when thou shalt tread ‭ The Ithacensian shore, to sacrifice ‭ A heifer never-tam’d, and most of prize, ‭ A pile of all thy most esteeméd goods ‭ Enflaming to the dear streams of their bloods; ‭ And, in secret rites, to Tiresias vow ‭ A ram coal-black at all parts, that doth flow ‭ With fat and fleece, and all thy flocks doth lead. ‭ When the all-calling nation of the dead [13] ‭ Thou thus hast pray’d to, offer on the place ‭ A ram and ewe all black being turn’d in face ‭ To dreadful Erebus, thyself aside ‭ The flood’s shore walking. And then, gratified ‭ With flocks of souls of men and dames deceas’d ‭ Shall all thy pious rites be. Straight address’d ‭ See then the off’ring that thy fellows slew, ‭ Flay’d, and impos’d in fire; and all thy crew ‭ Pray to the state of either Deity, ‭ Grave Pluto, and severe Persephoné. ‭ Then draw thy sword, stand firm, nor suffer one ‭ Of all the faint shades of the dead and gone ‭ T’ approach the blood, till thou hast heard their king, ‭ The wise Tiresias; who thy offering ‭ Will instantly do honour, thy home-ways, ‭ And all the measure of them by the seas, ‭ Amply unfolding.’ This the Goddess told; ‭ And then the Morning in her throne of gold ‭ Survey’d the vast world; by whose orient light ‭ The Nymph adorn’d me with attires as bright, ‭ Her own hands putting on both shirt and weed, ‭ Robes fine, and curious, and upon my head ‭ An ornament that glitter’d like a flame, ‭ Girt me in gold; and forth betimes I came ‭ Amongst my soldiers, rous’d them all from sleep, ‭ And bad them now no more observance keep ‭ Of ease, and feast, but straight a-shipboard fall, ‭ For now the Goddess had inform’d me all. ‭ Their noble spirits agreed; nor yet so clear ‭ Could I bring all off, but Elpenor there ‭ His heedless life left. He was youngest man ‭ Of all my company, and one that wan ‭ Least fame for arms, as little for his brain; ‭ Who (too much steep’d in wine, and so made fain ‭ To get refreshing by the cool of sleep, ‭ Apart his fellows, plung’d in vapours deep, ‭ And they as high in tumult of their way) ‭ Suddenly wak’d and (quite out of the stay ‭ A sober mind had giv’n him) would descend ‭ A huge long ladder, forward, and an end ‭ Fell from the very roof, full pitching on ‭ The dearest joint his head was plac’d upon, ‭ Which, quite dissolv’d, let loose his soul to hell. ‭ I to the rest, and Circe’s means did tell ‭ Of our return, as crossing clean the hope ‭ I gave them first, and said: ‘You think the scope ‭ Of our endeavours now is straight for home; ‭ No; Circe otherwise design’d, whose doom ‭ Enjoin’d us first to greet the dreadful house ‭ Of austere Pluto and his glorious spouse, ‭ To take the counsel of Tiresias, ‭ The rev’rend Theban, to direct our pass.’ ‭ This brake their hearts, and grief made tear their hair. ‭ But grief was never good at great affair; ‭ It would have way yet. We went woful on ‭ To ship and shore, where was arriv’d as soon ‭ Circe unseen, a black ewe and a ram ‭ Binding for sacrifice, and, as she came, ‭ Vanish’d again unwitness’d by our eyes; ‭ Which griev’d not us, nor check’d our sacrifice, ‭ For who would see God, loth to let us see, ‭ This way or that bent; still his ways are free. ‭ FINIS DECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] Πόδα νηὸς—He calls the stern the foot of the ship.

‭[2] This place suffers different construction in all the Commentors: ‭in which all err from the mind of the Poet, as in a hundred other ‭places (which yet I want time to approve) especially about ἐγγὺς ‭γὰρ νυκτός, etc. Prope enim noetis et diei sunt viœ (or similiter, ‭which ἐγγὺς signifies) which they will have to be understood, that ‭the days in that region are long, and the nights short; where Homer ‭intends, that the equinoctial is there; for how else is the course of ‭day and night near or equal? But therefore the night’s-man hath his ‭double hire, being as long about his charge as the other; and the ‭night being more dangerous, etc. And if the day were so long, why ‭should the night’s-man be preferred in wages?

‭[3] For being cast on the stays, as ships are by weather.

‭[4] Antiphas was king there.

‭[5] Μερμαίρω, curiosè cogito.

‭[6] Αἴθοπα καπνόν. Αι͒θοψ signifying rutilus, by reason or the ‭fire mixed with it. Fumus qui fit dut aliquid accenditur.

‭[7] ᾿Ερικύδεα δαι̑τα.

‭[8] The whole end of this counsel was to persuade his soldiers to ‭explore those parts, which he knew would prove a most unpleasing ‭motion to them: for their fellows’ terrible entertainment with ‭Antiphas, and Polyph. and therefore he prepares the little he hath to ‭say with this long circumstance; implying a necessity of that ‭service, and necessary resolution to add the trial of the event to ‭their other adventures.

‭[9] Κεδνὸς, cujus animus curas prudentes versat.

‭[10] Seeing them, he thought of his fellows.

‭[11] The herb Moly, which, with Ulysses’ whole narration, hath in ‭chief an allegorical exposition. Notwithstanding I say with our ‭Spondanus, Credo in hoc vasto mundi ambitu extare res ‭innumeras mirandæ facultatis: adeo, ut ne quidem ista quæ ad ‭transformanda corpora pertinet, jure è mundo eximi possit, etc.

‭[12] Φράσσαντό τε πάντα. Commemorabantque omnia. Intending ‭all their miseries, escapes, and meetings.

‭[13] Κλυτὰ ἕθνεα νεκρω̑ν. Which is expounded Inclyta examina ‭mortuorum: but κλυτὸς is the epithet of Pluto; and by analogy ‭belongs to the dead, quod ad se omnes advocat. ‭ THE ELEVENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysees’ way to Hell appears; ‭ Where he the grave Tiresias hears; ‭ Enquires his own and others’ fates; ‭ His mother sees, and th’ after states ‭ In which were held by sad decease ‭ Heroës, and Heroesses, ‭ A number, that at Troy wag’d war; ‭ As Ajax that was still at jar ‭ With Ithacus, for th’ arms he lost; ‭ And with the great Achilles’ ghost. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Λάνβδα. ‭ Ulysses here ‭ Invokes the dead, ‭ The lives appear ‭ Hereafter led.

‭ “Arriv’d now at our ship, we launch’d, and set ‭ Our mast up, put forth sail, and in did get ‭ Our late-got cattle. Up our sails, we went, ‭ My wayward fellows mourning now th’ event. [1] ‭ A good companion yet, a foreright wind, ‭ Circe (the excellent utt’rer of her mind) ‭ Supplied our murmuring consorts with, that was ‭ Both speed and guide to our adventurous pass. ‭ All day our sails stood to the winds, and made ‭ Our voyage prosp’rous. Sun then set, and shade ‭ All ways obscuring, on the bounds we fell ‭ Of deep Oceanus, where people dwell ‭ Whom a perpetual cloud obscures outright, ‭ To whom the cheerful sun lends never light, ‭ Nor when he mounts the star-sustaining heaven, ‭ Nor when he stoops earth, and sets up the even, ‭ But night holds fix’d wings, feather’d all with banes, ‭ Above those most unblest Cimmerians. ‭ Here drew we up our ship, our sheep withdrew, ‭ And walk’d the shore till we attain’d the view, ‭ Of that sad region Circe had foreshow’d; ‭ And then the sacred off’rings to be vow’d ‭ Eurylochus and Persimedes bore. ‭ When I my sword drew, and earth’s womb did gore ‭ Till I a pit digg’d of a cubit round, ‭ Which with the liquid sacrifice we crown’d, ‭ First honey mix’d with wine, then sweet wine neat, ‭ Then water pour’d in, last the flour of wheat. ‭ Much I importun’d then the weak-neck’d dead, ‭ And vow’d, when I the barren soil should tread ‭ Of clifty Ithaca, amidst my hall ‭ To kill a heifer, my clear best of all, ‭ And give in off’ring, on a pile compos’d ‭ Of all the choice goods my whole house enclos’d. ‭ And to Tiresias himself, alone, ‭ A sheep coal-black, and the selectest one ‭ Of all my flocks. When to the Pow’rs beneath, ‭ The sacred nation that survive with death, ‭ My pray’rs and vows had done devotions fit, ‭ I took the off’rings, and upon the pit ‭ Bereft their lives. Out gush’d the sable blood, ‭ And round about me fled out of the flood ‭ The souls of the deceas’d. There cluster’d then ‭ Youths, and their wives, much-suff’ring aged men, ‭ Soft tender virgins that but new came there ‭ By timeless death, and green their sorrows were. ‭ There men-at-arms, with armours all embrew’d, ‭ Wounded with lances, and with faulchions hew’d, ‭ In numbers, up and down the ditch, did stalk, ‭ And threw unmeasur’d cries about their walk, ‭ So horrid that a bloodless fear surpris’d ‭ My daunted spirits. Straight then I advis’d ‭ My friends to flay the slaughter’d sacrifice, ‭ Put them in fire, and to the Deities, ‭ Stern Pluto and Persephoné, apply ‭ Exciteful pray’rs. Then drew I from my thigh ‭ My well-edg’d sword, stept in, and firmly stood ‭ Betwixt the prease of shadows and the blood, ‭ And would not suffer anyone to dip ‭ Within our off’ring his unsolid lip, ‭ Before Tiresias that did all controul. ‭ The first that press’d in was Elpenor’s soul, ‭ His body in the broad-way’d earth as yet ‭ Unmourn’d, unburied by us, since we swet ‭ With other urgent labours. Yet his smart ‭ I wept to see, and rued it from my heart, ‭ Enquiring how he could before me be ‭ That came by ship? He, mourning, answer’d me: ‭ ‘In Circe’s house, the spite some spirit did bear, ‭ And the unspeakable good liquor there, ‭ Hath been my bane; for, being to descend ‭ A ladder much in height, I did not tend ‭ My way well down, but forwards made a proof ‭ To tread the rounds, and from the very roof ‭ Fell on my neck, and brake it; and this made ‭ My soul thus visit this infernal shade. ‭ And here, by them that next thyself are dear, ‭ Thy wife, and father, that a little one ‭ Gave food to thee, and by thy only son ‭ At home behind thee left, Telemachus, ‭ Do not depart by stealth, and leave me thus, ‭ Unmourn’d, unburied, lest neglected I ‭ Bring on thyself th’ incenséd Deity. ‭ I know that, sail’d from hence, thy ship must touch ‭ On th’ isle Ææa; where vouchsafe thus much, ‭ Good king, that, landed, thou wilt instantly ‭ Bestow on me thy royal memory ‭ To this grace, that my body, arms and all, ‭ May rest consum’d in fiery funeral; ‭ And on the foamy shore a sepulchre ‭ Erect to me, that after-times may hear ‭ Of one so hapless. Let me these implore ‭ And fix upon my sepulchre the oar [2] ‭ With which alive I shook the aged seas, ‭ And had of friends the dear societies.’ ‭ I told the wretched soul I would fulfill ‭ And execute to th’ utmost point his will; ‭ And, all the time we sadly talk’d, I still ‭ My sword above the blood held, when aside ‭ The idol of my friend still amplified ‭ His plaint, as up and down the shades he err’d. ‭ Then my deceaséd mother’s soul appear’d, ‭ Fair daughter of Autolycus the great, ‭ Grave Anticlea, whom, when forth I set ‭ For sacred Ilion, I had left alive. ‭ Her sight much mov’d me, and to tears did drive ‭ My note of her decease; and yet not she ‭ (Though in my ruth she held the high’st degree) ‭ Would I admit to touch the sacred blood, ‭ Till from Tiresias I had understood ‭ What Circe told me. At the length did land ‭ Theban Tiresias’ soul, and in his hand ‭ Sustain’d a golden sceptre, knew me well, ‭ And said: ‘O man unhappy, why to hell ‭ Admitt’st thou dark arrival, and the light ‭ The sun gives leav’st, to have the horrid sight ‭ Of this black region, and the shadows here? ‭ Now sheathe thy sharp sword, and the pit forbear, ‭ That I the blood may taste, and then relate ‭ The truth of those acts that affect thy fate.’ ‭ I sheath’d my sword, and left the pit, till he, ‭ The black blood tasting, thus instructed me: ‭ ‘Renown’d Ulysses! All unask’d I know ‭ That all the cause of thy arrival now ‭ Is to enquire thy wish’d retreat for home; ‭ Which hardly God will let thee overcome, ‭ Since Neptune still will his opposure try, ‭ With all his laid-up anger, for the eye ‭ His lov’d son lost to thee. And yet through all ‭ Thy suff’ring course (which must be capital) ‭ If both thine own affections, and thy friends, ‭ Thou wilt contain, when thy access ascends ‭ The three-fork’d island, having ‘scap’d the seas, ‭ Where ye shall find fed on the flow’ry leas ‭ Fat flocks, and oxen, which the Sun doth own, ‭ To whom are all things as well heard as shown, ‭ And never dare one head of those to slay, ‭ But hold unharmful on your wishéd way, ‭ Though through enough affliction, yet secure ‭ Your Fates shall land ye; but presage says sure, ‭ If once ye spoil them, spoil to all thy friends, ‭ Spoil to thy fleet, and if the justice ends ‭ Short of thyself, it shall be long before, ‭ And that length forc’d out with inflictions store, ‭ When, losing all thy fellows, in a sail ‭ Of foreign built (when most thy Fates prevail ‭ In thy deliv’rance) thus th’ event shall sort: ‭ Thou shalt find shipwrack raging in thy port, ‭ Proud men thy goods consuming, and thy wife ‭ Urging with gifts, give charge upon thy life. ‭ But all these wrongs revenge shall end to thee, ‭ And force, or cunning, set with slaughter free ‭ The house of all thy spoilers. Yet again ‭ Thou shalt a voyage make, and come to men ‭ That know no sea, nor ships, nor oars that are ‭ Wings to a ship, nor mix with any fare [3] ‭ Salt’s savoury vapour. Where thou first shalt land, ‭ This clear-giv’n sign shall let thee understand, ‭ That there those men remain: Assume ashore ‭ Up to thy royal shoulder a ship oar, ‭ With which, when thou shalt meet one on the way ‭ That will in county admiration say ‭ What dost thou with that wan upon thy neck? ‭ There fix that wan thy oar, and that shore deck ‭ With sacred rites to Neptune; slaughter there ‭ A ram, a bull, and (who for strength doth bear ‭ The name of husband to a herd) a boar. ‭ And, coming home, upon thy natural shore, ‭ Give pious hecatombs to all the Gods, ‭ Degrees observ’d. And then the periods ‭ Of all thy labours in the peace shall end ‭ Of easy death; which shall the less extend ‭ His passion to thee, that thy foe, the Sea, ‭ Shall not enforce it, but Death’s victory ‭ Shall chance in only-earnest-pray-vow’d age, [4] ‭ Obtain’d at home, quite emptied of his rage, ‭ Thy subjects round about thee, rich and blest. ‭ And here hath Truth summ’d up thy vital rest.’ ‭ I answer’d him: ‘We will suppose all these ‭ Decreed in Deity; let it likewise please ‭ Tiresias to resolve me, why so near ‭ The blood and me my mother’s soul doth bear, ‭ And yet nor word, nor look, vouchsafe her son? ‭ Doth she not know me?’ ‘No,’ said he, ‘nor none ‭ Of all these spirits, but myself alone, ‭ Knows anything till he shall taste the blood. ‭ But whomsoever you shall do that good, ‭ He will the truth of all you wish unfold; ‭ Who you envy it to will all withhold.’ ‭ Thus said the kingly soul, and made retreat ‭ Amidst the inner parts of Pluto’s seat, ‭ When he had spoke thus by divine instinct. ‭ Still I stood firm, till to the blood’s precinct ‭ My mother came, and drunk; and then she knew ‭ I was her son, had passion to renew ‭ Her natural plaints, which thus she did pursue: ‭ ‘How is it, O my son, that you alive ‭ This deadly-darksome region underdive? ‭ ’Twixt which, and earth, so many mighty seas, ‭ And horrid currents, interpose their prease, ‭ Oceanus in chief? Which none (unless ‭ More help’d than you) on foot now can transgress. ‭ A well-built ship he needs that ventures there. ‭ Com’st thou from Troy but now, enforc’d to err ‭ All this time with thy soldiers? Nor hast seen, ‭ Ere this long day, thy country, and thy queen?’ ‭ I answer’d: ‘That a necessary end ‭ To this infernal state made me contend; ‭ That from the wise Tiresias’ Theban soul ‭ I might an oracle involv’d unroll; ‭ For I came nothing near Achaia yet, ‭ Nor on our lov’d earth happy foot had set, ‭ But, mishaps suff’ring, err’d from coast to coast, ‭ Ever since first the mighty Grecian host ‭ Divine Atrides led to Ilion, ‭ And I his follower, to set war upon ‭ The rapeful Trojans; and so pray’d she would ‭ The fate of that ungentle death unfold, ‭ That forc’d her thither; if some long disease, ‭ Or that the spleen of her-that-arrows-please, ‭ Diana, envious of most eminent dames, ‭ Had made her th’ object of her deadly aims? ‭ My father’s state and sons I sought, if they ‭ Kept still my goods? Or they became the prey ‭ Of any other, holding me no more ‭ In pow’r of safe return? Or if my store ‭ My wife had kept together with her son? ‭ If she her first mind held, or had been won ‭ By some chief Grecian from my love and bed?’ ‭ All this she answer’d: ‘That affliction fed ‭ On her blood still at home, and that to grief ‭ She all the days and darkness of her life ‭ In tears had consecrate. That none possest ‭ My famous kingdom’s throne, but th’ interest ‭ My son had in it still he held in peace, ‭ A court kept like a prince, and his increase ‭ Spent in his subjects’ good, administ’ring laws ‭ With justice, and the general applause ‭ A king should merit, and all call’d him king. ‭ My father kept the upland, labouring, ‭ And shunn’d the city, us’d no sumptuous beds, ‭ Wonder’d-at furnitures, nor wealthy weeds, ‭ But in the winter strew’d about the fire ‭ Lay with his slaves in ashes, his attire ‭ Like to a beggar’s; when the summer came, ‭ And autumn all fruits ripen’d with his flame, ‭ Where grape-charg’d vines made shadows most abound, ‭ His couch with fall’n leaves made upon the ground, ‭ And here lay he, his sorrow’s fruitful state ‭ Increasing as he faded for my fate; ‭ And now the part of age that irksome is ‭ Lay sadly on him. And that life of his ‭ She led, and perish’d in; not slaughter’d by ‭ The Dame that darts lov’d, and her archery; ‭ Nor by disease invaded, vast and foul, ‭ That wastes the body, and sends out the soul ‭ With shame and horror; only in her moan, ‭ For me and my life, she consum’d her own.’ ‭ She thus, when I had great desire to prove ‭ My arms the circle where her soul did move. ‭ Thrice prov’d I, thrice she vanish’d like a sleep, ‭ Or fleeting shadow, which struck much more deep ‭ The wounds my woes made, and made ask her why ‭ She would my love to her embraces fly, ‭ And not vouchsafe that ev’n in hell we might ‭ Pay pious Nature her unalter’d right, ‭ And give Vexation here her cruel fill? ‭ Should not the Queen here, to augment the ill ‭ Of ev’ry suff’rance, which her office is, ‭ Enforce thy idol to afford me this? ‭ ‘O son,’ she answer’d, ‘of the race of men ‭ The most unhappy, our most equal Queen ‭ Will mock no solid arms with empty shade, ‭ Nor suffer empty shades again t’ invade ‭ Flesh, bones, and nerves; nor will defraud the fire ‭ Of his last dues, that, soon as spirits expire ‭ And leave the white bone, are his native right, ‭ When, like a dream, the soul assumes her flight. ‭ The light then of the living with most haste, ‭ O son, contend to. This thy little taste ‭ Of this state is enough; and all this life ‭ Will make a tale fit to be told thy wife.’ ‭ This speech we had; when now repair’d to me ‭ More female spirits, by Persephoné Driviv’n on before her. All th’ heroës’ wives, ‭ And daughters, that led there their second lives, ‭ About the black blood throng’d. Of whom yet more ‭ My mind impell’d me to inquire, before ‭ I let them all together taste the gore, ‭ For then would all have been dispers’d, and gone ‭ Thick as they came. I, therefore, one by one ‭ Let taste the pit, my sword drawn from my thigh, ‭ And stand betwixt them made, when, sev’rally, ‭ All told their stocks. The first, that quench’d her fire, ‭ Was Tyro, issued of a noble sire. ‭ She said she sprung from pure Salmoneus’ bed, ‭ And Cretheus, son of Æolus, did wed; ‭ Yet the divine flood Enipëus lov’d, ‭ Who much the most fair stream of all floods mov’d. ‭ Near whose streams Tyro walking, Neptune came, ‭ Like Enipëus, and enjoy’d the dame. ‭ Like to a hill, the blue and snaky flood ‭ Above th’ immortal and the mortal stood, ‭ And hid them both, as both together lay, ‭ Just where his current falls into the sea. ‭ Her virgin waist dissolv’d, she slumber’d then; ‭ But when the God had done the work of men, ‭ Her fair hand gently wringing, thus he said: ‭ ‘Woman! rejoice in our combinéd bed, ‭ For when the year hath run his circle round ‭ (Because the Gods’ loves must in fruit abound) ‭ My love shall make, to cheer thy teeming moans, ‭ Thy one dear burden bear two famous sons; ‭ Love well, and bring them up. Go home, and see ‭ That, though of more joy yet I shall be free, ‭ Thou dost not tell, to glorify thy birth; ‭ Thy love is Neptune, shaker of the earth.’ ‭ This said, he plung’d into the sea; and she, ‭ Begot with child by him, the light let see ‭ Great Pelias, and Neleus, that became ‭ In Jove’s great ministry of mighty fame. ‭ Pelias in broad Iolcus held his throne, ‭ Wealthy in cattle; th’ other royal son ‭ Rul’d sandy Pylos. To these issue more ‭ This queen of women to her husband bore, ‭ Æson, and Pheres, and Amythaon ‭ That for his fight on horseback stoop’d to none. ‭ Next her, I saw admir’d Antiope, ‭ Asopus’ daughter, who (as much as she ‭ Boasted attraction of great Neptune’s love) ‭ Boasted to slumber in the arms of Jove, ‭ And two sons likewise at one burden bore ‭ To that her all-controlling paramour, ‭ Amphion, and fair Zethus; that first laid ‭ Great Thebes’ foundations, and strong walls convey’d ‭ About her turrets, that seven ports enclos’d, ‭ For though the Thebans much in strength repos’d, ‭ Yet had not they the strength to hold their own, ‭ Without the added aids of wood and stone. ‭ Alcmena next I saw, that famous wife ‭ Was to Amphitryo, and honour’d life ‭ Gave to the lion-hearted Hercules, ‭ That was of Jove’s embrace the great increase. ‭ I saw, besides, proud Creon’s daughter there, ‭ Bright Megara, that nuptial yoke did wear ‭ With Jove’s great son, who never field did try ‭ But bore to him the flow’r of victory. ‭ The mother then of Œdipus I saw, ‭ Fair Epicasta, that, beyond all law, ‭ Her own son married, ignorant of kind. ‭ And he, as darkly taken in his mind, ‭ His mother wedded, and his father slew. ‭ Whose blind act Heav’n expos’d at length to view, ‭ And he in all-lov’d Thebes the supreme state ‭ With much moan manag’d, for the heavy fate ‭ The Gods laid on him. She made violent flight ‭ To Pluto’s dark house from the loathéd light, ‭ Beneath a steep beam strangled with a cord, ‭ And left her son, in life, pains as abhorr’d ‭ As all the Furies pour’d on her in hell. ‭ Then saw I Chloris, that did so excell ‭ In answering beauties, that each part had all. ‭ Great Neleus married her, when gifts not small ‭ Had won her favour, term’d by name of dow’r. ‭ She was of all Amphion’s seed the flow’r; ‭ Amphion, call’d Iasides, that then ‭ Rul’d strongly Myniæan Orchomen, ‭ And now his daughter rul’d the Pylian throne, ‭ Because her beauty’s empire overshone. ‭ She brought her wife-awed husband, Neleús, ‭ Nestor much honour’d, Periclymenus, ‭ And Chromius, sons with sov’reign virtues grac’d; ‭ But after brought a daughter that surpass’d, ‭ Rare-beautied Pero, so for form exact ‭ That Nature to a miracle was rack’d ‭ In her perfections, blaz’d with th’ eyes of men; ‭ That made of all the country’s hearts a chain, ‭ And drew them suitors to her. Which her sire ‭ Took vantage of, and, since he did aspire ‭ To nothing more than to the broad-brow’d herd ‭ Of oxen, which the common fame so rear’d, ‭ Own’d by Iphiclus, not a man should be ‭ His Pero’s husband, that from Phylace ‭ Those never-yet-driv’n oxen could not drive. ‭ Yet these a strong hope held him to achieve, ‭ Because a prophet, that had never err’d, ‭ Had said, that only he should be preferr’d ‭ To their possession. But the equal fate ‭ Of God withstood his stealth; inextricate ‭ Imprisoning bands, and sturdy churlish swains ‭ That were the herdsmen, who withheld with chains ‭ The stealth-attempter; which was only he ‭ That durst abet the act with prophecy, ‭ None else would undertake it, and he must; ‭ The king would needs a prophet should be just. ‭ But when some days and months expired were, ‭ And all the hours had brought about the year, ‭ The prophet did so satisfy the king ‭ (Iphiclus, all his cunning questioning) ‭ That he enfranchis’d him; and, all worst done, ‭ Jove’s counsel made th’ all-safe conclusión. ‭ Then saw I Leda, link’d in nuptial chain ‭ With Tyndarus, to whom she did sustain ‭ Sons much renown’d for wisdom; Castor one, ‭ That pass’d for use of horse comparison; ‭ And Pollux, that excell’d in whirlbat fight; ‭ Both these the fruitful earth bore, while the light ‭ Of life inspir’d them; after which, they found ‭ Such grace with Jove, that both liv’d under ground, ‭ By change of days; life still did one sustain, ‭ While th’ other died; the dead then liv’d again, ‭ The living dying; both of one self date ‭ Their lives and deaths made by the Gods and Fate. ‭ Iphimedia after Leda came, ‭ That did derive from Neptune too the name ‭ Of father to two admirable sons. ‭ Life yet made short their admiratións, ‭ Who God-opposéd Otus had to name, ‭ And Ephialtes far in sound of fame. ‭ The prodigal earth so fed them, that they grew ‭ To most huge stature, and had fairest hue ‭ Of all men, but Orion, under heav’n. ‭ At nine years old nine cubits they were driv’n ‭ Abroad in breadth, and sprung nine fathoms high. ‭ They threaten’d to give battle to the sky, ‭ And all th’ Immortals. They were setting on ‭ Ossa upon Olympus, and upon ‭ Steep Ossa leavy Pelius, that ev’n ‭ They might a highway make with lofty heav’n; ‭ And had perhaps perform’d it, had they liv’d ‭ Till they were striplings; but Jove’s son depriv’d ‭ Their limbs of life, before th’ age that begins ‭ The flow’r of youth, and should adorn their chins. ‭ Phædra and Procris, with wise Minos’ flame, ‭ Bright Ariadne, to the off’ring came. ‭ Whom whilome Theseus made his prise from Crete, ‭ That Athens’ sacred soil might kiss her feet, ‭ But never could obtain her virgin flow’r, ‭ Till, in the sea-girt Dia, Dian’s pow’r ‭ Detain’d his homeward haste, where (in her fane, ‭ By Bacchus witness’d) was the fatal wane ‭ Of her prime glory, Mæra, Clymene, ‭ I witness’d there; and loath’d Eriphyle, ‭ That honour’d gold more than she lov’d her spouse. [5] ‭ But, all th’ heroesses in Pluto’s house ‭ That then encounter’d me, exceeds my might ‭ To name or number, and ambrosian night ‭ Would quite be spent, when now the formal hours ‭ Present to sleep our all disposéd pow’rs, ‭ If at my ship, or here. My home-made vow ‭ I leave for fit grace to the Gods and you.” ‭ This said; the silence his discourse had made ‭ With pleasure held still through the house’s shade, ‭ When white-arm’d Areté this speech began: ‭ “Phæacians! How appears to you this man, ‭ So goodly person’d, and so match’d with mind? ‭ My guest he is, but all you stand combin’d ‭ In the renown he doth us. Do not then ‭ With careless haste dismiss him, nor the main ‭ Of his dispatch to one so needy maim, ‭ The Gods’ free bounty gives us all just claim ‭ To goods enow.” This speech, the oldest man ‭ Of any other Phæacensian, ‭ The grave heroë, Echinëus, gave ‭ All approbation, saying: “Friends! ye have ‭ The motion of the wise queen in such words ‭ As have not miss’d the mark, with which accords ‭ My clear opinion. But Alcinous, ‭ In word and work, must be our rule.” He thus; ‭ And then Alcinous said: “This then must stand, ‭ If while I live I rule in the command ‭ Of this well-skill’d-in-navigation state: ‭ Endure then, guest, though most importunate ‭ Be your affects for home. A little stay ‭ If your expectance bear, perhaps it may ‭ Our gifts make more complete. The cares of all ‭ Your due deduction asks; but principal ‭ I am therein the ruler.” He replied: ‭ “Alcinous, the most duly glorified ‭ With rule of all of all men, if you lay ‭ Commandment on me of a whole year’s stay, ‭ So all the while your preparations rise, ‭ As well in gifts as time, [6] ye can devise ‭ No better wish for me; for I shall come ‭ Much fuller-handed, and more honoured, home, ‭ And dearer to my people, in whose loves ‭ The richer evermore the better proves.” ‭ He answer’d: “There is argued in your sight ‭ A worth that works not men for benefit, ‭ Like prollers or impostors; of which crew, ‭ The gentle black earth feeds not up a few, ‭ Here and there wand’rers, blanching tales and lies, ‭ Of neither praise, nor use. You move our eyes ‭ With form, our minds with matter, and our ears ‭ With elegant oration, such as bears ‭ A music in the order’d history ‭ It lays before us. Not Demodocus ‭ With sweeter strains hath us’d to sing to us ‭ All the Greek sorrows, wept out in your own. ‭ But say: Of all your worthy friends, were none ‭ Objected to your eyes that consorts were ‭ To Ilion with you, and serv’d destiny there? ‭ This night is passing long, unmeasur’d, none ‭ Of all my household would to bed yet; on, ‭ Relate these wondrous things. Were I with you, ‭ If you would tell me but your woes, as now, ‭ Till the divine Aurora show’d her head, ‭ I should in no night relish thought of bed.” ‭ “Most eminent king,” said he, “times all must keep, ‭ There’s time to speak much, time as much to sleep. ‭ But would you hear still, I will tell you still, ‭ And utter more, more miserable ill ‭ Of friends than yet, that scap’d the dismal wars, ‭ And perish’d homewards, and in household jars ‭ Wag’d by a wicked woman. The chaste Queen ‭ No sooner made these lady ghosts unseen, ‭ Here and there flitting, but mine eyesight won ‭ The soul of Agamemnon, Atreus’ son, ‭ Sad, and about him all his train of friends, ‭ That in Ægisthus’ house endur’d their ends ‭ With his stern fortune. Having drunk the blood, ‭ He knew me instantly, and forth a flood ‭ Of springing tears gush’d; out he thrust his hands, ‭ With will t’ embrace me, but their old commands ‭ Flow’d not about him, nor their weakest part. ‭ I wept to see, and moan’d him from my heart, ‭ And ask’d: ‘O Agamemnon! King of men! ‭ What sort of cruel death hath render’d slain ‭ Thy royal person? Neptune in thy fleet ‭ Heav’n and his hellish billows making meet, ‭ Rousing the winds? Or have thy men by land ‭ Done thee this ill, for using thy command, ‭ Past their consents, in diminution ‭ Of those full shares their worths by lot had won ‭ Of sheep or oxen? Or of any town, ‭ In covetous strife, to make their rights thine own ‭ In men or women prisoners?’ He replied: ‭ ‘By none of these in any right I died, ‭ But by Ægisthus and my murd’rous wife ‭ (Bid to a banquet at his house) my life ‭ Hath thus been reft me, to my slaughter led ‭ Like to an ox pretended to be fed. ‭ So miserably fell I, and with me ‭ My friends lay massacred, as when you see ‭ At any rich man’s nuptials, shot, or feast, ‭ About his kitchen white-tooth’d swine lie drest. ‭ The slaughters of a world of men thine eyes, ‭ Both private, and in prease of enemies, ‭ Have personally witness’d; but this one ‭ Would all thy parts have broken into moan, ‭ To see how strew’d about our cups and cates, ‭ As tables set with feast, so we with fates, ‭ All gash’d and slain lay, all the floor embrued ‭ With blood and brain. But that which most I rued, ‭ Flew from the heavy voice that Priam’s seed, ‭ Cassandra, breath’d, whom, she that wit doth feed ‭ With baneful crafts, false Clytemnestra, slew, ‭ Close sitting by me; up my hands I threw ‭ From earth to heav’n, and tumbling on my sword ‭ Gave wretched life up; when the most abhorr’d, ‭ By all her sex’s shame, forsook the room, ‭ Nor deign’d, though then so near this heavy home, ‭ To shut my lips, or close my broken eyes. ‭ Nothing so heap’d is with impieties, ‭ As such a woman that would kill her spouse ‭ That married her a maid. When to my house ‭ I brought her, hoping of her love in heart, ‭ To children, maids, and slaves. But she (in th’ art ‭ Of only mischief hearty) not alone ‭ Cast on herself this foul aspersión, ‭ But loving dames, hereafter, to their lords ‭ Will bear, for good deeds, her bad thoughts and words.’ ‭ ‘Alas,’ said I, ‘that Jove should hate the lives ‭ Of Atreus’ seed so highly for their wives! ‭ For Menelaus’ wife a number fell, ‭ For dang’rous absence thine sent thee to hell.’ ‭ ‘For this,’ he answer’d, ‘be not thou more kind ‭ Than wise to thy wife. Never all thy mind ‭ Let words express to her. Of all she knows, ‭ Curbs for the worst still, in thyself repose. ‭ But thou by thy wife’s wiles shalt lose no blood, ‭ Exceeding wise she is, and wise in good. ‭ Icarius’ daughter, chaste Penelope, ‭ We left a young bride, when for battle we ‭ Forsook the nuptial peace, and at her breast ‭ Her first child sucking, who, by this hour, blest, ‭ Sits in the number of surviving men. ‭ And his bliss she hath, that she can contain, ‭ And her bliss thou hast, that she is so wise. ‭ For, by her wisdom, thy returnéd eyes ‭ Shall see thy son, and he shall greet his sire ‭ With fitting welcomes; when in my retire, ‭ My wife denies mine eyes my son’s dear sight, ‭ And, as from me, will take from him the light, ‭ Before she adds one just delight to life, ‭ Or her false wit one truth that fits a wife. ‭ For her sake therefore let my harms advise, ‭ That though thy wife be ne’er so chaste and wise, ‭ Yet come not home to her in open view, [7] ‭ With any ship or any personal show, ‭ But take close shore disguis’d, nor let her know, ‭ For ’tis no world to trust a woman now. ‭ But what says Fame? Doth my son yet survive, ‭ In Orchomen, or Pylos? Or doth live ‭ In Sparta with his uncle? Yet I see ‭ Divine Orestes is not here with me.’ ‭ I answer’d, asking: ‘Why doth Atreus’ son ‭ Enquire of me, who yet arriv’d where none ‭ Could give to these news any certain wings? ‭ And ’tis absurd to tell uncertain things.’ ‭ Such sad speech past us; and as thus we stood, ‭ With kind tears rend’ring unkind fortunes good, ‭ Achilles’ and Patroclus’ soul appear’d, ‭ And his soul, of whom never ill was heard, ‭ The good Antilochus, and the soul of him ‭ That all the Greeks past both for force and limb, ‭ Excepting the unmatch’d Æacides, ‭ Illustrious Ajax. But the first of these ‭ That saw, acknowledg’d, and saluted me, ‭ Was Thetis’ conqu’ring son, who (heavily ‭ His state here taking) said: ‘Unworthy breath! ‭ What act yet mightier imagineth ‭ Thy vent’rous spirit? How dost thou descend ‭ These under-regions, where the dead man’s end ‭ Is to be look’d on, and his foolish shade?’ ‭ I answer’d him: ‘I was induc’d t’ invade ‭ These under-parts, most excellent of Greece, ‭ To visit wise Tiresias, for advice ‭ Of virtue to direct my voyage home ‭ To rugged Ithaca; since I could come ‭ To note in no place, where Achaia stood, ‭ And so liv’d ever, tortur’d with the blood ‭ In man’s vain veins. Thou, therefore, Thetis’ son, ‭ Hast equall’d all, that ever yet have won ‭ The bliss the earth yields, or hereafter shall. ‭ In life thy eminence was ador’d of all, ‭ Ev’n with the Gods; and now, ev’n dead, I see ‭ Thy virtues propagate thy empery ‭ To a renew’d life of command beneath; ‭ So great Achilles triumphs over death.’ ‭ This comfort of him this encounter found; ‭ ‘Urge not my death to me, nor rub that wound, ‭ I rather wish to live in earth a swain, ‭ Or serve a swain for hire, that scarce can gain ‭ Bread to sustain him, than, that life once gone, ‭ Of all the dead sway the imperial throne. ‭ But say, and of my son some comfort yield, ‭ If he goes on in first fights of the field, ‭ Or lurks for safety in the obscure rear? ‭ Or of my father if thy royal ear ‭ Hath been advertis’d, that the Phthian throne ‭ He still commands, as greatest Myrmidon? ‭ Or that the Phthian and Thessalian rage ‭ (Now feet and hands are in the hold of age) ‭ Despise his empire? Under those bright rays, ‭ In which heav’n’s fervour hurls about the days. ‭ Must I no more shine his revenger now, ‭ Such as of old the Ilion overthrow ‭ Witness’d my anger, th’ universal host ‭ Sending before me to this shady coast, ‭ In fight for Grecia. Could I now resort, ‭ (But for some small time) to my father’s court, ‭ In spirit and pow’r as then, those men should find ‭ My hands inaccessible, and of fire my mind, ‭ That durst with all the numbers they are strong ‭ Unseat his honour, and suborn his wrong.’ ‭ This pitch still flew his spirit, though so low, ‭ And this I answer’d thus: ‘I do not know ‭ Of blameless Peleus any least report, ‭ But of your son, in all the utmost sort, ‭ I can inform your care with truth, and thus: ‭ From Scyros princely Neoptolemus ‭ By fleet I convey’d to the Greeks, where he ‭ Was chief, at both parts, when our gravity ‭ Retir’d to council, and our youth to fight. ‭ In council still so fiery was Conceit ‭ In his quick apprehension of a cause, ‭ That first he ever spake, nor pass’d the laws ‭ Of any great stay, in his greatest haste. ‭ None would contend with him, that counsell’d last, ‭ Unless illustrious Nestor, he and I ‭ Would sometimes put a friendly contrary ‭ On his opinion. In our fights, the prease ‭ Of great or common, he would never cease, ‭ But far before fight ever. No man there, ‭ For force, he forcéd. He was slaughterer ‭ Of many a brave man in most dreadful fight. ‭ But one and other whom he reft of light, ‭ In Grecian succour, I can neither name, ‭ Nor give in number. The particular fame ‭ Of one man’s slaughter yet I must not pass; ‭ Eurypylus Telephides he was, ‭ That fell beneath him, and with him the falls ‭ Of such huge men went, that they show’d like whales [8] ‭ Rampir’d about him. Neoptolemus ‭ Set him so sharply, for the sumptuous ‭ Favours of mistresses he saw him wear; ‭ For past all doubt his beauties had no peer ‭ Of all that mine eyes noted, next to one, ‭ And that was Memnon, Tithon’s Sun-like son. ‭ Thus far, for fight in public, may a taste ‭ Give of his eminence. How far surpast ‭ His spirit in private, where he was not seen, ‭ Nor glory could be said to praise his spleen, ‭ This close note I excerpted. When we sat ‭ Hid in Epëus’ horse, no optimate ‭ Of all the Greeks there had the charge to ope ‭ And shut the stratagem but I. [9] My scope ‭ To note then each man’s spirit in a strait ‭ Of so much danger, much the better might ‭ Be hit by me, than others, as, provok’d, ‭ I shifted place still, when, in some I smok’d ‭ Both privy tremblings, and close vent of tears, ‭ In him yet not a soft conceit of theirs ‭ Could all my search see, either his wet eyes ‭ Ply’d still with wipings, or the goodly guise, ‭ His person all ways put forth, in least part, ‭ By any tremblings, show’d his touch’d-at heart. ‭ But ever he was urging me to make ‭ Way to their sally, by his sign to shake ‭ His sword hid in his scabbard, or his lance ‭ Loaded with iron, at me. No good chance ‭ His thoughts to Troy intended. In th’ event, ‭ High Troy depopulate, he made ascent ‭ To his fair ship, with prise and treasure store, ‭ Safe, and no touch away with him he bore ‭ Of far-off-hurl’d lance, or of close-fought sword, ‭ Whose wounds for favours war doth oft afford, ‭ Which he (though sought) miss’d in war’s closest wage. ‭ In close fights Mars doth never fight, but rage.’ ‭ This made the soul of swift Achilles tread ‭ A march of glory through the herby mead, ‭ For joy to hear me so renown his son; ‭ And vanish’d stalking. But with passión ‭ Stood th’ other souls struck, and each told his bane. ‭ Only the spirit Telamonian [10] ‭ Kept far off, angry for the victory ‭ I won from him at fleet; though arbitry ‭ Of all a court of war pronounc’d it mine, ‭ And Pallas’ self. Our prise were th’ arms divine ‭ Of great Æacides, proposd t’ our fames ‭ By his bright Mother, at his funeral games. ‭ I wish to heav’n I ought not to have won; ‭ Since for those arms so high a head so soon ‭ The base earth cover’d, Ajax, that of all ‭ The host of Greece had person capital, ‭ And acts as eminent, excepting his ‭ Whose arms those were, in whom was nought amiss. ‭ I tried the great soul with soft words, and said: ‭ ‘Ajax! Great son of Telamon, array’d ‭ In all our glories! What! not dead resign ‭ Thy wrath for those curst arms? The Pow’rs divine ‭ In them forg’d all our banes, in thine own one, ‭ In thy grave fall our tower was overthrown. ‭ We mourn, for ever maim’d, for thee as much ‭ As for Achilles; nor thy wrong doth touch, ‭ In sentence, any but Saturnius’ doom; ‭ In whose hate was the host of Greece become ‭ A very horror; who express’d it well ‭ In signing thy fate with this timeless hell. ‭ Approach then, king of all the Grecian merit, ‭ Repress thy great mind and thy flamy spirit, ‭ And give the words I give thee worthy ear.’ ‭ All this no word drew from him, but less near ‭ The stern soul kept; to other souls he fled, ‭ And glid along the river of the dead. ‭ Though anger mov’d him, yet he might have spoke, ‭ Since I to him. But my desires were strook ‭ With sight of other souls. And then I saw ‭ Minos, that minister’d to Death a law, ‭ And Jove’s bright son was. He was set, and sway’d ‭ A golden sceptre; and to him did plead ‭ A sort of others, set about his throne, ‭ In Pluto’s wide-door’d house; when straight came on ‭ Mighty Orion, who was hunting there ‭ The herds of those beasts he had slaughter’d here ‭ In desert hills on earth. A club he bore, ‭ Entirely steel, whose virtues never wore. ‭ Tityus I saw, to whom the glorious earth ‭ Open’d her womb, and gave unhappy birth. ‭ Upwards, and flat upon the pavement, lay ‭ His ample limbs, that spread in their display ‭ Nine acres’ compass. On his bosom sat ‭ Two vultures, digging, through his caul of fat, ‭ Into his liver with their crookéd beaks; ‭ And each by turns the concrete entrail breaks ‭ (As smiths their steel beat) set on either side. ‭ Nor doth he ever labour to divide ‭ His liver and their beaks, nor with his hand ‭ Offer them off, but suffers by command ‭ Of th’ angry Thund’rer, off’ring to enforce ‭ His love Latona, in the close recourse ‭ She us’d to Pytho through the dancing land, ‭ Smooth Panopëus, I saw likewise stand, ‭ Up to the chin, amidst a liquid lake, ‭ Tormented Tantalus, yet could not slake ‭ His burning thirst. Oft as his scornful cup ‭ Th’ old man would taste, so oft ’twas swallow’d up, ‭ And all the black earth to his feet descried, ‭ Divine pow’r (plaguing him) the lake still dried. ‭ About his head, on high trees, clust’ring, hung ‭ Pears, apples, granates, olives ever-young, ‭ Delicious figs, and many fruit-trees more ‭ Of other burden; whose alluring store ‭ When th’ old soul striv’d to pluck, the winds from sight, ‭ In gloomy vapours, made them vanish quite. ‭ There saw I Sisyphus in infinite moan, ‭ With both hands heaving up a massy stone, ‭ And on his tip-toes racking all his height, ‭ To wrest up to a mountain-top his freight; ‭ When prest to rest it there, his nerves quite spent, ‭ Down rush’d the deadly quarry, the event ‭ Of all his torture new to raise again; ‭ To which straight set his never-rested pain. ‭ The sweat came gushing out from ev’ry pore ‭ And on his head a standing mist he wore, ‭ Reeking from thence, as if a cloud of dust ‭ Were rais’d about it. Down with these was thrust ‭ The idol of the force of Hercules, ‭ But his firm self did no such fate oppress, ‭ He feasting lives amongst th’ Immortal States, ‭ White-ankled Hebe and himself made mates ‭ In heav’nly nuptials. Hebe, Jove’s dear race, ‭ And Juno’s whom the golden sandals grace. ‭ About him flew the clamours of the dead ‭ Like fowls, and still stoop’d cuffing at his head. ‭ He with his bow, like Night, stalk’d up and down, ‭ His shaft still nock’d, and hurling round his frown ‭ At those vex’d hov’rers, aiming at them still, ‭ And still, as shooting out, desire to still. ‭ A horrid bawdrick wore he thwart his breast, ‭ The thong all-gold, in which were forms imprest, ‭ Where art and miracle drew equal breaths, ‭ In bears, boars, lions, battles, combats, deaths, ‭ Who wrought that work did never such before, ‭ Nor so divinely will do ever more. ‭ Soon as he saw, he knew me, and gave speech: ‭ ‘Son of Laertes, high in wisdom’s reach, ‭ And yet unhappy wretch, for in this heart, ‭ Of all exploits achiev’d by thy desert, ‭ Thy worth but works out some sinister fate, ‭ As I in earth did. I was generate ‭ By Jove himself, and yet past mean opprest ‭ By one my far inferior, whose proud hest ‭ Impos’d abhorréd labours on my hand. ‭ Of all which one was, to descend this strand, ‭ And hale the dog from thence. He could not think ‭ An act that danger could make deeper sink. ‭ And yet this depth I drew, and fetch’d as high, ‭ As this was low, the dog. The Deity ‭ Of sleight and wisdom, as of downright pow’r, ‭ Both stoop’d, and rais’d, and made me conqueror.’ ‭ This said, he made descent again as low ‭ As Pluto’s court; when I stood firm, for show ‭ Of more heroës of the times before, ‭ And might perhaps have seen my wish of more, ‭ (As Theseus and Pirithous, deriv’d ‭ From roots of Deity) but before th’ achiev’d ‭ Rare sight of these, the rank-soul’d multitude ‭ In infinite flocks rose, venting sounds so rude, ‭ That pale Fear took me, lest the Gorgon’s head ‭ Rush’d in amongst them, thrust up, in my dread, ‭ By grim Persephoné. I therefore sent ‭ My men before to ship, and after went. ‭ Where, boarded, set, and launch’d, the ocean wave ‭ Our oars and forewinds speedy passage gave. ‭ FINIS LIBRI UNDECIMI HOM. ODYSS.

‭[1] They mourned the event before they knew it.

‭[2] Misenus apud Virgilium, ingenti mole, etc.

‭[3] Men that never eat salt with their food.

‭[4] Γήπᾳ ὑπὸ λιπαρῳ̑. Which all translate senectute sub molli. ‭The epithet λιπαρῳ̑; not of λιπαρὸς, viz, pinguis, or ‭λιπαρω̑ς, pinguiter, but λιπαρω̑ς signifying flagitanter ‭orando. To which pious age is ever altogether addicted.

‭[5] Amphiaraus was her husband, whom she betrayed to his ruin at ‭Thebes, for gold taken of Adrastus her brother.

‭[6] Venustè et salsè dictum.

‭[7] This advice he followed at his coming home.

‭[8] This place (and a number more) is most miserably mistaken by ‭all translators and commentors.

‭[9] The horse abovesaid.

‭[10] Ajax the son of Telamon. ‭ THE TWELFTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ He shows from Hell his safe retreat ‭ To th’ isle Ææa, Circe’s seat; ‭ And how he ’scap’d the Sirens’ calls, ‭ With th’ erring rocks, and waters’ falls, ‭ That Scylla and Charybdis break; ‭ The Sun’ s stol’ n herds; and his sad wreak ‭ Both of Ulysses’ ship and men, ‭ His own head ’scaping scarce the pain. ‭ ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Μυ̑ ‭ The rocks that err’d, ‭ The Sirens’ call. ‭ The Sun’s stol’n herd. ‭ The soldiers’ fall.

‭ “Our ship now past the straits of th’ ocean flood, ‭ She plow’d the broad sea’s billows, and made good ‭ The isle Ææa, where the palace stands ‭ Of th’ early riser with the rosy hands, ‭ Active Aurora, where she loves to dance, ‭ And where the Sun doth his prime beams advance. ‭ When here arriv’d, we drew her up to land, ‭ And trod ourselves the re-saluted sand, ‭ Found on the shore fit resting for the night, ‭ Slept, and expected the celestial light. ‭ Soon as the white-and-red-mix’d finger’d Dame ‭ Had gilt the mountains with her saffron flame, ‭ I sent my men to Circe’s house before, ‭ To fetch deceas’d Elpenor to the shore. ‭ Straight swell’d the high banks with fell'd heaps of trees, ‭ And, full of tears, we did due exsequies ‭ To our dead friend. Whose corse consum’d with fire, ‭ And honour’d arms, whose sepulchre entire, ‭ And over that a column rais’d, his oar, ‭ Curiously carv’d, to his desire before, ‭ Upon the top of all his tomb we fix’d. ‭ Of all rites fit his funeral pile was mix’d. ‭ Nor was our safe ascent from Hell conceal’d ‭ From Circe’s knowledge; nor so soon reveal’d ‭ But she was with us, with her bread and food, ‭ And ruddy wine, brought by her sacred brood ‭ Of woods and fountains. In the midst she stood, ‭ And thus saluted us; ‘Unhappy men, ‭ That have, inform’d with all your senses, been ‭ In Pluto’s dismal mansion! You shall die ‭ Twice now, where others, that Mortality ‭ In her fair arms holds, shall but once decease. ‭ But eat and drink out all conceit of these, ‭ And this day dedicate to food and wine, ‭ The following night to sleep. When next shall shine ‭ The cheerful morning, you shall prove the seas. ‭ Your way, and ev’ry act ye must address, ‭ My knowledge of their order shall design, ‭ Lest with your own bad counsels ye incline ‭ Events as bad against ye, and sustain, ‭ By sea and shore, the woful ends that reign ‭ In wilful actions.’ Thus did she advise ‭ And, for the time, our fortunes were so wise ‭ To follow wise directions. All that day ‭ We sat and feasted. When his lower way ‭ The Sun had entered, and the Even the high, ‭ My friends slept on their gables; she and I ‭ (Led by her fair hand to place apart, ‭ By her well-sorted) did to sleep convert ‭ Our timid pow’rs; when all things Fate let fall ‭ In our affair she ask’d; I told her all. ‭ To which she answer’d: ‘These things thus took end. ‭ And now to those that I inform attend, ‭ Which you rememb’ring, God himself shall be ‭ The blesséd author of your memory. ‭ First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint ‭ The minds of all men whom they can acquaint ‭ With their attractions. Whosoever shall, ‭ For want of knowledge mov’d, but hear the call ‭ Of any Siren, he will so despise ‭ Both wife and children, for their sorceries, ‭ That never home turns his affection’s stream, ‭ Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them. ‭ The Sirens will so soften with their song ‭ (Shrill, and in sensual appetite so strong) ‭ His loose affections, that he gives them head. ‭ And then observe: They sit amidst a mead, ‭ And round about it runs a hedge or wall ‭ Of dead men’s bones, their wither’d skins and all ‭ Hung all along upon it; and these men ‭ Were such as they had fawn’d into their fen, ‭ And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones. ‭ Sail by them therefore, thy companions ‭ Beforehand causing to stop ev’ry ear ‭ With sweet soft wax, so close that none may hear ‭ A note of all their charmings. Yet may you, ‭ If you affect it, open ear allow ‭ To try their motion; but presume not so ‭ To trust your judgment, when your senses go ‭ So loose about you, but give strait command ‭ To all your men, to bind you foot and hand ‭ Sure to the mast, that you may safe approve ‭ How strong in instigation to their love ‭ Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move, ‭ That, spite of all your reason, your will stands ‭ To be enfranchis’d both of feet and hands, ‭ Charge all your men before to slight your charge, ‭ And rest so far from fearing to enlarge ‭ That much more sure they bind you. When your friends ‭ Have outsail’d these, the danger that transcends ‭ Rests not in any counsel to prevent, ‭ Unless your own mind finds the tract and bent ‭ Of that way that avoids it. I can say ‭ That in your course there lies a twofold way, ‭ The right of which your own, taught, present wit, ‭ And grace divine, must prompt. In gen’ral yet ‭ Let this inform you: Near these Sirens’ shore ‭ Move two steep rocks, at whose feet lie and roar ‭ The black sea’s cruel billows; the bless’d Gods ‭ Call them the Rovers. Their abhorr’d abodes ‭ No bird can pass; no not the doves, whose fear [1] ‭ Sire Jove so loves that they are said to bear ‭ Ambrosia to him, can their ravine ’scape, ‭ But one of them falls ever to the rape ‭ Of those sly rocks; yet Jove another still ‭ Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill ‭ The sacred number. Never ship could shun ‭ The nimble peril wing’d there, but did run ‭ With all her bulk, and bodies of her men, ‭ To utter ruin. For the seas retain ‭ Not only their outrageous æsture there, ‭ But fierce assistants of particular fear, ‭ And supernatural mischief, they exspire, ‭ And those are whirlwinds of devouring fire ‭ Whisking about still. Th’ Argive ship alone, ‭ Which bore the care of all men, got her gone, [2] ‭ Come from Areta. Yet perhaps ev’n she ‭ Had wrack’d at those rocks, if the Deity, ‭ That lies by Jove’s side, had not lent her hand ‭ To their transmission; since the man, that mann’d ‭ In chief that voyage, she in chief did love. ‭ Of these two spiteful rocks, the one doth shove ‭ Against the height of heav’n her pointed brow. ‭ A black cloud binds it round, and never show ‭ Lends to the sharp point; not the clear blue sky ‭ Lets ever view it, not the summer’s eye, ‭ Nor fervent autumn’s. None that death could end ‭ Could ever scale it, or, if up, descend, ‭ Though twenty hands and feet he had for hold, ‭ A polish’d ice-like glibness doth enfold ‭ The rock so round, whose midst a gloomy cell ‭ Shrouds so far westward that it sees to hell. ‭ From this keep you as far, as from his bow ‭ An able young man can his shaft bestow. ‭ For here the whuling Scylla shrouds her face, [3] ‭ That breathes a voice at all parts no more base ‭ Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries, ‭ Herself a monster yet of boundless size, ‭ Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes, ‭ No nor the eyes of any God, if he ‭ (Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she ‭ Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about ‭ Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out ‭ Of her rank shoulders; ev’ry neck doth let ‭ A ghastly head out; ev’ry head three set, ‭ Thick thrust together, of abhorréd teeth, ‭ And ev’ry tooth stuck with a sable death. ‭ She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks ‭ From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks; ‭ Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls; ‭ And up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales ‭ If got within her when her rapine feeds; ‭ For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds ‭ About her whirlpool an unmeasur’d store. ‭ No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore ‭ That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed ‭ Of him and his; a man for ev’ry head ‭ Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry ‭ The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh ‭ Your dart may mete the distance. It receives ‭ A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves, ‭ Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits, ‭ Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits ‭ She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again ‭ All up she belches, baneful to sustain. ‭ When she is drinking, dare not near her draught, ‭ For not the force of Neptune, if once caught, ‭ Can force your freedom. Therefore, in your strife ‭ To ’scape Charybdis, labour all for life ‭ To row near Scylla, for she will but have ‭ For her six heads six men; and better save ‭ The rest, than all make off’rings to the wave.’ ‭ This need she told me of my loss, when I ‭ Desir’d to know, if that Necessity, ‭ When I had ’scap’d Charybdis’ outrages, ‭ My pow’rs might not revenge, though not redress? ‭ She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! art thou yet ‭ Enflam’d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat? ‭ Not to the Gods give up both arms and will? ‭ She deathless is, and that immortal ill ‭ Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued, ‭ That men must suffer till they be renew’d. ‭ Nor lives there any virtue that can fly ‭ The vicious outrage of their cruelty. ‭ Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock, ‭ I fear six more must expiate the shock. ‭ Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly, ‭ And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry ‭ (Great Scylla’s mother, who expos’d to light ‭ The bane of men) and she will do such right ‭ To thy observance, that she down will tread ‭ Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head. ‭ From thenceforth then, for ever past her care, ‭ Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular, ‭ Where many oxen of the Sun are fed, ‭ And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head ‭ In ev’ry herd feed, and their herds are seven; ‭ And of his fat flocks is their number even. ‭ Increase they yield not, for they never die. ‭ There ev’ry shepherdess a Deity. ‭ Fair Phaëthusa, and Lampetié, ‭ The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be, ‭ Who to the daylight’s lofty-going Flame ‭ Had gracious birthright from the heav’nly Dame, ‭ Still young Neæra; who (brought forth and bred) ‭ Far off dismiss’d them, to see duly fed ‭ Their father’s herds and flocks in Sicily. ‭ These herds and flocks if to the Deity ‭ Ye leave, as sacred things, untouch’d, and on ‭ Go with all fit care of your home, alone, ‭ (Though through some suff’rance) you yet safe shall land ‭ In wishéd Ithaca. But if impious hand ‭ You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then ‭ Presage sure ruin to thy ship and men. ‭ If thou escap’st thyself, extending home ‭ Thy long’d-for landing, thou shalt loaded come ‭ With store of losses, most exceeding late, ‭ And not consorted with a savéd mate.’ ‭ This said, the golden-thron’d Aurora rose, ‭ She her way went, and I did mine dispose ‭ Up to my ship, weigh’d anchor, and away. ‭ When rev’rend Circe help’d us to convey ‭ Our vessel safe, by making well inclin’d ‭ A seaman’s true companion, a forewind, ‭ With which she fill’d our sails; when, fitting all ‭ Our arms close by us, I did sadly fall ‭ To grave relation what concern’d in fate ‭ My friends to know, and told them that the state ‭ Of our affairs’ success, which Circe had ‭ Presag’d to me alone, must yet be made ‭ To one nor only two known, but to all; ‭ That, since their lives and deaths were left to fall ‭ In their elections, they might life elect, ‭ And give what would preserve it fit effect. ‭ I first inform’d them, that we were to fly ‭ The heav’nly-singing Sirens’ harmony, ‭ And flow’r-adorned meadow; and that I ‭ Had charge to hear their song, but fetter’d fast ‭ In bands, unfavour’d, to th’ erected mast, ‭ From whence, if I should pray, or use command, ‭ To be enlarg’d, they should with much more band ‭ Contain my strugglings. This I simply told ‭ To each particular, nor would withhold ‭ What most enjoin’d mine own affection’s stay, ‭ That theirs the rather might be taught t’ obey. ‭ In mean time flew our ships, and straight we fetch’d ‭ The Siren’s isle; a spleenless wind so stretch’d ‭ Her wings to waft us, and so urg’d our keel. ‭ But having reach’d this isle, we could not feel ‭ The least gasp of it, it was stricken dead, ‭ And all the sea in prostrate slumber spread, ‭ The Sirens’ devil charm’d all. Up then flew ‭ My friends to work, struck sail, together drew, ‭ And under hatches stow’d them, sat, and plied ‭ The polish’d oars, and did in curls divide ‭ The white-head waters. My part then came on: ‭ A mighty waxen cake I set upon, ‭ Chopp’d it in fragments with my sword, and wrought ‭ With strong hand ev’ry piece, till all were soft. ‭ The great pow’r of the sun, in such a beam ‭ As then flew burning from his diadem, ‭ To liquefaction help’d us. Orderly ‭ I stopp’d their ears; and they as fair did ply ‭ My feet and hands with cords, and to the mast ‭ With other halsers made me soundly fast. ‭ Then took they seat, and forth our passage strook, ‭ The foamy sea beneath their labour shook. ‭ Row’d on, in reach of an erected voice, ‭ The Sirens soon took note, without our noise, ‭ Tun’d those sweet accents that made charms so strong, ‭ And these learn’d numbers made the Sirens’ song: ‭ ‘Come here, thou worthy of a world of praise, ‭ That dost so high the Grecian glory raise, ‭ Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song hear ‭ That none pass’d ever but it bent his ear, ‭ But left him ravish’d, and instructed more ‭ By us, than any ever heard before. ‭ For we know all things whatsoever were ‭ In wide Troy labour’d; whatsoever there ‭ The Grecians and the Trojans both sustain’d ‭ By those high issues that the Gods ordain’d. ‭ And whatsoever all the earth can show ‭ T’ inform a knowledge of desert, we know.’ ‭ This they gave accent in the sweetest strain ‭ That ever open’d an enamour’d vein. ‭ When my constrain’d heart needs would have mine ear ‭ Yet more delighted, force way forth, and hear. ‭ To which end I commanded with all sign ‭ Stern looks could make (for not a joint of mine ‭ Had pow’r to stir) my friends to rise, and give ‭ My limbs free way. They freely striv’d to drive ‭ Their ship still on. When, far from will to loose, ‭ Eurylochus and Perimedes rose ‭ To wrap me surer, and oppress’d me more ‭ With many a halser than had use before. ‭ When, rowing on without the reach of sound, ‭ My friends unstopp’d their ears, and me unbound, ‭ And that isle quite we quitted. But again ‭ Fresh fears employ’d us. I beheld a main ‭ Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend, ‭ A horrid murmur hearing. Ev’ry friend ‭ Astonish’d sat; from ev’ry hand his Oar ‭ Fell quite forsaken; with the dismal roar ‭ Were all things there made echoes; stone-still stood ‭ Our ship itself, because the ghastly flood ‭ Took all men’s motions from her in their own. ‭ I through the ship went, labouring up and down ‭ My friends’ recover’d spirits. One by one ‭ I gave good words, and said: That well were known ‭ These ills to them before, I told them all, ‭ And that these could not prove more capital ‭ Than those the Cyclops block’d us up in, yet ‭ My virtue, wit, and heav’n-help’d counsels set ‭ Their freedoms open. I could not believe ‭ But they remember’d it, and wish’d them give ‭ My equal care and means now equal trust. ‭ The strength they had for stirring up they must ‭ Rouse and extend, to try if Jove had laid ‭ His pow’rs in theirs up, and would add his aid ‭ To ’scape ev’n that death. In particular then, ‭ I told our pilot, that past other men ‭ He most must bear firm spirits, since he sway’d ‭ The continent that all our spirits convey’d, ‭ In his whole guide of her. He saw there boil ‭ The fiery whirlpools that to all our spoil ‭ Inclos’d a rock, without which he must steer, ‭ Or all our ruins stood concluded there. ‭ All heard me and obey’d, and little knew ‭ That, shunning that rock, six of them should rue ‭ The wrack another hid. For I conceal’d ‭ The heavy wounds, that never would be heal’d, ‭ To be by Scylla open’d; for their fear ‭ Would then have robb’d all of all care to steer, ‭ Or stir an oar, and made them hide beneath, ‭ When they and all had died an idle death. ‭ But then ev’n I forgot to shun the harm ‭ Circe forewarn’d; who will’d I should not arm, ‭ Nor show myself to Scylla, lest in vain ‭ I ventur’d life. Yet could not I contain, ‭ But arm’d at all parts, and two lances took, ‭ Up to the foredeck went, and thence did look ‭ That rocky Scylla would have first appear’d ‭ And taken my life with the friends I fear’d. ‭ From thence yet no place could afford her sight, ‭ Though through the dark rock mine eye threw her light, ‭ And ransack’d all ways. I then took a strait ‭ That gave myself, and some few more, receit ‭ ’Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw ‭ How horridly Charybdis’ throat did draw ‭ The brackish sea up, which when all aboard ‭ She spit again out, never caldron sod ‭ With so much fervour, fed with all the store ‭ That could enrage it; all the rock did roar ‭ With troubled waters; round about the tops ‭ Of all the steep crags flew the foamy drops. ‭ But when her draught the sea and earth dissunder’d, ‭ The troubled bottoms turn’d up, and she thunder’d, ‭ Far under shore the swart sands naked lay. ‭ Whose whole stern sight the startled blood did fray ‭ From all our faces. And while we on her ‭ Our eyes bestow’d thus to our ruin’s fear, ‭ Six friends had Scylla snatch’d out of our keel, ‭ In whom most loss did force and virtue feel. ‭ When looking to my ship, and lending eye ‭ To see my friends’ estates, their heels turn’d high, ‭ And hands cast up, I might discern, and hear ‭ Their calls to me for help, when now they were ‭ To try me in their last extremities. ‭ And as an angler med’cine for surprise ‭ Of little fish sits pouring from the rocks, ‭ From out the crook’d horn of a fold-bred ox, ‭ And then with his long angle hoists them high ‭ Up to the air, then slightly hurls them by, ‭ When helpless sprawling on the land they lie; ‭ So eas’ly Scylla to her rock had rapt ‭ My woeful friends, and so unhelp’d entrapt ‭ Struggling they lay beneath her violent rape, ‭ Who in their tortures, desp’rate of escape, ‭ Shriek’d as she tore, and up their hands to me ‭ Still threw for sweet life. I did never see, ‭ In all my suff’rance ransacking the seas, ‭ A spectacle so full of miseries. ‭ Thus having fled these rocks (these cruel dames ‭ Scylla, Charybdis) where the King of flames ‭ Hath off’rings burn’d to him, our ship put in ‭ The island that from all the earth doth win ‭ The epithet Faultless, where the broad-of-head ‭ And famous oxen for the Sun are fed, ‭ With many fat flocks of that high-gone God. ‭ Set in my ship, mine ear reach’d where we rode ‭ The bellowing of oxen, and the bleat ‭ Of fleecy sheep, that in my memory’s seat ‭ Put up the forms that late had been imprest ‭ By dread Ææn Circe, and the best ‭ Of souls and prophets, the blind Theban seer, ‭ The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer ‭ Of my return’s whole means; of which this one ‭ In chief he urg’d—that I should always shun ‭ The island of the man-delighting Sun. ‭ When, sad at heart for our late loss, I pray’d ‭ My friends to hear fit counsel (though dismay’d ‭ With all ill fortunes) which was giv’n to me ‭ By Circe’s and Tiresias’ prophecy,— ‭ That I should fly the isle where was ador’d ‭ The Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr’d ‭ Were ambush’d for us there; and therefore will’d ‭ They should put off and leave the isle. This kill’d ‭ Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus ‭ A speech that vex’d me utter’d, answ’ring thus: ‭ ‘Cruel Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound ‭ In strength, the more spent, and no toils confound ‭ Thy able limbs, as all beat out of steel, ‭ Thou ablest us too, as unapt to feel ‭ The teeth of Labour, and the spoil of Sleep, ‭ And therefore still wet waste us in the deep, ‭ Nor let us land to eat, but madly now ‭ In night put forth, and leave firm land to strew ‭ The sea with errors. All the rabid flight ‭ Of winds that ruin ships are bred in night. ‭ Who is it that can keep off cruel Death, ‭ If suddenly should rush out th’ angry breath ‭ Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West, ‭ That cuff ships dead, and do the Gods their best? ‭ Serve black Night still with shore, meat, sleep, and ease, ‭ And offer to the Morning for the seas.’ ‭ This all the rest approv’d, and then knew I ‭ That past all doubt the Devil did apply ‭ His slaught’rous works. Nor would they be withheld; ‭ I was but one, nor yielded but compell’d. ‭ But all that might contain them I assay’d, ‭ A sacred oath on all their pow’rs I laid, ‭ That if with herds or any richest-flocks ‭ We chanc’d t’ encounter, neither sheep nor ox ‭ We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill ‭ That follows folly) scorn advice and kill, ‭ But quiet sit us down and take such food ‭ As the immortal Circe had bestow’d. ‭ They swore all this in all severest sort; ‭ And then we anchor’d in the winding port ‭ Near a fresh river, where the long’d-for shore ‭ They all flew out to, took in victuals store, ‭ And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept ‭ Their loss by Scylla, weeping till they slept. ‭ In night’s third part, when stars began to stoop, ‭ The Cloud-assembler put a tempest up. ‭ A boist’rous spirit he gave it, drave out all ‭ His flocks of clouds, and let such darkness fall ‭ That Earth and Seas, for fear, to hide were driv’n, ‭ For with his clouds he thrust out Night from heav’n. ‭ At morn we drew our ships into a cave, ‭ In which the Nymphs that Phœbus’ cattle drave ‭ Fair dancing-rooms had, and their seats of state. ‭ I urg’d my friends then, that, to shun their fate, ‭ They would observe their oath, and take the food ‭ Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood ‭ Of those fair herds and flocks, because they were ‭ The dreadful God’s that all could see and hear. ‭ They stood observant, and in that good mind ‭ Had we been gone; but so adverse the wind ‭ Stood to our passage, that we could not go. ‭ For one whole month perpetually did blow ‭ Impetuous Notus, not a breath’s repair ‭ But his and Eurus’ rul’d in all the air. ‭ As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread ‭ Stood out amongst them, so long not a head ‭ Of all those oxen fell in any strife ‭ Amongst those students for the gut and life; ‭ But when their victuals fail’d they fell to prey, ‭ Necessity compell’d them then to stray ‭ In rape of fish and fowl; whatever came ‭ In reach of hand or hook, the belly’s flame ‭ Afflicted to it. I then fell to pray’r, ‭ And (making to a close retreat repair, ‭ Free from both friends and winds) I wash’d my hands, ‭ And all the Gods besought, that held commands ‭ In liberal heav’n, to yield some mean to stay ‭ Their desp’rate hunger, and set up the way ‭ Of our return restrain’d. The Gods, instead ‭ Of giving what I pray’d for—pow’r of deed— ‭ A deedless sleep did on my lids distill, ‭ For mean to work upon my friends their fill. ‭ For whiles I slept, there wak’d no mean to curb ‭ Their headstrong wants; which he that did disturb ‭ My rule in chief at all times, and was chief ‭ To all the rest in counsel to their grief, ‭ Knew well, and of my present absence took ‭ His fit advantage, and their iron strook ‭ At highest heat. For, feeling their desire ‭ In his own entrails, to allay the fire ‭ That Famine blew in them, he thus gave way ‭ To that affection: ‘Hear what I shall say, ‭ Though words will staunch no hunger, ev’ry death ‭ To us poor wretches that draw temporal breath ‭ You know is hateful; but, all know, to die ‭ The death of Famine is a misery ‭ Past all death loathsome. Let us, therefore, take ‭ The chief of this fair herd, and off’rings make ‭ To all the Deathless that in broad heav’n live, ‭ And in particular vow, if we arrive ‭ In natural Ithaca, to straight erect ‭ A temple to the Haughty-in-aspect, ‭ Rich and magnificent, and all within ‭ Deck it with relics many and divine. ‭ If yet he stands incens’d, since we have slain ‭ His high-brow’d herd, and, therefore, will sustain ‭ Desire to wrack our ship, he is but one, ‭ And all the other Gods that we atone ‭ With our divine rites will their suffrage give ‭ To our design’d return, and let us live. ‭ If not, and all take part, I rather crave ‭ To serve with one sole death the yawning wave, ‭ Than in a desert island lie and sterve, ‭ And with one pin’d life many deaths observe.’ ‭ All cried ‘He counsels nobly,’ and all speed ‭ Made to their resolute driving; for the feed ‭ Of those coal-black, fair, broad-brow’d, sun-lov’d beeves ‭ Had place close by our ships. They took the lives ‭ Of sence, most eminent; about their fall ‭ Stood round, and to the States Celestial ‭ Made solemn vows; but other rites their ship ‭ Could not afford them, they did, therefore, strip ‭ The curl’d-head oak of fresh young leaves, to make ‭ Supply of service for their barley-cake. ‭ And on the sacredly-enflam’d, for wine, ‭ Pour’d purest water, all the parts divine ‭ Spitting and roasting; all the rites beside ‭ Orderly using. Then did light divide ‭ My low and upper lids; when, my repair ‭ Made near my ship, I met the delicate air ‭ Their roast exhal’d; out instantly I cried, ‭ And said: ‘O Jove, and all ye Deified, ‭ Ye have oppress’d me with a cruel sleep, ‭ While ye conferr’d on me a loss as deep ‭ As Death descends to. To themselves alone ‭ My rude men left ungovern’d, they have done ‭ A deed so impious, I stand well assur’d, ‭ That you will not forgive though ye procur’d.’ ‭ Then flew Lampetié with the ample robe ‭ Up to her father with the golden globe, ‭ Ambassadress t’ inform him that my men ‭ Had slain his oxen. Heart-incensed then, ‭ He cried: ‘Revenge me, Father, and the rest ‭ Both ever-living and for ever blest! ‭ Ulysses’ impious men have drawn the blood ‭ Of those my oxen that it did me good ‭ To look on, walking all my starry round, ‭ And when I trod earth all with meadows crown’d. ‭ Without your full amends I’ll leave heav’n quite, ‭ Dis and the dead adorning with my light.’ ‭ The Cloud-herd answer’d: ‘Son! Thou shalt be ours, ‭ And light those mortals in that mine of flow’rs! ‭ My red-hot flash shall graze but on their ship, ‭ And eat it, burning, in the boiling deep.’ ‭ This by Calypso I was told, and she ‭ Inform’d it from the verger Mercury. ‭ Come to our ship, I chid and told by name ‭ Each man how impiously he was to blame. ‭ But chiding got no peace, and beeves were slain! ‭ When straight the Gods forewent their following pain ‭ With dire ostents. The hides the flesh had lost ‭ Crept all before them. As the flesh did roast, ‭ It bellow’d like the ox itself alive. ‭ And yet my soldiers did their dead beeves drive ‭ Through all these prodigies in daily feasts. ‭ Six days they banqueted and slew fresh beasts; ‭ And when the sev’nth day Jove reduc’d the wind ‭ That all the month rag’d, and so in did bind ‭ Our ship and us, was turn’d and calm’d, and we ‭ Launch’d, put up masts, sails hoised, and to sea. ‭ The island left so far that land nowhere ‭ But only sea and sky had pow’r t’ appear, ‭ Jove fix’d a cloud above our ship, so black ‭ That all the sea it darken’d. Yet from wrack ‭ She ran a good free time, till from the West Came Zephyryr ruffling forth, and put his breast ‭ Out in a singing tempest, so most vast ‭ It burst the gables that made sure our mast. ‭ Our masts came tumbling down, our cattle down ‭ Rush’d to the pump, and by our pilot’s crown ‭ The main-mast pass’d his fall, pash’d all his skull, ‭ And all this wrack but one flaw made at full. ‭ Off from the stern the sternsman diving fell, ‭ And from his sinews flew his soul to hell. ‭ Together all this time Jove’s thunder chid, ‭ And through and through the ship his lightning glid, ‭ Till it embrac’d her round; her bulk was fill’d ‭ With nasty sulphur, and her men were kill’d, ‭ Tumbled to sea, like sea-mews swum about, ‭ And there the date of their return was out. ‭ I toss’d from side to side still, till all-broke ‭ Her ribs were with the storm, and she did choke ‭ With let-in surges; for the mast torn down ‭ Tore her up piecemeal, and for me to drown ‭ Left little undissolv’d. But to the mast ‭ There was a leather thong left, which I cast ‭ About it and the keel, and so sat tost ‭ With baneful weather, till the West had lost ‭ His stormy tyranny. And then arose ‭ The South, that bred me more abhorréd woes; ‭ For back again his blasts expell’d me quite ‭ On ravenous Charybdis. All that night ‭ I totter’d up and down, till Light and I ‭ At Scylla’s rock encounter’d, and the nigh ‭ Dreadful Charybdis. As I drave on these, ‭ I saw Charybdis supping up the seas, ‭ And had gone up together, if the tree ‭ That bore the wild figs had not rescued me; ‭ To which I leap’d, and left my keel, and high ‭ Chamb’ring upon it did as close imply ‭ My breast about it as a reremouse could; ‭ Yet might my feet on no stub fasten hold ‭ To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low ‭ Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow ‭ The far-spread arms that, though good height I gat, ‭ I could not reach them. To the main bole flat ‭ I, therefore, still must cling; till up again ‭ She belch’d my mast, and after that amain ‭ My keel came tumbling. So at length it chanc’d ‭ To me, as to a judge that long advanc’d ‭ To judge a sort of hot young fellows’ jars, ‭ At length time frees him from their civil wars, ‭ When glad he riseth and to dinner goes; ‭ So time, at length, releas’d with joys my woes, ‭ And from Charybdis’ mouth appear’d my keel. ‭ To which, my hand now loos’d and now my heel, ‭ I altogether with a huge noise dropp’d, ‭ Just in her midst fell, where the mast was propp’d, ‭ And there row’d off with owers of my hands. ‭ God and man’s Father would not from her sands ‭ Let Scylla see me, for I then had died ‭ That bitter death that my poor friends supplied. ‭ Nine days at sea I hover’d; the tenth night ‭ In th’ isle Ogygia, where, about the bright ‭ And right renown’d Calypso, I was cast ‭ By pow’r of Deity; where I lived embrac’d ‭ With love and feasts. But why should I relate ‭ Those kind occurrents? I should iterate ‭ What I in part to your chaste queen and you ‭ So late imparted. And, for me to grow ‭ A talker-over of my tale again, ‭ Were past my free contentment to sustain.” ‭ FINIS DUODECIMI LIBRI HOM. ODYSS.

‭ Opus novem dierum.

‭ Σὺν Θεᾳ.

‭[1] Πέλειαι τρήρωνες. Columbæ timidæ. What these doves were, ‭and the whole mind of this place, the great Macedon asking Chiron Amphipolitess, he answered: They were the Pleiades or seven ‭Stars. One of which (besides his proper imperfection of being ‭ἀμυδρὸς, i.e. adeo exilis, vel subobscurus, ut vix appareat) is ‭utterly obscured or let by these rocks. Why then, or how, Jove still ‭supplied the lost one, that the number might be full, Athenæus falls ‭to it, and helps the other out, interpreting it to be affirmed of their ‭perpetual septenary number, though there appeared but six. But ‭how lame and loathsome these prosers show in their affected ‭expositions of the poetical mind, this and an hundred others, spent ‭in mere presumptuous guess at this inaccessible Poet, I hope will ‭make plain enough to the most envious of any thing done, besides ‭their own set censures and most arrogant over-weenings. In the 23 ‭of the lliads (being ψ) at the games celebrated at Patroclus’ ‭funerals, they tied to the top of a mast πέλειαν τρήρωνα, timidam ‭columbam, to shoot at for a game, so that (by these great men’s ‭abovesaid expositions) they shot at the Pleiades.

‭[2] Νηυ̑ς πα̑σι μέλουσα, etc. Navis omnibus curæ: the ship that ‭held the care of all men, or of all things: which our critics will ‭needs restrain, omnibus heroibus, Poetis omnibus, vel Historicis, ‭when the care of all men’s preservation is affirmed to be the freight ‭of it; as if poets and historians comprehended all things, when I ‭scarce know any that makes them any part of their care. But this ‭likewise is garbage good enough for the monster. Nor will I tempt ‭our spiced consciences with expressing the divine mind it includes. ‭Being afraid to affirm any good of poor poesy, since no man gets ‭any goods by it. And notwithstanding many of our bird-eyed ‭starters at profanation are for nothing so afraid of it; as that lest ‭their galled consciences (scarce believing the most real truth, in ‭approbation of their lives) should be rubbed with the confirmation ‭of it, even in these contemned vanities (as their impieties please to ‭call them) which by much more learned and pious than themselves ‭have ever been called the raptures of divine inspiration, by which, ‭Homo supra humanam naturam erigitur, et in Deum transit.—Plat.

‭[3] Δεινὸν λελακυι̑α, etc. Graviter vociferans; as all most ‭untruly translate it. As they do in the next verse these words ‭σκύλακος νεογιλη̑ς catuli leonis, no lion being here dreamed of, ‭nor any vociferation. Δεινὸν λελακυι̑α signifying indignam, ‭dissimilem, or horribilem vocem edens: but in what kind ‭horribilem? Not for the gravity or greatness of her voice, but for ‭the unworthy or disproportionable small whuling of it; she being in ‭the vast frame of her body, as the very words πέλωρ κακὸν ‭signify, monstrum ingens; whose disproportion and deformity is ‭too poetically (and therein elegantly) ordered for fat and flat ‭prosers to comprehend. Nor could they make the Poet’s words ‭serve their comprehension; and therefore they add of their own, ‭λάσκω, from whence λελακυι̑α is derived, signifying crepo, ‭or stridulê clamo. And σκύλακος νεογιλη̑ς is to be ‭expounded, catuli nuper or recens nati, not leonis. But thus ‭they botch and abuse the incomparable expressor, because they ‭knew not how otherwise to be monstrous enough themselves to ‭help out the monster. Imagining so huge a great body must needs ‭have a voice as huge; and then would not our Homer have likened ‭it to a lion’s whelp’s voice, but to the lion’s own; and all had been ‭much too little to make a voice answerable to her hugeness. And ‭therefore found our inimitable master a new way to express her ‭monstrous disproportion; performing it so, as there can be nihil ‭suprâ. And I would fain learn of my learned detractor, that will ‭needs have me only translate out of the Latin, what Latin ‭translation tells me this? Or what Grecian hath ever found this and ‭a hundred other such? Which may be some poor instance, or ‭proof, of my Grecian faculty, as far as old Homer goes in his two ‭simple Poems, but not a syllable further will my silly spirit ‭presume. ‭ THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses (shipp’d, but in the even, ‭ With all the presents he was given, ‭ And sleeping then) is set next morn ‭ In full scope of his wish’d return, ‭ And treads unknown his country-shore, ‭ Whose search so many winters wore. ‭ The ship (returning, and arriv’d ‭ Against the city) is depriv’d ‭ Of form, and, all her motion gone, ‭ Transform’d by Neptune to a stone. ‭ Ulysses (let to know the strand ‭ Where the Phæacians made him land) ‭ Consults with Pallas, for the life ‭ Of ev’ry wooer of his wife. ‭ His gifts she hides within a cave, ‭ And him into a man more grave, ‭ All hid in wrinkles, crookéd, gray, ‭ Transform’d; who so goes on his way. ‭ ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Νυ̑. ‭ Phæacia ‭ Ulysses leaves; ‭ Whom Ithaca, ‭ Unwares, receives.

‭ He said; and silence all their tongues contain’d, ‭ In admiration, when with pleasure chain’d ‭ Their ears had long been to him. At last brake ‭ Alcinous silence, and in this sort spake ‭ To th’ Ithacensian, Laertes’ son: ‭ “O Ithacus! However over-run ‭ With former suff’rings in your way for home, ‭ Since ’twas, at last, your happy fate to come ‭ To my high-roof’d and brass-foundation’d house, ‭ I hope, such speed and pass auspicious ‭ Our loves shall yield you, that you shall no more ‭ Wander, nor suffer, homewards, as before. ‭ You then, whoever that are ever grac’d ‭ With all choice of authoriz’d pow’r to taste ‭ Such wine with me as warms the sacred rage, ‭ And is an honorary giv’n to age, [1] ‭ With which ye likewise hear divinely sing, ‭ In honour’s praise, the poet of the king, ‭ I move, by way of my command, to this: ‭ That where in an elaborate chest there lies ‭ A present for our guest, attires of price, ‭ And gold engrav’n with infinite device, ‭ I wish that each of us should add beside ‭ A tripod, and a caldron, amplified ‭ With size, and metal of most rate, and great; ‭ For we, in council of taxation met, ‭ Will from our subjects gain their worth again; ‭ Since ’tis unequal one man should sustain ‭ A charge so weighty, being the grace of all, ‭ Which borne by many is a weight but small.” ‭ Thus spake Alcinous, and pleas’d the rest; ‭ When each man clos’d with home and sleep his feast. ‭ But when the colour-giving light arose, ‭ All to the ship did all their speeds dispose, [2] ‭ And wealth, that honest men makes, brought with them. [3] ‭ All which ev’n he that wore the diadem ‭ Stow’d in the ship himself, beneath the seats ‭ The rowers sat in, stooping, lest their lets ‭ In any of their labours he might prove. ‭ Then home he turn’d, and after him did move ‭ The whole assembly to expected feast. ‭ Among whom he a sacrifice addrest, ‭ And slew an ox, to weather-wielding Jove, ‭ Beneath whose empire all things are, and move. ‭ The thighs then roasting, they made glorious cheer ‭ Delighted highly; and amongst them there ‭ The honour’d-of-the-people us’d his voice, ‭ Divine Demodocus. Yet, through this choice ‭ Of cheer and music, had Ulysses still ‭ An eye directed to the Eastern hill, ‭ To see Him rising that illustrates all; ‭ For now into his mind a fire did fall ‭ Of thirst for home. And as in hungry vow ‭ To needful food a man at fixéd plow ‭ (To whom the black ox all day long hath turn’d ‭ The stubborn fallows up, his stomach burn’d ‭ With empty heat and appetite to food, ‭ His knees afflicted with his spirit-spent blood) ‭ At length the long-expected sunset sees, ‭ That he may sit to food, and rest his knees; ‭ So to Ulysses set the friendly light ‭ The sun afforded, with as wish’d a sight. ‭ Who straight bespake that oar-affecting State, ‭ But did in chief his speech appropriate ‭ To him by name, that with their rule was crown’d. ‭ “Alcinous, of all men most renown’d, ‭ Dismiss me with as safe pass as you vow ‭ (Your off’ring past) and may the Gods to you ‭ In all contentment use as full a hand; ‭ For now my landing here and stay shall stand ‭ In all perfection with my heart’s desire, ‭ Both my so safe deduction to aspire, ‭ And loving gifts; which may the Gods to me ‭ As blest in use make as your acts are free, ‭ Ev’n to the finding firm in love, and life, ‭ With all desir’d event, my friends, and wife. ‭ When, as myself shall live delighted there, ‭ May you with your wives rest as happy here, ‭ Your sons and daughters, in particular state, ‭ With ev’ry virtue render’d consummate; ‭ And, in your gen’ral empire, may ill never ‭ Approach your land, but good your good quit ever.” ‭ This all applauded, and all jointly cried: ‭ “Dismiss the stranger! He hath dignified ‭ With fit speech his dismission.” Then the king ‭ Thus charg’d the herald: “Fill for offering ‭ A bowl of wine; which through the whole large house ‭ Dispose to all men, that, propitious ‭ Our father Jove made with our pray’rs, we may ‭ Give home our guest in full and wishéd way.” ‭ This said, Pontonous commix’d a bowl ‭ Of such sweet wine as did delight the soul. ‭ Which making sacred to the blessed Gods, ‭ That hold in broad heav’n their supreme abodes, ‭ God-like Ulysses from his chair arose, ‭ And in the hands of th’ empress did impose ‭ The all-round cup; to whom, fair spoke, he said: ‭ “Rejoice, O queen, and be your joys repaid ‭ By heav’n, for me, till age and death succeed; ‭ Both which inflict their most unwelcome need ‭ On men and dames alike. And, first, for me, ‭ I must from hence, to both: Live you here free, ‭ And ever may all living blessings spring, ‭ Your joy in children, subjects, and your king.” ‭ This said, divine Ulysses took his way; ‭ Before whom the unalterable sway ‭ Of king Alcinous’ virtue did command ‭ A herald’s fit attendance to the strand, ‭ And ship appointed. With him likewise went ‭ Handmaids, by Arete’s injunction sent. ‭ One bore an out and in-weed, fair and sweet, ‭ The other an embroider’d cabinet, ‭ The third had bread to bear, and ruddy wine; ‭ All which, at sea and ship arriv’d, resign ‭ Their freight conferr’d. With fair attendants then, ‭ The sheets and bedding of the man of men, ‭ Within a cabin of the hollow keel, ‭ Spread, and made soft, that sleep might sweetly seel ‭ His restful eyes, he enter’d, and his bed ‭ In silence took. The rowers orderéd ‭ Themselves in sev’ral seats, and then set gone ‭ The ship, the gable from the hollow stone ‭ Dissolv’d and weigh’d-up, all, together, close ‭ Then beat the sea. His lids in sweet repose ‭ Sleep bound so fast, it scarce gave way to breath ‭ Inexcitable, most dear, next of all to death. ‭ And as amids a fair field four brave horse ‭ Before a chariot stung into their course ‭ With fervent lashes of the smarting scourge, ‭ That all their fire blows high, and makes them urge ‭ To utmost speed the measure of their ground; ‭ So bore the ship aloft her fiery bound; ‭ About whom rush’d the billows black and vast, ‭ In which the sea-roars burst. As firm as fast ‭ She ply’d her course yet; nor her wingéd speed ‭ The falcon-gentle could for pace exceed; ‭ So cut she through the waves, and bore a man ‭ Even with the Gods in counsels, that began ‭ And spent his former life in all misease, ‭ Battles of men, and rude waves of the seas, ‭ Yet now securely slept, forgetting all. ‭ And when heav’n’s brightest star, that first doth call ‭ The early morning out, advanc’d her head, ‭ Then near to Ithaca the billow-bred ‭ Phræcian ship approach’d. There is a port, ‭ That th’ aged sea-God Phorcys makes his fort, ‭ Whose earth the Ithacensian people own, ‭ In which two rocks inaccessible are grown ‭ Far forth into the sea, whose each strength binds ‭ The boist’rous waves in from the high-flown winds ‭ On both the out-parts so, that all within ‭ The well-built ships, that once their harbour win ‭ In his calm bosom, without anchor rest, ‭ Safe, and unstirr’d. From forth the haven’s high crest ‭ Branch the well-brawn’d arms of an olive-tree; ‭ Beneath which runs a cave from all sun free, ‭ Cool, and delightsome, sacred to th’ access ‭ Of Nymphs whose surnames are the Naiadés; ‭ In which flew humming bees, in which lay thrown ‭ Stone cups, stone vessels, shittles all of stone, ‭ With which the Nymphs their purple mantles wove, ‭ In whose contexture art and wonder strove; ‭ In which pure springs perpetually ran; ‭ To which two entries were; the one for man, ‭ On which the North breath’d; th’ other for the Gods, ‭ On which the South; and that bore no abodes ‭ For earthy men, but only deathless feet ‭ Had there free way. This port these men thought meet ‭ To land Ulysses, being the first they knew, ‭ Drew then their ship in, but no further drew ‭ Than half her bulk reach’d, by such cunning hand ‭ Her course was manag’d. Then her men took land, ‭ And first brought forth Ulysses, bed, and all ‭ That richly furnish’d it, he still in thrall ‭ Of all-subduing sleep. Upon the sand ‭ They set him softly down; and then the strand ‭ They strew’d with all the goods he had, bestow’d ‭ By the renown’d Phæacians, since he show’d ‭ So much Minerva. At the olive root ‭ They drew them then in heap, most far from foot ‭ Of any traveller, lest, ere his eyes ‭ Resum’d their charge, they might be others’ prise. ‭ These then turn’d home; nor was the sea’s Supreme ‭ Forgetful of his threats, for Polypheme ‭ Bent at divine Ulysses, yet would prove ‭ (Ere their performance) the decree of Jove. ‭ “Father! no more the Gods shall honour me, ‭ Since men despise me, and those men that see ‭ The light in lineage of mine own lov’d race. [4] ‭ I vow’d Ulysses should, before the grace ‭ Of his return, encounter woes enow ‭ To make that purchase dear; yet did not vow ‭ Simply against it, since thy brow had bent ‭ To his reduction, in the fore-consent ‭ Thou hadst vouchsaf’d it; yet, before my mind ‭ Hath full pow’r on him, the Phæacians find ‭ Their own minds’ satisfaction with his pass, ‭ So far from suff’ring what my pleasure was, ‭ That ease and softness now is habited ‭ In his secure breast, and his careless head ‭ Return’d in peace of sleep to Ithaca, ‭ The brass and gold of rich Phæacia ‭ Rocking his temples, garments richly wov’n, ‭ And worlds of prise, more than was ever strov’n ‭ From all the conflicts he sustain’d at Troy, ‭ If safe he should his full share there enjoy.” ‭ The Show’r-dissolver answer’d: “What a speech ‭ Hath pass’d thy palate, O thou great in reach ‭ Of wrackful empire! Far the Gods remain ‭ From scorn of thee, for ’twere a work of pain ‭ To prosecute with ignominies one ‭ That sways our ablest and most ancient throne. ‭ For men, if any so beneath in pow’r ‭ Neglect thy high will, now, or any hour ‭ That moves hereafter, take revenge to thee, ‭ Soothe all thy will, and be thy pleasure free.” ‭ “Why then,” said he, “thou blacker of the fumes ‭ That dim the sun, my licens’d pow’r resumes ‭ Act from thy speech; but I observe so much ‭ And fear thy pleasure, that, I dare not touch ‭ At any inclination of mine own, ‭ Till thy consenting influence be known. ‭ But now this curious-built Phæacian ship, ‭ Returning from her convoy, I will strip ‭ Of all her fleeting matter, and to stone ‭ Transform and fix it, just when she hath gone ‭ Her full time home, and jets before their prease ‭ In all her trim, amids the sable seas, ‭ That they may cease to convoy strangers still, ‭ When they shall see so like a mighty hill ‭ Their glory stick before their city’s grace, ‭ And my hands cast a mask before her face.” [5] ‭ “O friend,” said Jove, “it shows to me the best ‭ Of all earth’s objects, that their whole prease, drest ‭ In all their wonder, near their town shall stand, ‭ And stare upon a stone, so near the land, ‭ So like a ship, and dam up all their lights, ‭ As if a mountain interpos’d their sights.” ‭ When Neptune heard this, he for Scheria went, ‭ Whence the Phæacians took their first descent. ‭ Which when he reach’d, and, in her swiftest pride, ‭ The water-treader by the city’s side ‭ Came cutting close, close he came swiftly on, ‭ Took her in violent hand, and to a stone ‭ Turn’d all her sylvan substance; all below ‭ Firm’d her with roots, and left her. This strange show ‭ When the Phæacians saw, they stupid stood, ‭ And ask’d each other, who amids the flood ‭ Could fix their ship so in her full speed home, ‭ And quite transparent make her bulk become? ‭ Thus talk’d they; but were far from knowing how ‭ These things had issue. Which their king did show, ‭ And said: “O friends, the ancient prophecies ‭ My father told to me, to all our eyes ‭ Are now in proof. He said, the time would come, ‭ When Neptune, for our safe conducting home ‭ All sorts of strangers, out of envy fir’d, ‭ Would meet our fairest ship as she retir’d, ‭ And all the goodly shape and speed we boast ‭ Should like a mountain stand before us lost ‭ Amids the moving waters; which we see ‭ Perform’d in full end to our prophecy. ‭ Hear then my counsel, and obey me then: ‭ Renounce henceforth our convoy home of men, ‭ Whoever shall hereafter greet our town; ‭ And to th’ offended Deity’s renown ‭ Twelve chosen oxen let us sacred make, ‭ That he may pity us, and from us take ‭ This shady mountain. They, in fear, obey’d, ‭ Slew all the beeves, and to the Godhead pray’d, ‭ The dukes and princes all ensphering round ‭ The sacred altar; while whose tops were crown’d, ‭ Divine Ulysses, on his country’s breast ‭ Laid bound in sleep, now rose out of his rest, ‭ Nor (being so long remov’d) the region knew. ‭ Besides which absence yet, Minerva threw ‭ A cloud about him, to make strange the more ‭ His safe arrival, lest upon his shore ‭ He should make known his face, and utter all ‭ That might prevent th’ event that was to fall. ‭ Which she prepar’d so well, that not his wife, ‭ Presented to him, should perceive his life, ‭ No citizen, no friend, till righteous fate ‭ Upon the Wooer’s wrongs were consummate. ‭ Through which cloud all things show’d now to the king ‭ Of foreign fashion; the enflow’réd spring ‭ Amongst the trees there, the perpetual waves, ‭ The rocks, that did more high their foreheads raise ‭ To his wrapt eye than naturally they did, ‭ And all the haven, in which a man seem’d hid ‭ From wind and weather, when storms loudest chid. ‭ He therefore, being risen, stood and view’d ‭ His country-earth; which, not perceiv’d, he rued, ‭ And, striking with his hurl’d-down hands his thighs, ‭ He mourn’d, and said: “O me! Again where lies ‭ My desert way? To wrongful men and rude, ‭ And with no laws of human right endued? ‭ Or are they human, and of holy minds? ‭ What fits my deed with these so many kinds ‭ Of goods late giv’n? What with myself will floods ‭ And errors do? I would to God, these goods ‭ Had rested with their owners, and that I ‭ Had fall’n on kings of more regality, ‭ To grace out my return, that lov’d indeed, ‭ And would have giv’n me consorts of fit speed ‭ To my distresses’ ending! But, as now ‭ All knowledge flies me where I may bestow ‭ My labour’d purchase, here they shall not stay, ‭ Lest what I car’d for others make their prey. ‭ O Gods! I see the great Phæacians then ‭ Were not all just and understanding men, ‭ That land me elsewhere than their vaunts pretended, ‭ Assuring me my country should see ended ‭ My miseries told them, yet now eat their vaunts. ‭ O Jove! Great Guardian of poor suppliants, ‭ That others sees, and notes too, shutting in ‭ All in thy plagues that most presume on sin, ‭ Revenge me on them. Let me number now ‭ The goods they gave, to give my mind to know ‭ If they have stol’n none in their close retreat.” ‭ The goodly caldrons then, and tripods, set ‭ In sev’ral ranks from out the heap, he told, ‭ His rich wrought garments too, and all his gold, ‭ And nothing lack’d; and yet this man did mourn ‭ The but suppos’d miss of his home-return, ‭ And creeping to the shore with much complaint; ‭ Minerva (like a shepherd, young, and quaint, [6] ‭ As king sons are, a double mantle cast ‭ Athwart his shoulders, his fair goers grac’d ‭ With fitted shoes, and in his hand a dart) ‭ Appear’d to him, whose sight rejoic’d his heart, ‭ To whom he came, and said: “O friend! Since first ‭ I meet your sight here, be all good the worst ‭ That can join our encounter. Fare you fair, ‭ Nor with adverse mind welcome my repair, ‭ But guard these goods of mine, and succour me. ‭ As to a God I offer pray’rs to thee, ‭ And low access make to thy lovéd knee. ‭ Say truth, that I may know, what country then, ‭ What common people live here, and what men? ‭ Some famous isle is this? Or gives it vent, ‭ Being near the sea, to some rich continent?” ‭ She answer’d: “Stranger, whatsoe’er you are, ‭ Y’are either foolish, or come passing far, ‭ That know not this isle, and make that doubt trouble, ‭ For ’tis not so exceedingly ignoble, ‭ But passing many know it; and so many, ‭ That of all nations there abides not any, ‭ From where the morning rises and the sun, ‭ To where the even and night their courses run, ‭ But know this country. Rocky ’tis, and rough, ‭ And so for use of horse unapt enough, ‭ Yet with sad barrenness not much infested, [7] ‭ Since clouds are here in frequent rains digested, ‭ And flow’ry dews. The compass is not great, ‭ The little yet well-fill’d with wine and wheat. ‭ It feeds a goat and ox well, being still ‭ Water’d with floods, that ever over-fill ‭ With heav’n’s continual show’rs; and wooded so, ‭ It makes a spring of all the kinds that grow. ‭ And therefore, Stranger, the extended name ‭ Of this dominion makes access by fame ‭ From this extreme part of Achaia ‭ As far as Ilion, and ’tis Ithaca.” ‭ This joy’d him much, that so unknown a land ‭ Turn’d to his country. Yet so wise a hand ‭ He carried, ev’n of this joy, flown so high, ‭ That other end he put to his reply ‭ Than straight to show that joy, and lay abroad ‭ His life to strangers. Therefore he bestow’d ‭ A veil on truth; for evermore did wind ‭ About his bosom a most crafty mind, ‭ Which thus his words show’d: “I have far at sea, ‭ In spacious Crete, heard speak of Ithaca, ‭ Of which myself, it seems, now reach the shore, ‭ With these my fortunes; whose whole value more ‭ I left in Crete amongst my children there, ‭ From whence I fly for being the slaughterer ‭ Of royal Idomen’s most-lovéd son, ‭ Swift-foot Orsilochus, that could out-run ‭ Profess’d men for the race. Yet him I slew, ‭ Because he would deprive me of my due ‭ In Trojan prise; for which I suffer’d so ‭ (The rude waves piercing) the redoubled woe ‭ Of mind and body in the wars of men. ‭ Nor did I gratify his father then ‭ With any service, but, as well as he ‭ Sway’d in command of other soldiery, ‭ So, with a friend withdrawn, we waylaid him, ‭ When gloomy night the cope of heav’n did dim, ‭ And no man knew; but, we lodg’d close, he came, ‭ And I put out to him his vital flame. ‭ Whose slaughter having author’d with my sword, ‭ I instant flight made, and straight fell aboard ‭ A ship of the renown’d Phœnician state; ‭ When pray’r, and pay at a sufficient rate, ‭ Obtain’d my pass of men in her command; ‭ Whom I enjoin’d to set me on the land ‭ Of Pylos, or of Elis the divine, ‭ Where the Epeïans in great empire shine. ‭ But force of weather check’d that course to them, ‭ Though (loth to fail me) to their most extreme ‭ They spent their willing pow’rs. But, forc’d from thence, ‭ We err’d, and put in here, with much expence ‭ Of care and labour; and in dead of night, ‭ When no man there serv’d any appetite ‭ So much as with the memory of food, ‭ Though our estates exceeding needy stood. ‭ But, going ashore, we lay; when gentle sleep ‭ My weary pow’rs invaded, and from ship ‭ They fetching these my riches, with just hand ‭ About me laid them, while upon the sand ‭ Sleep bound my senses; and for Sidon they ‭ (Put off from hence) made sail, while here I lay, ‭ Left sad alone.” The Goddess laugh’d, and took ‭ His hand in hers, and with another look ‭ (Assuming then the likeness of a dame, ‭ Lovely and goodly, expert in the frame ‭ Of virtuous housewif’ries) she answer’d thus: ‭ “He should be passing-sly, and covetous ‭ Of stealth, in men’s deceits, that coted thee [8] ‭ In any craft, though any God should be ‭ Ambitious to exceed in subtilty. ‭ Thou still-wit-varying wretch! Insatiate [9] ‭ In over-reaches! Not secure thy state ‭ Without these wiles, though on thy native shore ‭ Thou sett’st safe footing, but upon thy store ‭ Of false words still spend, that ev’n from thy birth ‭ Have been thy best friends? Come, our either worth ‭ Is known to either. Thou of men art far, ‭ For words and counsels, the most singular, ‭ But I above the Gods in both may boast ‭ My still-tried faculties. Yet thou hast lost ‭ The knowledge ev’n of me, the Seed of Jove, ‭ Pallas Athenia, that have still out-strove ‭ In all thy labours their extremes, and stood ‭ Thy sure guard ever, making all thy good ‭ Known to the good Phæacians, and receiv’d. ‭ And now again I greet thee, to see weav’d ‭ Fresh counsels for thee, and will take on me ‭ The close reserving of these goods for thee, ‭ Which the renown’d Phæacian states bestow’d ‭ At thy deduction homewards, only mov’d ‭ With my both spirit and counsel. All which grace ‭ I now will amplify, and tell what case ‭ Thy household stands in, utt’ring all those pains ‭ That of mere need yet still must wrack thy veins. ‭ Do thou then freely bear, nor one word give ‭ To man nor dame to show thou yet dost live, ‭ But silent suffer over all again ‭ Thy sorrows past, and bear the wrongs of men.” ‭ “Goddess,” said he, “unjust men, and unwise, ‭ That author injuries and vanities, ‭ By vanities and wrongs should rather be ‭ Bound to this ill-abearing destiny, ‭ Than just and wise men. What delight hath heav’n, ‭ That lives unhurt itself, to suffer giv’n ‭ Up to all domage those poor few that strive ‭ To imitate it, and like the Deities live? ‭ But where you wonder that I know you not ‭ Through all your changes, that skill is not got ‭ By sleight or art, since thy most hard-hit face ‭ Is still distinguish’d by thy free-giv’n grace; ‭ And therefore, truly to acknowledge thee ‭ In thy encounters, is a mastery ‭ In men most-knowing; for to all men thou ‭ Tak’st sev’ral likeness. All men think they know ‭ Thee in their wits; but, since thy seeming view ‭ Appears to all, and yet thy truth to few, ‭ Through all thy changes to discern thee right ‭ Asks chief love to thee, and inspiréd light. ‭ But this I surely know, that, some years past, ‭ I have been often with thy presence grac’d, ‭ All time the sons of Greece wag’d war at Troy; ‭ But when Fate’s full hour let our swords enjoy ‭ Our vows in sack of Priam’s lofty town, ‭ Our ships all boarded, and when God had blown ‭ Our fleet in sunder, I could never see ‭ The Seed of Jove, nor once distinguish thee ‭ Boarding my ship, to take one woe from me. ‭ But only in my proper spirit involv’d, ‭ Err’d here and there, quite slain, till heav’n dissolv’d ‭ Me, and my ill; which chanc’d not, till thy grace ‭ By open speech confirm’d me, in a place ‭ Fruitful of people, where, in person, thou ‭ Didst give me guide, and all their city show; ‭ And that was the renown’d Phæacian earth. ‭ Now then, ev’n by the Author of thy birth, ‭ Vouchsafe my doubt the truth (for far it flies ‭ My thoughts that thus should fall into mine eyes ‭ Conspicuous Ithaca, but fear I touch ‭ At some far shore, and that thy wit is such ‭ Thou dost delude me) is it sure the same ‭ Most honour’d earth that bears my country’s name?” ‭ “I see,” said she, “thou wilt be ever thus ‭ In ev’ry worldly good incredulous, ‭ And therefore have no more the pow’r to see ‭ Frail life more plagued with infelicity ‭ In one so eloquent, ingenious, wise. ‭ Another man, that so long miseries ‭ Had kept from his lov’d home, and thus return’d ‭ To see his house, wife, children, would have burn’d ‭ In headlong lust to visit. Yet t’ inquire ‭ What states they hold, affects not thy desire, ‭ Till thou hast tried if in thy wife there be ‭ A sorrow wasting days and nights for thee ‭ In loving tears, that then the sight may prove ‭ A full reward for either’s mutual love. ‭ But I would never credit in you both ‭ Least cause of sorrow, but well knew the troth ‭ Of this thine own return, though all thy friends, ‭ I knew as well, should make returnless ends; ‭ Yet would not cross mine uncle Neptune so ‭ To stand their safeguard, since so high did go ‭ His wrath for thy extinction of the eye ‭ Of his lov’d son. Come then, I’ll show thee why ‭ I call this isle thy Ithaca, to ground ‭ Thy credit on my words: This haven is own’d ‭ By th’ agéd sea-god Phorcys, in whose brow ‭ This is the olive with the ample bough, ‭ And here, close by, the pleasant-shaded cave ‭ That to the Fount-Nymphs th’ Ithacensians gave, ‭ As sacred to their pleasures. Here doth run ‭ The large and cover’d den, where thou hast done ‭ Hundreds of off’rings to the Naiades, ‭ Here Mount Neritus shakes his curléd tress ‭ Of shady woods.” This said, she clear’d the cloud ‭ That first deceiv’d his eyes; and all things show’d ‭ His country to him. Glad he stood with sight ‭ Of his lov’d soil, and kiss’d it with delight; ‭ And instantly to all the Nymphs he paid ‭ (With hands held up to heav’n) these vows, and said: ‭ “Ye Nymphs the Naiades, great Seed of Jove, ‭ I had conceit that never more should move ‭ Your sight in these spheres of my erring eyes, ‭ And therefore, in the fuller sacrifice ‭ Of my heart’s gratitude, rejoice, till more ‭ I pay your names in off’rings as before; ‭ Which here I vow, if Jove’s benign descent, ‭ The mighty Pillager, with life convent ‭ My person home, and to my sav’d decease ‭ Of my lov’d son’s sight add the sweet increase.” ‭ “Be confident,” said Pallas, “nor oppress ‭ Thy spirits with care of these performances, ‭ But these thy fortunes let us straight repose ‭ In this divine cave’s bosom, that may close ‭ Reserve their value; and we then may see ‭ How best to order other acts to thee.” ‭ Thus enter’d she the light-excluding cave, ‭ And through it sought some inmost nook to save ‭ The gold, the great brass, and robes richly-wrought, ‭ Giv’n to Ulysses. All which in he brought, ‭ Laid down in heap; and she impos’d a stone ‭ Close to the cavern’s mouth. Then sat they on ‭ The sacred olive’s root, consulting how ‭ To act th’ insulting Wooers’ overthrow; ‭ When Pallas said: “Examine now the means ‭ That best may lay hands on the impudence ‭ Of those proud Wooers, that have now three years ‭ Thy roof’s rule sway’d, and been bold offerers ‭ Of suit and gifts to thy renownéd wife, ‭ Who for thy absence all her desolate life ‭ Dissolves in tears till thy desir’d return; ‭ Yet all her Wooers, while she thus doth mourn, ‭ She holds in hope, and ev’ry one affords ‭ (In fore-sent message) promise; but her words ‭ Bear other utt’rance than her heart approves.” ‭ “O Gods,” said Ithacus, “it now behoves ‭ My fate to end me in the ill decease ‭ That Agamemnon underwent, unless ‭ You tell me, and in time; their close intents. ‭ Advise then means to the reveng’d events ‭ We both resolve on. Be thyself so kind ‭ To stand close to me, and but such a mind ‭ Breathe in my bosom, as when th’ Ilion tow’rs ‭ We tore in cinders. O if equal pow’rs ‭ Thou wouldst enflame amidst my nerves as then, ‭ I could encounter with three hundred men, ‭ Thy only self, great Goddess, had to friend, ‭ In those brave ardors thou wert wont t’ extend!” ‭ “I will be strongly with thee,” answer’d she, ‭ “Nor must thou fail, but do thy part with me. ‭ When both whose pow’rs combine, I hope the bloods ‭ And brains of some of these that waste thy goods ‭ Shall strew thy goodly pavements. Join we then: ‭ I first will render thee unknown to men, ‭ And on thy solid lineaments make dry ‭ Thy now smooth skin; thy bright-brown curls imply ‭ In hoary mattings; thy broad shoulders clothe ‭ In such a cloak as ev’ry eye shall lothe; ‭ Thy bright eyes blear and wrinkle; and so change ‭ Thy form at all parts, that thou shalt be strange ‭ To all the Wooers, thy young son, and wife. ‭ But to thy herdsman first present thy life, ‭ That guards thy swine, and wisheth well to thee, ‭ That loves thy son and wife Penelopé. ‭ Thy search shall find him set aside his herd, ‭ That are with taste-delighting acorns rear’d, ‭ And drink the dark-deep water of the spring, ‭ Bright Arethusa, the most nourishing ‭ Raiser of herds. There stay, and, taking seat ‭ Aside thy herdsman, of the whole state treat ‭ Of home-occurrents, while I make access ‭ To fair-dame-breeding Sparta for regress ‭ Of lov’d Telemachus, who went in quest ‭ Of thy lov’d fame, and liv’d the welcome guest ‭ Of Menelaus.” The much-knower said: ‭ “Why wouldst not thou, in whose grave breast is bred ‭ The art to order all acts, tell in this ‭ His error to him? Let those years of his ‭ Amids the rude seas wander, and sustain ‭ The woes there raging, while unworthy men ‭ Devour his fortunes?” “Let not care extend ‭ Thy heart for him,” said she, “myself did send ‭ His person in thy search; to set his worth, ‭ By good fame blown, to such a distance forth. ‭ Nor suffers he in any least degree ‭ The grief you fear, but all variety ‭ That Plenty can yield in her quiet’st fare, ‭ In Menelaus’ court, doth sit and share. ‭ In whose return from home, the Wooers yet ‭ Lay bloody ambush, and a ship have set ‭ To sea, to intercept his life before ‭ He touch again his birth’s attempted shore. ‭ All which, my thoughts say, they shall never do, ‭ But rather, that the earth shall overgo ‭ Some one at least of these love-making men, ‭ By which thy goods so much impair sustain.” ‭ Thus using certain secret words to him, ‭ She touch’d him with her rod; and ev’ry limb ‭ Was hid all-over with a wither’d skin; ‭ His bright eyes blear’d; his brow-curls white and thin; ‭ And all things did an agéd man present. ‭ Then, for his own weeds, shirt and coat, all-rent, ‭ Tann’d, and all-sootiéd with noisome smoke, ‭ She put him on; and, over all, a cloke ‭ Made of a stag’s huge hide, of which was worn ‭ The hair quite off; a scrip, all-patch’d and torn, ‭ Hung by a cord, oft broke and knit again; ‭ And with a staff did his old limbs sustain. ‭ Thus having both consulted of th’ event, ‭ They parted both; and forth to Sparta went ‭ The gray-eyed Goddess, to see all things done ‭ That appertain’d to wise Ulysses’ son. ‭ THE END OF THE THIRTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Γερούσιος οι͒νος, quod pro honorario senibus datur. And ‭because the word so Englished hath no other to express it, ‭sounding well, and helping our language, it is here used.

‭[2] Intending in chief the senators, with every man’s addition of gift.

‭[3] Εὐήνορα χαλκὸν, bene honestos faciens æs.

‭[4] The Phæacians were descended originally from Neptune.

‭[5] Αμϕικαλύπτω, superinjicio aliquid tanquam tegmen seu ‭operimentum.

‭[6] Minerva like a shepherd (such as kings’ sons used at those times ‭to be) appears to Ulysses.

‭[7] Λυπρὸς, velut tristis, jejunaque naturâ.

‭[8] Επίκλοπος, furandi avidus.

‭[9] Σχέτλιε, ποικλομη̑τα, varia et multiplicia habens consilia. ‭ THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses meets amids the field ‭ His swain Eumæus: who doth yield ‭ Kind guest-rites to him, and relate ‭ Occurrents of his wrong’d estate. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ξι̑. ‭ Ulysses fains ‭ For his true good: ‭ His pious swain’s ‭ Faith understood.

‭ But he the rough way took from forth the port, ‭ Through woods and hill-tops, seeking the resort ‭ Where Pallas said divine Eumæus liv’d; ‭ Who of the fortunes, that were first achiev’d ‭ By God-like Ithacus in household rights, ‭ Had more true care than all his prosylites. [1] ‭ He found him sitting in his cottage door, ‭ Where he had rais’d to ev’ry airy blore ‭ A front of great height, and in such a place ‭ That round ye might behold, of circular grace ‭ A walk so wound about it; which the swain ‭ (In absence of his far-gone sovereign) ‭ Had built himself, without his queen’s supply, ‭ Or old Laertes’, to see safely lie ‭ His houséd herd. The inner part he wrought ‭ Of stones, that thither his own labours brought, ‭ Which with an hedge of thorn he fenc’d about, ‭ And compass’d all the hedge with pales cleft out ‭ Of sable oak, that here and there he fix’d ‭ Frequent and thick. Within his yard he mix’d ‭ Twelve styes to lodge his herd; and ev’ry stye ‭ Had room and use for fifty swine to lie; ‭ But those were females all. The male swine slept ‭ Without doors ever; nor was their herd kept ‭ Fair like the females, since they suffer’d still ‭ Great diminution, he being forc’d to kill ‭ And send the fattest to the dainty feasts ‭ Affected by th’ ungodly wooing guests. ‭ Their number therefore but three hundred were ‭ And sixty. By them mastiffs, as austere ‭ As savage beasts, lay ever, their fierce strain ‭ Bred by the herdsman, a mere prince of men, ‭ Their number four. Himself was then applied ‭ In cutting forth a fair-hued ox’s hide, ‭ To fit his feet with shoes. His servants held ‭ Guard of his swine: three, here and there, at field, ‭ The fourth he sent to city with a sow, ‭ Which must of force be offer’d to the vow ‭ The Wooers made to all satiety, ‭ To serve which still they did those off’rings ply. ‭ The fate-born-dogs-to-bark took sudden view [2] ‭ Of Odyssëus, and upon him flew ‭ With open mouth. He, cunning to appall ‭ A fierce dog’s fury, from his hand let fall ‭ His staff to earth, and sat him careless down. ‭ And yet to him had one foul wrong been shown ‭ Where most his right lay, had not instantly ‭ The herdsman let his hide fall, and his cry ‭ (With frequent stones flung at the dogs) repell’d ‭ This way and that their eager course they held; ‭ When through the entry past, he thus did mourn: ‭ “O father! How soon had you near been torn ‭ By these rude dogs, whose hurt had branded me ‭ With much neglect of you! But Deity ‭ Hath giv’n so many other sighs and cares ‭ To my attendant state, that well unwares ‭ You might be hurt for me, for here I lie ‭ Grieving and mourning for the Majesty ‭ That, God-like, wonted to be ruling here, ‭ Since now I fat his swine for others’ cheer, ‭ Where he, perhaps, errs hungry up and down, ‭ In countries, nations, cities, all unknown; ‭ If any where he lives yet, and doth see ‭ The sun’s sweet beams. But, father, follow me, ‭ That, cheer’d with wine and food, you may disclose ‭ From whence you truly are, and all the woes ‭ Your age is subject to.” This said, he led ‭ Into his cottage, and of osiers spread ‭ A thicken’d hurdle, on whose top he strow’d ‭ A wild-goat’s shaggy skin, and then bestow’d ‭ His own couch on it, that was soft and great. ‭ Ulysses joy’d to see him so entreat ‭ His uncouth presence, saying: “Jove requite, ‭ And all th’ immortal Gods, with that delight ‭ Thou most desir’st, thy kind receipt of me, ‭ friend to human hospitality!” ‭ Eumæus answer’d: “Guest! If one much worse ‭ Arriv’d here than thyself, it were a curse ‭ To my poor means, to let a stranger taste ‭ Contempt for fit food. Poor men, and unplac’d ‭ In free seats of their own, are all from Jove ‭ Commended to our entertaining love. ‭ But poor is th’ entertainment I can give, ‭ Yet free and loving. Of such men as live ‭ The lives of servants, and are still in fear ‭ Where young lords govern, this is all the cheer ‭ They can afford a stranger. There was one ‭ That us’d to manage this now desert throne, ‭ To whom the Gods deny return, that show’d ‭ His curious favour to me, and bestow’d ‭ Possessions on me, a most-wishéd wife, ‭ A house, and portion, and a servant’s life, ‭ Fit for the gift a gracious king should give; ‭ Who still took pains himself, and God made thrive ‭ His personal endeavour, and to me ‭ His work the more increas’d, in which you see ‭ I now am conversant. And therefore much ‭ His hand had help’d me, had Heav’n’s will been such, ‭ He might have here grown old. But he is gone, ‭ And would to God the whole successión ‭ Of Helen might go with him, since for her ‭ So many men died, whose fate did confer ‭ My liege to Troy, in Agamemnon’s grace, ‭ To spoil her people, and her turrets race!” ‭ This said, his coat to him he straight did gird, ‭ And to his styes went that contain’d his herd; ‭ From whence he took out two, slew both, and cut ‭ Both fairly up; a fire enflam’d, and put ‭ To spit the joints; which roasted well, he set ‭ With spit and all to him, that he might eat ‭ From thence his food in all the singeing heat, ‭ Yet dredg’d it first with flour; then fill’d his cup ‭ With good sweet wine; sat then, and cheer’d him up ‭ “Eat now, my guest, such lean swine as are meat ‭ For us poor swains; the fat the Wooers eat, ‭ In whose minds no shame, no remorse, doth move, ‭ Though well they know the bless’d Gods do not love ‭ Ungodly actions, but respect the right, ‭ And in the works of pious men delight. ‭ But these are worse than impious, for those ‭ That vow t’ injustice, and profess them foes ‭ To other nations, enter on their land, ‭ And Jupiter (to show his punishing hand ‭ Upon th’ invaded, for their penance then) ‭ Gives favour to their foes, though wicked men, ‭ To make their prey on them; who, having freight ‭ Their ships with spoil enough, weigh anchor straight, ‭ And each man to his house; (and yet ev’n these, ‭ Doth pow’rful fear of God’s just vengeance seize ‭ Ev’n for that prize in which they so rejoice) ‭ But these men, knowing (having heard the voice ‭ Of God by some means) that sad death hath reft ‭ The ruler here, will never suffer left ‭ Their unjust wooing of his wife, nor take ‭ Her often answer, and their own roofs make ‭ Their fit retreats, but (since uncheck’d they may) ‭ They therefore will make still his goods their prey, ‭ Without all spare or end. There is no day, ‭ Nor night, sent out from God, that ever they ‭ Profane with one beast’s blood, or only two, ‭ But more make spoil of; and the wrongs they do ‭ In meat’s excess to wine as well extend, ‭ Which as excessively their riots spend, ‭ Yet still leave store, for sure his means were great, ‭ And no heroë, that hath choicest seat ‭ Upon the fruitful neighbour-continent, ‭ Or in this isle itself, so opulent ‭ Was as Ulysses; no, nor twenty such, ‭ Put altogether, did possess so much. ‭ Whose herds and flocks I’ll tell to ev’ry head: ‭ Upon the continent he daily fed ‭ Twelve herds of oxen, no less flocks of sheep, ‭ As many herds of swine, stalls large and steep, ‭ And equal sorts of goats, which tenants there, ‭ And his own shepherds, kept. Then fed he here ‭ Eleven fair stalls of goats, whose food hath yield ‭ In the extreme part of a neighbour-field. ‭ Each stall his herdsman hath, an honest swain, ‭ Yet ev’ry one must ev’ry day sustain ‭ The load of one beast (the most-fat, and best ‭ Of all the stall-fed) to the Wooers’ feast. ‭ And I, for my part, of the swine I keep ‭ (With four more herdsmen) ev’ry day help steep ‭ The Wooers’ appetites in blood of one, ‭ The most select our choice can fall upon.” ‭ To this Ulysses gave good ear, and fed, ‭ And drunk his wine, and vex’d, and ravishéd ‭ His food for mere vexation. Seeds of ill ‭ His stomach sow’d, to hear his goods go still ‭ To glut of Wooers. But his dinner done, ‭ And stomach fed to satisfactión, ‭ He drunk a full bowl, all of only wine, ‭ And gave it to the guardian of his swine, ‭ Who took it, and rejoic’d; to whom he said: ‭ “O friend, who is it that, so rich, hath paid ‭ Price for thy service, whose commended pow’r, ‭ Thou sayst, to grace the Grecian conquerour, ‭ At Ilion perish’d? Tell me. It may fall ‭ I knew some such. The great God knows, and all ‭ The other deathless Godheads, if I can, ‭ Far having travell’d, tell of such a man.” ‭ Eumæus answer’d: “Father, never one, ‭ Of all the strangers that have touch’d upon ‭ This coast, with his life’s news could ever yet ‭ Of queen, or lov’d son, any credit get. ‭ These travellers, for clothes, or for a meal, ‭ At all adventures, any lie will tell. ‭ Nor do they trade for truth. Not any man ‭ That saw the people Ithacensian, ‭ Of all their sort, and had the queen’s supplies, ‭ Did ever tell her any news, but lies. ‭ She graciously receives them yet, inquires ‭ Of all she can, and all in tears expires. ‭ It is th’ accustom’d law, that women keep, ‭ Their husbands elsewhere dead, at home to weep. ‭ But do thou quickly, father, forge a tale, ‭ Some coat, or cloak, to keep thee warm withal, ‭ Perhaps some one may yield thee; but for him, ‭ Vultures and dogs have torn from ev’ry limb ‭ His porous skin, and forth his soul is fled, ‭ His corse at sea to fishes forfeited, ‭ Or on the shore lies hid in heaps of sand, ‭ And there hath he his ebb, his native strand ‭ With friends’ tears flowing. But to me past all ‭ Were tears created, for I never shall ‭ Find so humane a royal master more, ‭ Whatever sea I seek, whatever shore. ‭ Nay, to my father, or my mother’s love ‭ Should I return, by whom I breathe and move, ‭ Could I so much joy offer; nor these eyes ‭ (Though my desires sustain extremities ‭ For their sad absence) would so fain be blest ‭ With sight of their lives, in my native nest, ‭ As with Ulysses dead; in whose last rest, ‭ O friend, my soul shall love him. He’s not here ‭ Nor do I name him like a flatterer, ‭ But as one thankful for his love and care ‭ To me a poor man; in the rich so rare. ‭ And be he past all shores where sun can shine, ‭ I will invoke him as a soul divine.” ‭ “O friend,” said he, “to say, and to believe, ‭ He cannot live, doth too much licence give ‭ To incredulity; for, not to speak ‭ At needy randon, but my breath to break ‭ In sacred oath, Ulysses shall return. ‭ And when his sight recomforts those that mourn ‭ In his own roofs, then give me cloak, and coat, ‭ And garments worthy of a man of note. ‭ Before which, though need urg’d me never so, ‭ I’ll not receive a thread, but naked go. ‭ No less I hate him than the gates of hell, ‭ That poorness can force an untruth to tell. ‭ Let Jove then (Heav’n’s chief God) just witness bear, ‭ And this thy hospitable table here, ‭ Together with unblam’d Ulysses’ house, ‭ In which I find receipt so gracious, ‭ What I affirm’d of him shall all be true. ‭ This instant year thine eyes ev’n here shall view ‭ Thy lord Ulysses. Nay, ere this month’s end, ‭ Return’d full-home, he shall revenge extend ‭ To ev’ry one, whose ever deed hath done ‭ Wrong to his wife and his illustrious son.” ‭ “O father,” he replied, “I’ll neither give ‭ Thy news reward, nor doth Ulysses live. ‭ But come, enough of this, let’s drink and eat, ‭ And never more his memory repeat. ‭ It grieves my heart to be remember’d thus ‭ By anyone of one so glorious. ‭ But stand your oath in your assertion strong, ‭ And let Ulysses come, for whom I long, ‭ For whom his wife, for whom his agéd sire, ‭ For whom his son consumes his god-like fire, ‭ Whose chance I now must mourn, and ever shall. ‭ Whom when the Gods had brought to be as tall ‭ As any upright plant, and I had said, ‭ He would amongst a court of men have sway’d ‭ In counsels, and for form have been admir’d ‭ Ev’n with his father, some God misinspir’d, ‭ Or man took from him his own equal mind, ‭ And pass’d him for the Pylian shore to find ‭ His long-lost father. In return from whence, ‭ The Wooers’ pride way-lays his innocence, ‭ That of divine Arcesius all the race ‭ May fade to Ithaca, and not the grace ‭ Of any name left to it. But leave we ‭ His state, however, if surpris’d he be, ‭ Or if he scape. And may Saturnius’ hand ‭ Protect him safely to his native land. ‭ Do thou then, father, show your griefs, and cause ‭ Of your arrival here; nor break the laws ‭ That truth prescribes you, but relate your name, ‭ And of what race you are, your father’s fame, ‭ And native city’s; ship and men unfold, ‭ That to this isle convey’d you, since I hold ‭ Your here arrival was not all by shore, ‭ Nor that your feet your agéd person bore.” ‭ He answer’d him: “I’ll tell all strictly true, ‭ If time, and food, and wine enough, accrue ‭ Within your roof to us, that freely we ‭ May sit and banquet. Let your business be ‭ Discharg’d by others; for, when all is done, ‭ I cannot easily, while the year doth run ‭ His circle round, run over all the woes, ‭ Beneath which, by the course the Gods dispose, ‭ My sad age labours. First, I’ll tell you then, ‭ From ample Crete I fetch my native strain; ‭ My father wealthy, whose house many a life ‭ Brought forth and bred besides by his true wife, ‭ But me a bond-maid bore, his concubine. ‭ Yet tender’d was I as his lawful line ‭ By him of whose race I my life profess. ‭ Castor his name, surnam’d Hylacides. ‭ A man, in fore-times, by the Cretan state, ‭ For goods, good children, and his fortunate ‭ Success in all acts, of no mean esteem. ‭ But death-conferring Fates have banish’d him ‭ To Pluto’s kingdom. After whom, his sons ‭ By lots divided his possessions, ‭ And gave me passing little; yet bestow’d ‭ A house on me, to which my virtues woo’d ‭ A wife from rich men’s roofs; nor was borne low, ‭ Nor last in fight, though all nerves fail me now. ‭ But I suppose, that you, by thus much seen, ‭ Know by the stubble what the corn hath been. ‭ For, past all doubt, affliction past all mean ‭ Hath brought my age on; but, in seasons past, ‭ Both Mars and Pallas have with boldness grac’d, ‭ And fortitude, my fortunes, when I chus’d ‭ Choice men for ambush, prest to have produc’d ‭ Ill to mine enemies; my too vent’rous spirit ‭ Set never death before mine eyes, for merit, ‭ But, far the first advanc’d still, still I strook ‭ Dead with my lance whoever overtook ‭ My speed of foot. Such was I then for war. ‭ But rustic actions ever fled me far, ‭ And household thrift, which breeds a famous race. ‭ In oar-driv’n ships did I my pleasures place, ‭ In battles, light darts, arrows. Sad things all, ‭ And into others’ thoughts with horror fall. ‭ But what God put into my mind, to me ‭ I still esteem’d as my felicity. ‭ As men of sev’ral metals are address’d, ‭ So sev’ral forms are in their souls impress’d. ‭ Before the sons of Greece set foot in Troy, ‭ Nine times, in chief, I did command enjoy ‭ Of men and ships against our foreign foe, ‭ And all I fitly wish’d succeeded so. ‭ Yet, after this, I much exploit achiev’d, ‭ When straight my house in all possessions thriv’d. ‭ Yet, after that, I great and rev’rend grew ‭ Amongst the Cretans, till the Thund’rer drew ‭ Our forces out in his foe-Troy decrees; ‭ A hateful service that dissolv’d the knees ‭ Of many a soldier. And to this was I, ‭ And famous Idomen, enjoin’d t’ apply ‭ Our ships and pow’rs, Nor was there to be heard ‭ One reason for denial, so preferr’d ‭ Was the unreasonable people’s rumour. ‭ Nine years we therefore fed the martial humour, ‭ And in the tenth, de-peopling Priam’s town, ‭ We sail’d for home. But God had quickly blown ‭ Our fleet in pieces; and to wretched me ‭ The counsellor Jove did much mishap decree, ‭ For, only one month, I had leave t’ enjoy ‭ My wife and children, and my goods t’ employ. ‭ But, after this, my mind for Ægypt stood, ‭ When nine fair ships I rigg’d forth for the flood, ‭ Mann’d them with noble soldiers, all things fit ‭ For such a voyage soon were won to it. ‭ Yet six days after stay’d my friends in feast, ‭ While I in banquets to the Gods addrest ‭ Much sacred matter for their sacrifice. ‭ The seventh, we boarded; and the Northern skies ‭ Lent us a frank and passing prosp’rous gale, ‭ ‘Fore which we bore us free and easy sail ‭ As we had back’d a full and frolic tide; ‭ Nor felt one ship misfortune for her pride, ‭ But safe we sat, our sailors and the wind ‭ Consenting in our convoy. When heav’n shin’d ‭ In sacred radiance of the fifth fair day, ‭ To sweetly-water’d Egypt reach’d our way, ‭ And there we anchor’d; where I charg’d my men ‭ To stay aboard, and watch. Dismissing then ‭ Some scouts to get the hill-tops, and discover, ‭ They (to their own intemperance giv’n over). ‭ Straight fell to forage the rich fields, and thence ‭ Enforce both wives and infants, with th’ expence ‭ Of both their bloods. When straight the rumour flew ‭ Up to the city. Which heard, up they drew ‭ By day’s First break, and all the field was fill’d ‭ With foot and horse, whose arms did all things gild. ‭ And then the lightning-loving Deity cast ‭ A foul flight on my soldiers; nor stood fast ‭ One man of all. About whom mischief stood, ‭ And with his stern steel drew in streams the blood ‭ The greater part fed in their dissolute veins; ‭ The rest were sav’d, and made enthralléd swains ‭ To all the basest usages there bred. ‭ And then, ev’n Jove himself supplied my head ‭ With saving counsel; though I wish’d to die, ‭ And there in Egypt with their slaughters lie, ‭ So much grief seiz’d me, but Jove made me yield, ‭ Dishelm my head, take from my neck my shield, ‭ Hurl from my hand my lance, and to the troop ‭ Of horse the king led instantly made up, ‭ Embrace, and kiss his knees; whom pity won ‭ To give me safety, and (to make me shun ‭ The people’s outrage, that made in amain, ‭ All jointly fir’d with thirst to see me slain) ‭ He took me to his chariot, weeping, home, ‭ Himself with fear of Jove’s wrath overcome, ‭ Who yielding souls receives, and takes most ill ‭ All such as well may save yet love to kill. ‭ Seven years I sojourn’d here, and treasure gat ‭ In good abundance of th’ Ægyptian state, ‭ For all would give; but when th’ eighth year began, ‭ A knowing fellow (that would gnaw a man [3] ‭ Like to a vermin, with his hellish brain, ‭ And many an honest soul ev’n quick had slain, ‭ Whose name was Phœnix) close accosted me, ‭ And with insinuations, such as he ‭ Practis’d on others, my consent he gain’d ‭ To go into Phœnicia, where remain’d ‭ His house, and living. And with him I liv’d ‭ A cómplete year; but when were all arriv’d ‭ The months and days, and that the year again ‭ Was turning round, and ev’ry season’s reign ‭ Renew’d upon us, we for Libya went, ‭ When, still inventing crafts to circumvent, ‭ He made pretext, that I should only go ‭ And help convey his freight; but thought not so, ‭ For his intent was to have sold me there, ‭ And made good gain for finding me a year. ‭ Yet him I follow’d, though suspecting this, ‭ For, being aboard his ship, I must be his ‭ Of strong necessity. She ran the flood ‭ (Driven with a northern gale, right free, and good) ‭ Amids the full stream, full on Crete. But then ‭ Jove plotted death to him and all his men, ‭ For (put off quite from Crete, and so far gone ‭ That shore was lost, and we set eye on none, ‭ But all show’d heav’n and sea) above our keel ‭ Jove pointed right a cloud as black as hell, ‭ Beneath which all the sea hid, and from whence ‭ Jove thunder’d as his hand would never thence, ‭ And thick into our ship he threw his flash; [4] ‭ That ’gainst a rock, or flat, her keel did dash ‭ With headlong rapture. Of the sulphur all ‭ Her bulk did savour; and her men let fall ‭ Amids the surges, on which all lay tost, ‭ Like sea-gulls, round about her sides, and lost. ‭ And so God took all home-return from them. ‭ But Jove himself, though plung’d in that extreme, ‭ Recover’d me by thrusting on my hand ‭ The ship’s long mast. And, that my life might stand ‭ A little more up, I embrac’d it round; ‭ And on the rude winds, that did ruins sound, ‭ Nine days we hover’d. In the tenth black night ‭ A huge sea cast me on Thesprotia’s height, ‭ Where the heroë Phidon, that was chief ‭ Of all the Thesprots, gave my wrack relief, ‭ Without the price of that redemptión [5] ‭ That Phœnix fish’d for. Where the king’s lov’d son ‭ Came to me, took me by the hand, and led ‭ Into his court my poor life, surfeited ‭ With cold and labour; and because my wrack ‭ Chanc’d on his father’s shore, he let not lack ‭ My plight or coat, or cloak, or anything ‭ Might cherish heat in me. And here the king ‭ Said, he receiv’d Ulysses as his guest, ‭ Observ’d him friend-like, and his course addrest ‭ Home to his country, showing there to me ‭ Ulysses’ goods, a very treasury ‭ Of brass, and gold, and steel of curious frame. ‭ And to the tenth succession of his name ‭ He laid up wealth enough, to serve beside ‭ In that king’s house, so hugely amplified ‭ His treasure was. But from his court the king ‭ Affirm’d him shipp’d for the Dodonean spring, ‭ To hear, from out the high-hair’d oak of Jove, ‭ Counsel from him for means to his remove ‭ To his lov’d country, whence so many a year ‭ He had been absent; if he should appear ‭ Disguis’d, or manifest; and further swore ‭ In his mid court, at sacrifice, before ‭ These very eyes, that he had ready there ‭ Both ship and soldiers, to attend and bear ‭ Him to his country. But, before, it chanc’d ‭ That a Thesprotian ship was to be launch’d ‭ For the much-corn-renown’d Dulichian land, ‭ In which the king gave to his men command ‭ To take, and bring me under tender hand ‭ To king Acastus. But, in ill design ‭ Of my poor life, did their desires combine, ‭ So far forth, as might ever keep me under ‭ In fortune’s hands, and tear my state in sunder. ‭ And when the water-treader far away ‭ Had left the land, then plotted they the day ‭ Of my long servitude, and took from me ‭ Both coat and cloak, and all things that might be ‭ Grace in my habit, and in place put on ‭ These tatter’d rags, which now you see upon ‭ My wretched bosom. When heav’n’s light took sea, [6] ‭ They fetch’d the field-works of fair Ithaca, ‭ And in the arm’d ship, with a well-wreath’d cord, ‭ They straitly bound me, and did all disboard ‭ To shore to supper, in contentious rout. ‭ Yet straight the Gods themselves took from about ‭ My pressed limbs the bands, with equal ease, ‭ And I, my head in rags wrapp’d, took the seas, ‭ Descending by the smooth stern, using then ‭ My hands for oars, and made from these bad men ‭ Long way in little time. At last, I fetch’d ‭ A goodly grove of oaks, whose shore I reach’d, ‭ And cast me prostrate on it. When they knew ‭ My thus-made ‘scape, about the shores they flew, ‭ But, soon not finding, held it not their best ‭ To seek me further, but return’d to rest ‭ Aboard their vessel. Me the Gods lodg’d close, ‭ Conducting me into the safe repose ‭ A good man’s stable yielded. And thus Fate ‭ This poor hour added to my living date.” ‭ “O wretch of guests,” said he, “thy tale hath stirr’d ‭ My mind to much ruth, both how thou hast err’d, ‭ And suffer’d, hearing in such good parts shown. ‭ But, what thy chang’d relation would make known ‭ About Ulysses, I hold neither true, ‭ Nor will believe. And what need’st thou pursue ‭ A lie so rashly, since he sure is so ‭ As I conceive, for which my skill shall go? ‭ The safe return my king lacks cannot be, ‭ He is so envied of each Deity, ‭ So clear, so cruelly. For not in Troy ‭ They gave him end, nor let his corpse enjoy ‭ The hands of friends (which well they might have done, ‭ He manag’d arms to such perfection, ‭ And should have had his sepulchre, and all, ‭ And all the Greeks to grace his funeral, ‭ And this had giv’n a glory to his son ‭ Through all times future) but his head is run ‭ Unseen, unhonour’d, into Harpies’ maws. ‭ For my part, I’ll not meddle with the cause, ‭ I live a separate life amongst my swine, ‭ Come at no town for any need of mine, ‭ Unless the circularly-witted queen [7] ‭ (When any far-come guest is to be seen ‭ That brings her news) commands me bring a brawn, ‭ About which (all things being in question drawn, ‭ That touch the king) they sit, and some are sad ‭ For his long absence, some again are glad ‭ To waste his goods unwreak’d, all talking still. ‭ But, as for me, I nourish’d little will ‭ T’ inquire or question of him, since the man ‭ That feign’d himself the fled Ætolian, ‭ For slaught’ring one, through many regions stray’d, ‭ In my stall, as his diversory, stay’d. ‭ Where well entreating him, he told me then, ‭ Amongst the Cretans, with king Idomen, ‭ He saw Ulysses at his ship’s repair, ‭ That had been brush’d with the enragéd air; ‭ And that in summer, or in autumn, sure, ‭ With all his brave friends and rich furniture, ‭ He would be here; and nothing so, nor so. ‭ But thou, an old man, taught with so much woe ‭ As thou hast suffer’d, to be season’d true, ‭ And brought by his fate, do not here pursue ‭ His gratulations with thy cunning lies, ‭ Thou canst not soak so through my faculties ‭ For I did never either honour thee ‭ Or give thee love, to bring these tales to me, ‭ But in my fear of hospitable Jove Thouou didst to this pass my affections move.” ‭ “You stand exceeding much incredulous,” ‭ Replied Ulysses, “to have witness’d thus ‭ My word and oath, yet yield no trust at all. ‭ But make me now a covenant here, and call ‭ The dreadful Gods to witness, that take seat ‭ In large Olympus: If your king’s retreat ‭ Prove made, ev’n hither, you shall furnish me ‭ With cloak, and coat, and make my passage free ‭ For lov’d Dulichius; if, as fits my vow, ‭ Your king return not, let your servants throw ‭ My old limbs headlong from some rock most high, ‭ That other poor men may take fear to lie.” ‭ The herdsman, that had gifts in him divine, ‭ Replied: “O guest, how shall this fame of mine ‭ And honest virtue, amongst men, remain ‭ Now, and hereafter, without worthy stain, ‭ If I, that led thee to my hovel here, ‭ And made thee fitting hospitable cheer, ‭ Should after kill thee, and thy lovéd mind ‭ Force from thy bones? Or how should stand inclin’d ‭ With any faith my will t’ importune Jove, ‭ In any pray’r hereafter for his love? ‭ Come, now ’tis supper’s hour, and instant haste ‭ My men will make home, when our sweet repast ‭ We’ll taste together.” This discourse they held ‭ In mutual kind, when from a neighbour-field ‭ His swine and swine-herds came, who in their cotes ‭ Inclos’d their herds for sleep, which mighty throats ‭ Laid out in ent’ring. Then the God-like swain ‭ His men enjoin’d thus: “Bring me to be slain ‭ A chief swine female, for my stranger guest, ‭ When altogether we will take our feast, ‭ Refreshing now our spirits, that all day take ‭ Pains in our swine’s good, who may therefore make ‭ For our pains with them all amends with one, ‭ Since others eat our labours, and take none.” ‭ This said, his sharp steel hew’d down wood, and they ‭ A passing fat swine hal’d out of the sty, ‭ Of five years old, which to the fire they put. ‭ When first Eumæus from the front did cut ‭ The sacred hair, and cast it in the fire, ‭ Then pray’d to heav’n; for still before desire ‭ Was serv’d with food, in their so rude abodes, ‭ Not the poor swine-herd would forget the Gods, ‭ Good souls they bore, how bad soever were ‭ The habits that their bodies’ parts did bear. ‭ When all the deathless Deities besought, ‭ That wise Ulysses might be safely brought ‭ Home to his house; then with a log of oak ‭ Left lying by, high lifting it, a stroke ‭ He gave so deadly it made life expire. ‭ Then cut the rest her throat, and all in fire ‭ They hid and sing’d her, cut her up; and then, ‭ The master took the office from the men, ‭ Who on the altar did the parts impose ‭ That serv’d for sacrifice; beginning close ‭ About the belly, thorough which he went. ‭ And (all the chief fat gath’ring) gave it vent ‭ (Part dredg’d with flour) into the sacred flame; ‭ Then cut they up the joints, and roasted them, ‭ Drew all from spit, and serv’d in dishes all. ‭ Then rose Eumæus (who was general ‭ In skill to guide each act his fit event) ‭ And, all in seven parts cut, the first part went ‭ To service of the Nymphs and Mercury, ‭ To whose names he did rites of piety ‭ In vows particular; and all the rest ‭ He shar’d to ev’ry one, but his lov’d guest ‭ He grac’d with all the chine, and of that king, ‭ To have his heart cheer’d, set up ev’ry string. ‭ Which he observing said: “I would to Jove, ‭ Eumæus, thou liv’dst in his worthy love ‭ As great as mine, that giv’st to such a guest ‭ As my poor self of all thy goods the best.” ‭ Eumæus answer’d: “Eat, unhappy wretch, ‭ And to what here is at thy pleasure reach. ‭ This I have, this thou want’st; thus God will give, ‭ Thus take away, in us, and all that live. ‭ To his will’s equal centre all things fall, ‭ His mind he must have, for he can do all.” ‭ Thus having eat, and to his wine descended, ‭ Before he serv’d his own thirst, he commended ‭ The first use of it in fit sacrifice ‭ (As of his meat) to all the Deities, ‭ And to the city-racer’s hand applied ‭ The second cup, whose place was next his side. ‭ Mesauliús did distribute the meat, ‭ (To which charge was Eumæus solely set, ‭ In absence of Ulysses, by the queen ‭ And old Laertes) and this man had been ‭ Bought by Eumæus, with his faculties, ‭ Employ’d then in the Taphian merchandise. ‭ But now, to food appos’d, and order’d thus, ‭ All fell. Desire suffic’d, Mesauliús ‭ Did take away. For bed then next they were, ‭ All thoroughly satisfied with cómplete cheer. ‭ The night then came, ill, and no taper shin’d; ‭ Jove rain’d her whole date; th’ ever-wat’ry wind ‭ Zephyr blew loud; and Laertiades ‭ (Approving kind Eumæus’ carefulness ‭ For his whole good) made far about assay, ‭ To get some cast-off cassock (lest he lay ‭ That rough night cold) of him, or anyone ‭ Of those his servants; when he thus begun: ‭ “Hear me, Eumæus, and my other friends, ‭ I’ll use a speech that to my glory tends, ‭ Since I have drunk wine past my usual guise. ‭ Strong wine commands the fool and moves the wise, ‭ Moves and impels him too to sing and dance, ‭ And break in pleasant laughters, and, perchance, ‭ Prefer a speech too that were better in. ‭ But when my spirits once to speak begin, ‭ I shall not then dissemble. Would to heav’n, ‭ I were as young, and had my forces driv’n ‭ As close together, as when once our pow’rs ‭ We led to ambush under th’ Ilion tow’rs! ‭ Where Ithacus and Menelaus were ‭ The two commanders, when it pleas’d them there ‭ To take myself for third, when to the town ‭ And lofty walls we led, we couch’d close down, ‭ All arm’d, amids the osiers and the reeds, ‭ Which oftentimes th’ o’er-flowing river feeds. ‭ The cold night came, and th’ icy northern gale ‭ Blew bleak upon us, after which did fall ‭ A snow so cold, it cut as in it beat ‭ A frozen water, which was all concrete ‭ About our shields like crystal. All made feign ‭ Above our arms to clothe, and clothe again. ‭ And so we made good shift, our shields beside ‭ Clapp’d close upon our clothes, to rest and hide ‭ From all discovery. But I, poor fool, ‭ Left my weeds with my men, because so cool ‭ I thought it could not prove; which thought my pride ‭ A little strengthen’d, being loth to hide ‭ A goodly glitt’ring garment I had on; ‭ And so I follow’d with my shield alone, ‭ And that brave weed. But when the night near ended ‭ Her course on earth, and that the stars descended, ‭ I jogg’d Ulysses, who lay passing near, ‭ And spake to him, that had a nimble ear, ‭ Assuring him, that long I could not lie ‭ Amongst the living, for the fervency ‭ Of that sharp night would kill me, since as then ‭ My evil angel made me with my men ‭ Leave all weeds but a fine one. But I know ‭ ’Tis vain to talk; here wants all remedy now. ‭ This said, he bore that understanding part ‭ In his prompt spirit that still show’d his art ‭ In fight and counsel, saying (in a word, ‭ And that low whisper’d) peace, lest you afford ‭ Some Greek note of your softness. No word more, ‭ But made as if his stern austerity bore ‭ My plight no pity; yet, as still he lay ‭ His head reposing on his hand, gave way ‭ To this invention: ‘Hear me friends, a dream ‭ (That was of some celestial light a beam) ‭ Stood in my sleep before me, prompting me ‭ With this fit notice: ‘We are far,’ said he, ‭ ‘From out our fleet. Let one go then, and try ‭ If Agamemnon will afford supply ‭ To what we now are strong.’ This stirr’d a speed ‭ In Thoas to th’ affair; whose purple weed ‭ He left for haste; which then I took, and lay ‭ In quiet after, till the dawn of day. ‭ This shift Ulysses made for one in need, ‭ And would to heav’n, that youth such spirit did feed ‭ Now in my nerves, and that my joints were knit ‭ With such a strength as made me then held fit ‭ To lead men with Ulysses! I should then ‭ Seem worth a weed that fits a herdsman’s men, ‭ For two respects, to gain a thankful friend, ‭ And to a good man’s need a good extend.” ‭ “O father,” said Eumæus “thou hast shown ‭ Good cause for us to give thee good renown, ‭ Not using any word that was not freed ‭ From all least ill. Thou, therefore, shalt not need ‭ Or coat, or other thing, that aptly may ‭ Beseem a wretched suppliant for defray ‭ Of this night’s need. But, when her golden throne ‭ The morn ascends, you must resume your own, ‭ For here you must not dream of many weeds, ‭ Or any change at all. We serve our needs ‭ As you do yours; one back, one coat. But when ‭ Ulysses’ lovéd son returns, he then ‭ Shall give you coat and cassock, and bestow ‭ Your person where your heart and soul is now,” ‭ This said, he rose, made near the fire his bed, ‭ Which all with goats’ and sheep skins he bespread. ‭ All which Ulysses with himself did line, ‭ With whom; besides, he chang’d a gaberdine, ‭ Thick lin’d, and soft, which still he made his shift ‭ When he would dress him ’gainst the horrid drift ‭ Of tempest, when deep winter’s season blows. ‭ Nor pleas’d it him to lie there with his sows, ‭ But while Ulysses slept there, and close by ‭ The other younkers, he abroad would lie, ‭ And therefore arm’d him. Which set cheerful fare ‭ Before Ulysses’ heart, to see such care ‭ Of his goods taken, how far off soever ‭ His fate his person and his wealth should sever. ‭ First then, a sharp-edg’d sword he girt about ‭ His well-spread shoulders, and (to shelter out ‭ The sharp West wind that blew) he put him on ‭ A thick-lin’d jacket, and yet cast upon ‭ All that the large hide of a goat well-fed. ‭ A lance then took he, with a keen steel head, ‭ To be his keep-off both ’gainst men and dogs. ‭ And thus went he to rest with his male hogs, ‭ That still abroad lay underneath a rock, ‭ Shield to the North wind’s ever-eager shock. ‭ THE END OF THE FOURTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Πρόσυλος, materiæ adhærens: item, qui rebus mundanis ‭deditus est.

‭[2] ‘ϒλακόμωρος, ad latrandum fato quodam natus.

‭[3] Ανὴρ ἀπατήλια εἰδὼς, τρώκτης.

‭[4] ‘Ελελίχθη qui terram rapido motu concutit.

‭[5] ‘Απριάτην sine emptionis seu redemptionis pretio.

‭[6] At sunset.

‭[7] Περίϕρων. ‭ THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Minerva to his native seat. ‭ Exhorts Ulysses’ son’s retreat, ‭ In bed, and waking. He receives ‭ Gifts of Atrides, and so leaves ‭ The Spartan court. And, going aboard, ‭ Doth favourable way afford ‭ To Theoclymenus, that was ‭ The Argive augur, and sought pass, ‭ Fled for a slaughter he had done. ‭ Eumæus tells Laertes’ son, ‭ How he became his father’s man, ‭ Being sold by the Phœnician ‭ For some agreed-on faculties, ‭ From forth the Syrian isle made prise. ‭ Telemachus, arrived at home, ‭ Doth to Eumæus’ cottage come. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ O. ‭ From Sparta’s strand ‭ Makes safe access ‭ To his own land ‭ Ulyssides.

‭ In Lacedæmon, large, and apt for dances, [1] ‭ Athenian Pallas her access advances ‭ Up to the great-in-soul Ulysses’ seed, ‭ Suggesting his return now fit for deed. ‭ She found both him and Nestor’s noble son ‭ In bed, in front of that fair mansión, ‭ Nestorides surpris’d with pleasing sleep, ‭ But on the watch Ulysses’ son did keep, ‭ Sleep could not enter, cares did so excite ‭ His soul, through all the solitary night, ‭ For his lov’d father. To him, near, she said: ‭ “Telemachus! ’Tis time that now were stay’d ‭ Thy foreign travels, since thy goods are free ‭ For those proud men that all will eat from thee, ‭ Divide thy whole possessións, and leave ‭ Thy too-late presence nothing to receive. ‭ Incite the shrill-voic’d Menelaus then, ‭ To send thee to thy native seat again, ‭ While thou mayst yet find in her honour strong ‭ Thy blameless mother, ’gainst thy fathers’ wrong. ‭ For both the father, and the brothers too, ‭ Of thy lov’d mother, will not suffer so ‭ Extended any more her widow’s bed, ‭ But make her now her richest wooer wed, ‭ Eurymachus, who chiefly may augment ‭ Her gifts, and make her jointure eminent. ‭ And therefore haste thee, lest, in thy despite, ‭ Thy house stand empty of thy native right. ‭ For well thou know’st what mind a woman bears; ‭ The house of him, whoever she endears ‭ Herself in nuptials to, she sees increas’d, ‭ The issue of her first lov’d lord deceas’d ‭ Forgotten quite, and never thought on more. ‭ In thy return then, the re-counted store ‭ Thou find’st reserv’d, to thy most trusted maid ‭ Commit in guard, till Heav’n’s Pow’rs have purvey’d ‭ A wife, in virtue and in beauty’s grace, ‭ Of fit sort for thee, to supply her place. ‭ And this note more I’ll give thee, which repose ‭ In sure remembrance: The best sort of those ‭ That woo thy mother watchful scouts address ‭ Both in the straits of th’ Ithacensian seas, ‭ And dusty Samos, with intent t’ invade ‭ And take thy life, ere thy return be made. ‭ Which yet I think will fail, and some of them ‭ That waste thy fortunes taste of that extreme ‭ They plot for thee. But keep off far from shore, ‭ And day and night sail, for a fore-right blore, ‭ Whoever of th’ Immortals that vow guard ‭ And ’scape to thy return, will see prepar’d. ‭ As soon as thou arriv’st, dismiss to town ‭ Thy ship and men, and first of all make down ‭ To him that keeps thy swine, and doth conceive ‭ A tender care to see thee well survive. ‭ There sleep; and send him to the town, to tell ‭ The chaste Penelopé, that safe and well ‭ Thou liv’st in his charge, and that Pylos’ sands ‭ The place contain’d from whence thy person lands.” ‭ Thus she to large Olympus made ascent. ‭ When with his heel a little touch he lent ‭ To Nestor’s son, whose sleep’s sweet chains he loos’d, ‭ Bad rise, and see in chariot inclos’d ‭ Their one-hoof’d horse, that they might straight be gone. ‭ “No such haste,” he replied, “Night holds her throne, ‭ And dims all way to course of chariot. ‭ The morn will soon get up. Nor see forgot ‭ The gifts with haste, that will, I know, be rich, ‭ And put into our coach with gracious speech ‭ By lance-fam’d Menelaus. Not a guest ‭ Shall touch at his house, but shall store his breast ‭ With fit mind of an hospitable man, ‭ To last as long as any daylight can ‭ His eyes recomfort, in such gifts as he ‭ Will proofs make of his hearty royalty.” ‭ He had no sooner said, but up arose ‭ Aurora, that the golden hills repose. ‭ And Menelaus, good-at-martial-cries, ‭ From Helen’s bed rais’d, to his guest applies ‭ His first appearance. Whose repair made known ‭ T’ Ulysses’ lov’d son, on his robe was thrown ‭ About his gracious body, his cloak cast ‭ Athwart his ample shoulders, and in haste ‭ Abroad he went, and did the king accost: ‭ “Atrides, guarded with heav’n’s deified host, ‭ Grant now remission to my native right, ‭ My mind now urging mine own house’s sight.” ‭ “Nor will I stay,” said he, “thy person long, ‭ Since thy desires to go are grown so strong. ‭ I should myself be angry to sustain ‭ The like detention urg’d by other men. ‭ Who loves a guest past mean, past mean will hate, ‭ The mean in all acts bears the best estate. ‭ A like ill ’tis, to thrust out such a guest ‭ As would not go, as to detain the rest. ‭ We should a guest love, while he loves to stay, ‭ And, when he likes not, give him loving way. ‭ Yet suffer so, that we may gifts impose ‭ In coach to thee; which ere our hands inclose, ‭ Thine eyes shall see, lest else our loves may glose. ‭ Besides, I’ll cause our women to prepare ‭ What our house yields, and merely so much fare ‭ As may suffice for health. Both well will do, ‭ Both for our honour and our profit too. ‭ And, serving strength with food, you after may ‭ As much earth measure as will match the clay. ‭ If you will turn your course from sea, and go ‭ Through Greece and Argos (that myself may so ‭ Keep kind way with thee) I’ll join horse, and guide ‭ T’ our human cities. Nor ungratified ‭ Will anyone remit us; some one thing ‭ Will each present us, that along may bring ‭ Our pass with love, and prove our virtues blaz’d: ‭ A caldron, or a tripod, richly-braz’d, ‭ Two mules, a bowl of gold, that hath his price ‭ Heighten’d with emblems of some rare device.” ‭ The wise prince answer’d: “I would gladly go ‭ Home to mine own, and see that govern’d so ‭ That I may keep what I for certain hold, ‭ Not hazard that for only hop’d-for gold. ‭ I left behind me none so all ways fit ‭ To give it guard, as mine own trust with it. ‭ Besides, in this broad course which you propose, ‭ My father seeking I myself may lose.” ‭ When this the shrill-voic’d Menelaus heard, ‭ He charg’d his queen and maids to see prepar’d ‭ Breakfast, of what the whole house held for best. ‭ To him rose Eteoneus from his rest, ‭ Whose dwelling was not far off from the court, ‭ And his attendance his command did sort ‭ With kindling fires, and furth’ring all the roast, ‭ In act of whose charge heard no time he lost. ‭ Himself then to an odorous room descended, ‭ Whom Megapenthe and his queen attended. ‭ Come to his treasury, a two-ear’d cup ‭ He choos’d of all, and made his son bear up ‭ A silver bowl. The queen then taking stand ‭ Aside her chest, where by her own fair hand ‭ Lay vests of all hues wrought, she took out one ‭ Most large, most artful, chiefly fair, and shone ‭ Like to a star, and lay of all the last. ‭ Then through the house with either’s gift they past; ‭ When to Ulysses’ son Atrides said: ‭ “Telemachus, since so entirely sway’d ‭ Thy thoughts are with thy vow’d return now tender’d, ‭ May Juno’s thund’ring husband see it render’d ‭ Perfect at all parts, action answ’ring thought. ‭ Of all the rich gifts, in my treasure sought, ‭ I give thee here the most in grace and best. ‭ A bowl but silver, yet the brim’s comprest ‭ With gold, whose fabric his desert doth bring ‭ From Vulcan’s hand, presented by the king ‭ And great heroë of Sidonia’s state, ‭ When at our parting he did consummate ‭ His whole house-keeping. This do thou command.” ‭ This said, he put the round bowl in his hand, ‭ And then his strong son Megapenthe plac’d ‭ The silver cup before him, amply grac’d ‭ With work and lustre. Helen (standing by, ‭ And in her hand the robe, her housewifery) ‭ His name rememb’ring, said: “And I present, ‭ Lov’d son, this gift to thee, the monument ‭ Of the so-many-lovéd Helen’s hands, ‭ Which, at the knitting of thy nuptial bands, ‭ Present thy wife. In mean space, may it lie ‭ By thy lov’d mother; but to me apply ‭ Thy pleasure in it, and thus take thy way ‭ To thy fair house, and country’s wishéd stay.” ‭ Thus gave she to his hands the veil, and he ‭ The acceptation author’d joyfully. ‭ Which in the chariot’s chest Pisistratus ‭ Plac’d with the rest, and held miraculous. ‭ The yellow-headed king then led them all ‭ To seats and thrones plac’d in his spacious hall. ‭ The hand-maid water brought, and gave it stream ‭ From out a fair and golden ewer to them, ‭ From whose hands to a silver caldron fled ‭ The troubled wave. A bright board then she spread, ‭ On which another rev’rend dame set bread. ‭ To which more servants store of victuals serv’d. ‭ Eteonëus was the man that kerv’d, ‭ And Megapenthe fill’d them all their wine. ‭ All fed and drank, till all felt care decline ‭ For those refreshings. Both the guests did go ‭ To horse, and coach, and forth the portico ‭ A little issued, when the yellow King ‭ Brought wine himself, that, with an offering ‭ To all the Gods, they might their journey take. ‭ He stood before the Gods, and thus he spake: ‭ “Farewell young Princes! To grave Nestor’s ear ‭ This salutation from my gratitude bear: ‭ That I profess, in all our Ilion wars, ‭ He stood a careful father to my cares.” ‭ To whom the wise Ulyssides replied: ‭ “With all our utmost shall be signified, ‭ Jove-kept Atrides, your right royal will; ‭ And would to God, I could as well fulfill ‭ Mine own mind’s gratitude, for your free grace, ‭ In telling to Ulysses, in the place ‭ Of my return, in what accomplish’d kind ‭ I have obtain’d the office of a friend ‭ At your deservings; whose fair end you crown ‭ With gifts so many, and of such renown!” ‭ His wish, that he might find in his retreat ‭ His father safe return’d (to so repeat ‭ The king’s love to him) was saluted thus: ‭ An eagle rose, and in her seres did truss ‭ A goose, all-white, and huge, a household one, ‭ Which men and women, crying out upon, ‭ Pursued, but she, being near the guests, her flight ‭ Made on their right hand, and kept still fore-right ‭ Before their horses; which observ’d by them, ‭ The spirits in all their minds took joys extreme, ‭ Which Nestor’s son thus question’d: “Jove-kept king, [2] ‭ Yield your grave thoughts, if this ostentful thing ‭ (This eagle, and this goose) touch us, or you?” ‭ He put to study, and not knowing how ‭ To give fit answer, Helen took on her ‭ Th’ ostent’s solution, and did this prefer: ‭ “Hear me, and I will play the prophet’s part, ‭ As the Immortals cast it in my heart, ‭ And as, I think, will make the true sense known: ‭ As this Jove’s bird, from out the mountains flown, ‭ (Where was her eyrie, and whence rose her race,) ‭ Truss’d up this goose, that from the house did graze, ‭ So shall Ulysses, coming from the wild ‭ Of seas and suff’rings, reach, unreconcil’d, ‭ His native home, where ev’n this hour he is, ‭ And on those house-fed Wooers those wrongs of his ‭ Will shortly wreak, with all their miseries.” ‭ “O,” said Telemachus, “if Saturnian Jove ‭ To my desires thy dear presage approve, ‭ When I arrive, I will perform to thee ‭ My daily vows, as to a Deity.” ‭ This said, he us’d his scourge upon the horse, ‭ That through the city freely made their course ‭ To field, and all day made that first speed good. ‭ But when the sun set, and obscureness stood ‭ In each man’s way, they ended their access ‭ At Pheras, in the house of Diocles, ‭ Son to Orsilochus, Alphëus’ seed, ‭ Who gave them guest-rites; and sleep’s natural need ‭ They that night served there. When Aurora rose, ‭ They join’d their horse, took coach, and did dispose ‭ Their course for Pylos; whose high city soon ‭ They reach’d. Nor would Telemachus be won ‭ To Nestor’s house, and therefore order’d thus ‭ His speech to Nestor’s son, Pisistratus: ‭ “How shall I win thy promise to a grace ‭ That I must ask of thee? We both embrace ‭ The names of bed-fellows, and in that name ‭ Will glory as an adjunct of our fame; ‭ Our fathers’ friendship, our own equal age, ‭ And our joint travel, may the more engage ‭ Our mutual concord. Do not then assay, ‭ My God-lov’d friend, to lead me from my way ‭ To my near ship, but take a course direct ‭ And leave me there, lest thy old sire’s respect, ‭ In his desire to love me, hinder so ‭ My way for home, that have such need to go.” ‭ This said, Nestorides held all discourse ‭ In his kind soul, how best he might enforce ‭ Both promise and performance; which, at last; ‭ He vow’d to venture, and directly cast ‭ His horse about to fetch the ship and shore. ‭ Where come, his friends’ most lovely gifts he bore ‭ Aboard the ship, and in her hind-deck plac’d ‭ The veil that Helen’s curious hand had grac’d, ‭ And Menelaus’ gold, and said: “Away, ‭ Nor let thy men, in any least date, stay, ‭ But quite put off, ere I get home, and tell ‭ The old duke, you are past; for passing well ‭ I know his mind to so exceed all force ‭ Of any pray’r, that he will stay your course, ‭ Himself make hither, all your course call back, ‭ And, when he hath you, have no thought to rack ‭ Him from his bounty, and to let you part ‭ Without a present, but be vex’d at heart ‭ With both our pleadings, if we once put move ‭ The least repression of his fiery love.” ‭ Thus took he coach, his fair-man’d steeds scourg’d on ‭ Along the Pylian city, and anon ‭ His father’s court reach’d; while Ulysses’ son ‭ Bade board, and arm; which with a thought was done. ‭ His rowers set, and he rich odours firing ‭ In his hind-deck, for his secure retiring, ‭ To great Athenia, to his ship came flying ‭ A stranger, and a prophet, as relying ‭ On wishéd passage, having newly slain ‭ A man at Argos, yet his race’s vein ‭ Flow’d from Melampus, who in former date ‭ In Pylos liv’d, and had a huge estate, ‭ But fled his country, and the punishing hand ‭ Of great-soul’d Neleus, in a foreign land, ‭ From that most famous mortal, having held ‭ A world of riches, nor could be compell’d ‭ To render restitution in a year. ‭ In mean space, living as close prisoner ‭ In court of Phylacus, and for the sake ‭ Of Neleus’ daughter mighty cares did take, ‭ Together with a grievous languor sent ‭ From grave Erinnys, that did much torment ‭ His vexéd conscience; yet his life’s expence ‭ He scap’d, and drave the loud-voiced oxen thence, ‭ To breed-sheep Pylos, bringing vengeance thus ‭ Her foul demerit to great Neleüs, ‭ And to his brother’s house reduc’d his wife. ‭ Who yet from Pylos did remove his life ‭ For feed-horse Argos, where his fate set down ‭ A dwelling for him, and in much renown ‭ Made govern many Argives, where a spouse ‭ He took to him, and built a famous house. ‭ There had he born to him Antiphates, ‭ And forceful Mantius. To the first of these ‭ Was great Oïcleus born: Oïcleus gat ‭ Amphiaraus, that the popular state ‭ Had all their health in, whom ev’n from his heart ‭ Jove lov’d, and Phœbus in the whole desert ‭ Of friendship held him; yet not bless’d so much ‭ That age’s threshold he did ever touch, ‭ But lost his life by female bribery. [3] ‭ Yet two sons author’d his posterity, ‭ Alcmæon, and renown’d Amphilochus. ‭ Mantius had issue Polyphidius, ‭ And Clytus, but Aurora ravish’d him, ‭ For excellence of his admiréd limb, ‭ And interested him amongst the Gods. ‭ His brother knew men’s good and bad abodes ‭ The best of all men, after the decease ‭ Of him that perish’d in unnatural peace ‭ At spacious Thebes. Apollo did inspire ‭ His knowing soul with a prophetic fire. ‭ Who, angry with his father, took his way ‭ To Hyperesia; where, making stay, ‭ He prophesied to all men, and had there ‭ A son call’d Theoclymenus, who here ‭ Came to Telemachus, and found aboard ‭ Himself at sacrifice, whom in a word ‭ He thus saluted: “O friend, since I find, ‭ Ev’n here at ship, a sacrificing mind ‭ Inform your actions, by your sacrifice, ‭ And by that worthy choice of Deities ‭ To whom you offer, by yourself, and all ‭ These men that serve your course maritimal, ‭ Tell one that asks the truth, nor give it glose, ‭ Both who, and whence, you are? From what seed rose ‭ Your royal person? And what city’s tow’rs ‭ Hold habitation to your parents’ pow’rs?” ‭ He answer’d: “Stranger! The sure truth is this: ‭ I am of Ithaca; my father is ‭ (Or was) Ulysses, but austere death now ‭ Takes his state from him; whose event to know ‭ Himself being long away, I set forth thus ‭ With ship and soldiers.” Theoclymenus ‭ As freely said: “And I to thee am fled ‭ From forth my country, for a man struck dead ‭ By my unhappy hand, who was with me ‭ Of one self-tribe, and of his pedigree ‭ Are many friends and brothers, and the sway ‭ Of Achive kindred reacheth far away. ‭ From whom, because I fear their spleens suborn ‭ Blood and black fate against me (being born ‭ To be a wand’rer among foreign men) ‭ Make thy fair ship my rescue, and sustain ‭ My life from slaughter. Thy deservings may ‭ Perform that mercy, and to them I pray.” ‭ “Nor will I bar,” said he, “thy will to make ‭ My means and equal ship thy aid, but take ‭ (With what we have here, in all friendly use) ‭ Thy life from any violence that pursues.” ‭ Thus took he in his lance, and it extended ‭ Aloft the hatches, which himself ascended. ‭ The prince took seat at stern, on his right hand ‭ Set Theoclymenus, and gave command ‭ To all his men to arm, and see made fast ‭ Amidst the hollow keel the beechen mast ‭ With able halsers, hoise sail, launch; which soon ‭ He saw obey’d. And then his ship did run ‭ A merry course; blue-eyed Minerva sent ‭ A fore-right gale, tumultuous, vehement, ‭ Along the air, that her way’s utmost yield ‭ The ship might make, and plough the brackish field. ‭ Then set the sun, and night black’d all the ways. ‭ The ship, with Jove’s wind wing’d, where th’ Epian sways, ‭ Fetch’d Pheras first, then Elis the divine, ‭ And then for those isles made, that sea-ward shine ‭ For form and sharpness like a lance’s head, ‭ About which lay the Wooers ambushéd; ‭ On which he rush’d, to try if he could ’scape ‭ His plotted death, or serve her treach’rous rape. ‭ And now return we to Eumæus’ shed, ‭ Where, at their food with others marshalléd, ‭ Ulysses and his noble herdsman sate. ‭ To try if whose love’s curious estate ‭ Stood firm to his abode, or felt it fade, ‭ And so would take each best cause to persuade ‭ His guest to town, Ulysses thus contends: ‭ “Hear me, Eumæus, and ye other friends. ‭ Next morn to town I covet to be gone, ‭ To beg some others’ alms, not still charge one. ‭ Advise me well then, and as well provide ‭ I may be fitted with an honest guide, ‭ For through the streets, since need will have it so, ‭ I’ll tread, to try if any will bestow ‭ A dish of drink on me, or bit of bread, ‭ Till to Ulysses’ house I may be led; ‭ And there I’ll tell all-wise Penelope news, ‭ Mix with the Wooers’ pride, and, since they use ‭ To fare above the full, their hands excite ‭ To some small feast from out their infinite: ‭ For which, I’ll wait, and play the servingman, ‭ Fairly enough, command the most they can. ‭ For I will tell thee, note me well, and hear, ‭ That, if the will be of Heav’n’s Messenger, ‭ (Who to the works of men, of any sort, ‭ Can grace infuse, and glory) nothing short ‭ Am I of him, that doth to most aspire ‭ In any service, as to build a fire, ‭ To cleave sere wood, to roast or boil their meat, ‭ To wait at board, mix wine, or know the neat, ‭ Or any work, in which the poor-call’d worst ‭ To serve the rich-call’d best in Fate are forc’d.” ‭ He, angry with him, said: “Alas, poor guest, ‭ Why did this counsel ever touch thy breast? ‭ Thou seek’st thy utter spoil beyond all doubt, ‭ If thou giv’st venture on the Wooers’ rout, ‭ Whose wrong and force affects the iron heav’n, ‭ Their light delights are far from being giv’n ‭ To such grave servitors. Youths richly trick’d ‭ In coats or cassocks, locks divinely slick’d, ‭ And looks most rapting, ever have the gift ‭ To taste their crown’d cups, and full trenchers shift. ‭ Their tables ever like their glasses shine, ‭ Loaded with bread, with varied flesh, and wine. ‭ And thou go thither? Stay, for here do none ‭ Grudge at thy presence, nor myself, nor one ‭ Of all I feed. But when Ulysses’ son ‭ Again shall greet us, he shall put thee on ‭ Both coat and cassock, and thy quick retreat ‭ Set where thy heart and soul desire thy seat.” ‭ Industrious Ulysses gave reply: ‭ “I still much wish, that Heav’n’s chief Deity ‭ Lov’d thee, as I do, that hast eas’d my mind ‭ Of woes and wand’rings never yet confin’d. ‭ Nought is more wretched in a human race, ‭ Than country’s want, and shift from place to place. ‭ But for the baneful belly men take care ‭ Beyond good counsel, whosoever are ‭ In compass of the wants it undergoes ‭ By wand’rings, losses, or dependent woes. ‭ Excuse me therefore, if I err’d at home; ‭ Which since thou wilt make here, as overcome ‭ With thy command for stay, I’ll take on me ‭ Cares appertaining to this place, like thee. ‭ Does then Ulysses’ sire, and mother, breathe, ‭ Both whom he left in th’ age next door to death? ‭ Or are they breathless, and descended where ‭ The dark house is, that never day doth clear?” ‭ “Laertes lives,” said he, “but ev’ry hour ‭ Beseecheth Jove to take from him the pow’r ‭ That joins his life and limbs; for with a moan ‭ That breeds a marvel he laments his son ‭ Depriv’d by death, and adds to that another ‭ Of no less depth for that dead son’s dead mother, ‭ Whom he a virgin wedded, which the more ‭ Makes him lament her loss, and doth deplore ‭ Yet more her miss, because her womb the truer ‭ Was to his brave son, and his slaughter slew her. ‭ Which last love to her doth his life engage, ‭ And makes him live an undigested age. ‭ O! such a death she died as never may ‭ Seize anyone that here beholds the day, ‭ That either is to any man a friend, ‭ Or can a woman kill in such a kind. ‭ As long as she had being, I would be ‭ A still inquirer (since ’twas dear to me, ‭ Though death to her, to hear his name) when she ‭ Heard of Ulysses, for I might be bold, ‭ She brought me up, and in her love did hold ‭ My life, compar’d with long-veil’d Ctimené, ‭ Her youngest issue (in some small degree ‭ Her daughter yet preferr’d) a brave young dame. ‭ And when of youth the dearly-lovéd flame ‭ Was lighted in us, marriage did prefer ‭ The maid to Samos; whence was sent for her ‭ Infinite riches, when the queen bestow’d ‭ A fair new suit, new shoes, and all, and vow’d ‭ Me to the field, but passing loth to part, ‭ As loving me more than she lov’d her heart. ‭ And these I want now; but their business grows ‭ Upon me daily, which the Gods impose, ‭ To whom I hold all, give account to them, ‭ For I see none left to the diadem ‭ That may dispose all better. So, I drink ‭ And eat of what is here; and whom I think ‭ Worthy or rev’rend, I have giv’n to, still, ‭ These kinds of guest-rites; for the household ill ‭ (Which, where the queen is, riots) takes her still ‭ From thought of these things. Nor is it delight ‭ To hear, from her plight, of or work or word; ‭ The Wooers spoil all. But yet my men will board ‭ Her sorrows often with discourse of all, ‭ Eating and drinking of the festival ‭ That there is kept, and after bring to field ‭ Such things as servants make their pleasures yield. ‭ “O me, Eumæus,” said Laertes’ son, ‭ “Hast thou then err’d so of a little one, ‭ Like me, from friends and country? Pray thee say, ‭ And say a truth, doth vast Destruction lay ‭ Her hand upon the wide-way’d seat of men, [4] ‭ Where dwelt thy sire and rev’rend mother then, ‭ That thou art spar’d there? Or else, set alone ‭ In guard of beeves, or sheep, set th’ enemy on, ‭ Surpris’d, and shipp’d, transferr’d, and sold thee here? ‭ He that bought thee paid well, yet bought not dear.” ‭ “Since thou enquir’st of that, my guest,” said he, ‭ “Hear and be silent, and, mean space, sit free ‭ In use of these cups to thy most delights; ‭ Unspeakable in length now are the nights. ‭ Those that affect sleep yet, to sleep have leave, ‭ Those that affect to hear, their hearers give. ‭ But sleep not ere your hour; much sleep doth grieve. ‭ Whoever lists to sleep, away to bed, ‭ Together with the morning raise his head, ‭ Together with his fellows break his fast, ‭ And then his lord’s herd drive to their repast. ‭ We two, still in our tabernacle here ‭ Drinking and eating, will our bosoms cheer ‭ With memories and tales of our annoys. ‭ Betwixt his sorrows ev’ry human joys, ‭ He most, who most hath felt and furthest err’d. ‭ And now thy will to act shall be preferr’d. ‭ There is an isle above Ortygia, ‭ If thou hast heard, they call it Syria, ‭ Where, once a day, the sun moves backward still. ‭ ’Tis not so great as good, for it doth fill ‭ The fields with oxen, fills them still with sheep, ‭ Fills roofs with wine, and makes all corn there cheap. ‭ No dearth comes ever there, nor no disease ‭ That doth with hate us wretched mortals seize, ‭ But when men’s varied nations, dwelling there ‭ In any city, enter th’ aged year, ‭ The silver-bow-bearer, the Sun, and She ‭ That bears as much renown for archery, ‭ Stoop with their painless shafts, and strike them dead, ‭ As one would sleep, and never keep the bed. ‭ In this isle stand two cities, betwixt whom ‭ All things that of the soil’s fertility come ‭ In two parts are divided. And both these ‭ My father rul’d, Ctesius Ormenides, ‭ A man like the Immortals. With these states ‭ The cross-biting Phœnicians traffick’d rates ‭ Of infinite merchandise in ships brought there, ‭ In which they then were held exempt from peer. ‭ There dwelt within my father’s house a dame, ‭ Born a Phœnician, skilful in the frame ‭ Of noble housewif’ries, right tall and fair. ‭ Her the Phœnician great-wench-net-lay’r [5] ‭ With sweet words circumvented, as she was ‭ Washing her linen. To his amorous pass ‭ He brought her first, shor’d from his ship to her; ‭ To whom he did his whole life’s love prefer, ‭ Which of these breast-exposing dames the hearts ‭ Deceives, though fashion’d of right honest parts. ‭ He ask’d her after, what she was, and whence? ‭ She, passing presently, the excellence ‭ Told of her father’s turrets, and that she ‭ Might boast herself sprung from the progeny ‭ Of the rich Sidons, and the daughter was ‭ Of the much-year-revénued Arybas; ‭ But that the Taphian pirates made her prise, ‭ As she return’d from her field-housewif’ries, ‭ Transferr’d her hither, and, at that man’s house ‭ Where now she liv’d, for value precious ‭ Sold her to th’ owner. He that stole her love ‭ Bade her again to her birth’s seat remove, ‭ To see the fair roofs of her friends again, ‭ Who still held state, and did the port maintain ‭ Herself reported. She said: ‘Be it so, ‭ So you, and all that in your ship shall row, ‭ Swear to return me in all safety hence.’ ‭ All swore. Th’ oath past, with ev’ry consequence, ‭ She bade: ‘Be silent now, and not a word ‭ Do you, or any of your friends, afford, ‭ Meeting me afterward in any way, ‭ Or at the washing-fount; lest some display ‭ Be made, and told the old man, and he then ‭ Keep me strait bound, to you and to your men ‭ The utter ruin plotting of your lives. ‭ Keep in firm thought then ev’ry word that strives ‭ For dang’rous utt’rance. Haste your ship’s full freight ‭ Of what you traffic for, and let me straight ‭ Know by some sent friend she hath all in hold, ‭ And with myself I’ll bring thence all the gold ‭ I can by all means finger; and, beside, ‭ I’ll do my best to see your freight supplied ‭ With some well-weighing burthen of mine own. ‭ For I bring-up in house a great man’s son, ‭ As crafty as myself, who will with me ‭ Run ev’ry way along, and I will be ‭ His leader, till your ship hath made him sure. ‭ He will an infinite great price procure, ‭ Transfer him to what languag’d men ye may.’ ‭ This said, she gat her home, and there made stay ‭ A whole year with us, goods of great avail ‭ Their ship enriching. Which now fit for sail, ‭ They sent a messenger t’ inform the dame; ‭ And to my father’s house a fellow came, ‭ Full of Phœnician craft, that to be sold ‭ A tablet brought, the body all of gold, ‭ The verge all-amber. This had ocular view ‭ Both by my honour’d mother and the crew ‭ Of her house-handmaids, handled, and the price ‭ Beat, ask’d, and promis’d. And while this device ‭ Lay thus upon the forge, this jeweller ‭ Made privy signs, by winks and wiles, to her ‭ That was his object; which she took, and he, ‭ His sign seeing noted, hied to ship. When she, ‭ (My hand still taking, as she us’d to do ‭ To walk abroad with her) convey’d me so ‭ Abroad with her, and in the portico ‭ Found cups, with tasted viands, which the guests ‭ That us’d to flock about my father’s feasts ‭ Had left. They gone (some to the council-court, ‭ Some to hear news amongst the talking sort) ‭ Her theft three bowls into her lap convey’d, ‭ And forth she went. Nor was my wit so stay’d ‭ To stay her, or myself. The sun went down, ‭ And shadows round about the world were flown, ‭ When we came to the haven, in which did ride ‭ The swift Phœnician ship; whose fair broad side ‭ They boarded straight, took us up; and all went ‭ Along the moist waves. Wind Saturnius sent. ‭ Six days we day and night sail’d; but when Jove Putut up the seventh day, She that shafts doth love ‭ Shot dead the woman, who into the pump ‭ Like to a dop-chick div’d, and gave a thump ‭ In her sad settling. Forth they cast her then ‭ To serve the fish and sea-calves, no more men; ‭ But I was left there with a heavy heart; ‭ When wind and water drave them quit apart ‭ Their own course, and on Ithaca they fell, ‭ And there poor me did to Laertes sell. ‭ And thus these eyes the sight of this isle prov’d.” ‭ “Eumæus,” he replied, “thou much hast mov’d ‭ The mind in me with all things thou hast said, ‭ And all the suff’rance on thy bosom laid, ‭ But, truly, to thy ill hath Jove join’d good, ‭ That one whose veins are serv’d with human blood ‭ Hath bought thy service, that gives competence ‭ Of food, wine, cloth to thee; and sure th’ expence ‭ Of thy life’s date here is of good desert, ‭ Whose labours not to thee alone impart ‭ Sufficient food and housing, but to me; ‭ Where I through many a heap’d humanity ‭ Have hither err’d, where, though, like thee, not sold, ‭ Nor stay’d like thee yet, nor nought needful hold.” ‭ This mutual speech they us’d, nor had they slept ‭ Much time before the much-near morning leapt ‭ To her fair throne. And now struck sail the men ‭ That serv’d Telemachus, arriv’d just then ‭ Near his lov’d shore; where now they stoop’d the mast, ‭ Made to the port with oars, and anchor cast, ‭ Made fast the ship, and then ashore they went, ‭ Dress’d supper, fill’d wine; when (their appetites spent) ‭ Telemachus commanded they should yield ‭ The ship to th’ owner, while himself at field ‭ Would see his shepherds; when light drew to end ‭ He would his gifts see, and to town descend, ‭ And in the morning at a feast bestow ‭ Rewards for all their pains. “And whither, now,” ‭ Said Theoclymenus, “my lovéd son, ‭ Shall I address myself? Whose mansión, ‭ Of all men, in this rough-hewn isle, shall I ‭ Direct my way to? Or go readily ‭ To thy house and thy mother?” He replied: ‭ “Another time I’ll see you satisfied ‭ With my house-entertainment, but as now ‭ You should encounter none that could bestow ‭ Your fit entreaty, and (which less grace were) ‭ You could not see my mother, I not there; ‭ For she’s no frequent object, but apart ‭ Keeps from her Wooers, woo’d with her desert, ‭ Up in her chamber, at her housewif’ry ‭ But I’ll name one to whom you shall apply ‭ Direct repair, and that’s Eurymachus, ‭ Renown’d descent to wise Polybius, ‭ A man whom th’ Ithacensians look on now ‭ As on a God, since he of all that woo ‭ Is far superior man, and likest far ‭ To wed my mother, and as circular ‭ Be in that honour as Ulysses was. ‭ But heav’n-hous’d Jove knows the yet hidden pass ‭ Of her disposure, and on them he may ‭ A blacker sight bring than her nuptial day.” ‭ As this he utter’d, on his right hand flew ‭ A saker, sacred to the God of view, ‭ That in his talons truss’d and plum’d a dove; ‭ The feathers round about the ship did rove, ‭ And on Telemachus fell; whom th’ augur then ‭ Took fast by the hand, withdrew him from his men, ‭ And said: “Telemachus! This hawk is sent ‭ From God; I knew it for a sure ostent ‭ When first I saw it. Be you well assur’d, ‭ There will no Wooer be by heav’n endur’d ‭ To rule in Ithaca above your race, ‭ But your pow’rs ever fill the regal place.” ‭ “I wish to heav’n,” said he, “thy word might stand, ‭ Thou then shouldst soon acknowledge from my hand ‭ Such gifts and friendship, as would make thee, guest, ‭ Met and saluted as no less than blest.” ‭ This said, he call’d Piræus, Clytus’ son, ‭ His true associate, saying: “Thou hast done ‭ (Of all my followers to the Pylian shore) ‭ My will in chief in other things, once more ‭ Be chiefly good to me; take to thy house ‭ This lovéd stranger, and be studious ‭ T’ embrace and greet him with thy greatest fare, ‭ Till I myself come and take off thy care.” ‭ The famous-for-his-lance said: “If your stay ‭ Take time for life here, this man’s care I’ll lay ‭ On my performance, nor what fits a guest ‭ Shall any penury withhold his feast.” ‭ Thus took he ship, bade them board, and away. ‭ They boarded, sat, but did their labour stay ‭ Till he had deck’d his feet, and reached his lance. ‭ They to the city; he did straight advance ‭ Up to his styes, where swine lay for him store, ‭ By whose side did his honest swine-herd snore, ‭ Till his short cares his longest nights had ended, ‭ And nothing worse to both his lords intended. ‭ THE END OF THE FIFTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭1 Εὐρύχορον Λακεδαίμονα in quâ ampli ut pulchri chori duci ‭possunt, vel ducuntur; which the vulgar translations turn ‭therefore, latam, seu amplam.

‭[2] Nestor’s son to Menelaus, his ironical question continuing still ‭Homer’s character of Menelaus.

‭[3] His wife betrayed him for money.

‭[4] Supposing him to dwell in a city.

‭[5] Πολυπαίπαλος, admodum vafer, Der. ex παλεύω, pertraho in ‭retia, et παι̑ς, puella. ‭ THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ The Prince at field, he sends to town ‭ Eumæus, to make truly known ‭ His safe return. By Pallas’ will, ‭ Telemachus is giv’n the skill ‭ To know his father. Those that lay ‭ In ambush, to prevent the way ‭ Of young Ulyssides for home, ‭ Retire, with anger overcome. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Πι̑. ‭ To his most dear ‭ Ulysses shows. ‭ The wise-son here ‭ His father knows.

‭ Ulysses and divine Eumæus rose ‭ Soon as the morning could her eyes unclose, ‭ Made fire, brake fast, and to their pasture send ‭ The gather’d herds, on whom their swains attend. ‭ The self-tire barking dogs all fawn’d upon, ‭ Nor bark’d, at first sight of Ulysses’ son. ‭ The whinings of their fawnings yet did greet ‭ Ulysses’ ears, and sounds of certain feet, ‭ Who thus bespake Eumæus: “Sure some friend, ‭ Or one well-known, comes, that the mastiffs spend ‭ Their mouths no louder. Only some one near ‭ They whine, and leap about, whose feet I hear.” ‭ Each word of this speech was not spent, before ‭ His son stood in the entry of the door. ‭ Out-rush’d amaz’d Eumæus, and let go ‭ The cup to earth, that he had labour’d so, ‭ Cleans’d for the neat wine, did the prince-surprise, ‭ Kiss’d his fair forehead, both his lovely eyes, ‭ Both his white hands, and tender tears distill’d. ‭ There breath’d no kind-soul’d father that was fill’d ‭ Less with his son’s embraces, that had liv’d ‭ Ten years in far-off earth, now new retriev’d, ‭ His only child too, gotten in his age, ‭ And for whose absence he had felt the rage ‭ Of griefs upon him, than for this divin’d ‭ So-much-for-form was this divine-for-mind; ‭ Who kiss’d him through, who grew about him kissing, ‭ As fresh from death ’scap’d. Whom so long time missing, ‭ He wept for joy, and said: “Thou yet art come, ‭ Sweet light, sweet sun-rise, to thy cloudy home. ‭ O, never I look’d, when once shipp’d away ‭ For Pylos’ shores, to see thy turning day. ‭ Come, enter, lov’d son, let me feast my heart ‭ With thy sweet sight, new-come, so far apart. ‭ Nor, when you liv’d at home, would you walk down ‭ Often enough here, but stay’d still at town; ‭ It pleas’d you then to cast such forehand view ‭ About your house on that most damnéd crew.” [1] ‭ “It shall be so then, friend,” said he, “but now ‭ I come to glad mine eyes with thee, and know ‭ If still my mother in her house remain, ‭ Or if some Wooer hath aspir’d to gain ‭ Of her in nuptials; for Ulysses’ bed, ‭ By this, lies all with spiders’s cobwebs spread, ‭ In penury of him that should supply it.” ‭ “She still,” said he, “holds her most constant quiet, ‭ Aloft thine own house, for the bed’s respect; ‭ But, for her lord’s sad loss, sad nights and days ‭ Obscure her beauties, and corrupt their rays.” ‭ This said, Eumæus took his brazen spear, ‭ And in he went; when, being enter’d near ‭ Within the stony threshold; from his seat ‭ His father rose to him, who would not let ‭ Th’ old man remove, but drew him back and prest ‭ With earnest terms his sitting, saying: “Guest, ‭ Take here your seat again, we soon shall get ‭ Within our own house here some other seat. ‭ Here’s one will fetch it.” This said, down again ‭ His father sat, and to his son his swain ‭ Strew’d fair green osiers, and impos’d thereon ‭ A good soft sheepskin, which made him a throne. ‭ Then he appos’d to them his last-left roast, ‭ And in a wicker basket bread engrost, ‭ Fill’d luscious wine, and then took opposite seat ‭ To the divine Ulysses. When, the meat ‭ Set there before them, all fell-to, and eat. ‭ When they had fed, the prince said: “Pray thee say, ‭ Whence comes this guest? What seaman gave him way ‭ To this our isle? I hope these feet of his ‭ Could walk no water. Who boasts he he is?” ‭ “I’ll tell all truly son: From ample Crete ‭ He boasts himself, and says, his erring feet ‭ Have many cities trod, and God was he ‭ Whose finger wrought in his infirmity. ‭ But, to my cottage, the last ’scape of his ‭ Was from a Thesprot’s ship. Whate’er he is, ‭ I’ll give him you, do what you please; his vaunt ‭ Is, that he is, at most, a suppliant.” ‭ “Eumæus,” said the prince, “to tell me this, ‭ You have afflicted my weak faculties; ‭ For how shall I receive him to my house ‭ With any safety, that suspicious ‭ Of my young forces (should I be assay’d ‭ With any sudden violence) may want aid ‭ To shield myself? Besides, if I go home, ‭ My mother is with two doubts overcome, ‭ If she shall stay with me, and take fit care ‭ For all such guests as there seek guestive fare, ‭ Her husband’s bed respecting, and her fame ‭ Amongst the people; or her blood may frame ‭ A liking to some Wooer, such as best ‭ May bed her in his house, not giving least. ‭ And thus am I unsure of all means free ‭ To use a guest there, fit for his degree. ‭ But, being thy guest, I’ll be his supply ‭ For all weeds, such as mere necessity ‭ Shall more than furnish. Fit him with a sword, ‭ And set him where his heart would have been shor’d; ‭ Or, if so pleas’d, receive him in thy shed, ‭ I’ll send thee clothes, I vow, and all the bread ‭ His wish would eat, that to thy men and thee ‭ He be no burthen. But that I should be ‭ His mean to my house; where a company ‭ Of wrong-professing Wooers wildly live, ‭ I will in no sort author, lest they give ‭ Foul use to him, and me as gravely grieve. ‭ For what great act can anyone achieve ‭ Against a multitude, although his mind ‭ Retain a courage of the greatest kind? ‭ For all minds have not force in one degree.” ‭ Ulysses answer’d: “O friend, since ’tis free ‭ For any man to change fit words with thee, ‭ I’ll freely speak: Methinks, a wolfish pow’r ‭ My heart puts on to tear and to devour, ‭ To hear your affirmation, that, in spite ‭ Of what may fall on you, made opposite, ‭ Being one of your proportion, birth, and age, ‭ These Wooers should in such injustice rage. ‭ What should the cause be? Do you wilfully ‭ Endure their spoil? Or hath your empery ‭ Been such amongst your people, that all gather ‭ In troop, and one voice (which ev’n God doth father) ‭ And vow your hate so, that they suffer them? ‭ Or blame your kinsfolk’s faiths, before th’ extreme ‭ Of your first stroke hath tried them, whom a man, ‭ When strifes to blows rise, trusts, though battle ran ‭ In huge and high waves? Would to heav’n my spirit ‭ Such youth breath’d, as the man that must inherit ‭ Yet-never-touch’d Ulysses, or that he, ‭ But wand’ring this way, would but come, and see ‭ What my age could achieve (and there is Fate ‭ For Hope yet left, that he may recreate ‭ His eyes with such an object) this my head ‭ Should any stranger strike off, if stark dead ‭ I struck not all, the house in open force ‭ Ent’ring with challenge! If their great concourse ‭ Did over-lay me, being a man alone, ‭ (Which you urge for yourself) be you that one, ‭ I rather in mine own house wish to die ‭ One death for all, than so indecently ‭ See evermore deeds worse than death applied, ‭ Guests wrong’d with vile words and blow-giving pride, ‭ The women-servants dragg’d in filthy kind ‭ About the fair house, and in corners blind ‭ Made serve the rapes of ruffians, food devour’d ‭ Idly and rudely, wine exhaust, and pour’d ‭ Through throats profane; and all about a deed ‭ That’s ever wooing, and will never speed.” ‭ “I’ll tell you, guest, most truly,” said his son, ‭ “I do not think that all my people run ‭ One hateful course against me; nor accuse ‭ Kinsfolks that I in strifes of weight might use; ‭ But Jove will have it so, our race alone ‭ (As if made singular) to one and one ‭ His hand confining. Only to the king, ‭ Jove-bred Arcesius, did Laertes spring; ‭ Only to old Laertes did descend ‭ Ulysses; only to Ulysses’ end ‭ Am I the adjunct, whom he left so young, ‭ That from me to him never comfort sprung. ‭ And to all these now, for their race, arise ‭ Up in their house a brood of enemies. ‭ As many as in these isles bow men’s knees, ‭ Samos, Dulichius, and the rich-in-trees ‭ Zacynthus, or in this rough isle’s command, ‭ So many suitors for the nuptials stand, ‭ That ask my mother, and, mean space, prefer ‭ Their lusts to all spoil, that dishonour her. ‭ Nor doth she, though she loaths, deny their suits, ‭ Nor they denials take, though taste their fruits. ‭ But all this time the state of all things there ‭ Their throats devour, and I must shortly bear ‭ A part in all. And yet the periods ‭ Of these designs lie in the knees of Gods. ‭ Of all loves then, Eumæus, make quick way ‭ To wise Penelopé, and to her say ‭ My safe return from Pylos, and alone, ‭ Return thou hither, having made it known. ‭ Nor let, besides my mother, any ear ‭ Partake thy message, since a number bear ‭ My safe return displeasure.” He replied; ‭ “I know, and comprehend you. You divide ‭ Your mind with one that understands you well. ‭ But, all in one yet, may I not reveal ‭ To th’ old hard-fated Arcesiades ‭ Your safe return? Who, through his whole distress ‭ Felt for Ulysses, did not yet so grieve, ‭ But with his household he had will to live, ‭ And serv’d his appetite with wine and food, ‭ Survey’d his husbandry, and did his blood ‭ Some comforts fitting life; but since you took ‭ Your ship for Pylos, he would never brook ‭ Or wine or food, they say, nor cast an eye ‭ On any labour, but sits weeping by, ‭ And sighing out his sorrows, ceaseless moans ‭ Wasting his body, turn’d all skin and bones.” ‭ “More sad news still,” said he, “yet, mourn he still; ‭ For if the rule of all men’s works be will, ‭ And his will his way goes, mine stands inclin’d ‭ T’ attend the home-turn of my nearer kind. [2] ‭ Do then what I enjoin; which giv’n effect, ‭ Err nor to field to him, but turn direct, ‭ Entreating first my mother, with most speed, ‭ And all the secrecy that now serves need, ‭ To send this way their store-house guardian, ‭ And she shall tell all to the aged man.” [3] ‭ He took his shoes up, put them on, and went. ‭ Nor was his absence hid from Jove’s descent, ‭ Divine Minerva, who took straight to view, ‭ A goodly woman’s shape that all works knew, ‭ And, standing in the entry, did prefer ‭ Her sight t’ Ulysses; but, though meeting her, ‭ His son Telemachus nor saw nor knew. ‭ The Gods’ clear presences are know to few. ‭ Yet, with Ulysses, ev’n the dogs did see, ‭ And would not bark, but, whining lovingly, ‭ Fled to the stall’s far side. When she her eyne ‭ Mov’d to Ulysses; he knew her design, ‭ And left the house, pass’d the great sheep-cote’s wall, ‭ And stood before her. She bade utter all ‭ Now to his son, nor keep the least unlos’d, ‭ That, all the Wooers’ deaths being now dispos’d, ‭ They might approach the town; affirming; she ‭ Not long would fail t’ assist to victory. ‭ This said, she laid her golden rod on him, ‭ And with his late-worn weeds grac’d ev’ry limb, ‭ His body straighten’d, and his youth instill’d, ‭ His fresh blood call’d up, ev’ry wrinkle fill’d ‭ About his broken eyes, and on his chin ‭ The brown hair spread. When his whole trim wrought in, ‭ She issued, and he enter’d to his son, ‭ Who stood amaz’d, and thought some God had done ‭ His house that honour, turn’d away his eyes, ‭ And said; “Now guest, you grace another guise ‭ Than suits your late show. Other weeds you wear, ‭ And other person. Of the starry sphere ‭ You certainly present some deathless God. ‭ Be pleas’d, that to your here-vouchsaf’d abode ‭ We may give sacred rites, and offer gold, ‭ To do us favour.” He replied; “I hold ‭ No deified state. Why put you thus on me ‭ A God’s resemblance? I am only he ‭ That bears thy father’s name; for whose lov’d sake ‭ Thy youth so grieves, whose absence makes thee take ‭ Such wrongs of men.” Thus kiss’d he him, nor could ‭ Forbear those tears that in such mighty hold ‭ He held before, still held, still issuing ever; ‭ And now, the shores once broke, the springtide never ‭ Forbore earth from the cheeks he kiss’d. His son, ‭ By all these violent arguments not won ‭ To credit him his father, did deny ‭ His kind assumpt, and said, some Deity ‭ Feign’d that joy’s cause, to make him grieve the more; ‭ Affirming, that no man, whoever wore ‭ The garment of mortality, could take, ‭ By any utmost pow’r his soul could make, ‭ Such change into it, since, at so much will, ‭ Not Jove himself could both remove and fill ‭ Old age with youth, and youth with age so spoil, ‭ In such an instant. “You wore all the soil ‭ Of age but now, and were old; and but now ‭ You bear that young grace that the Gods indow ‭ Their heav’n-born forms withal.” His father said: ‭ “Telemachus! Admire, nor stand dismay’d, ‭ But know thy solid father; since within ‭ He answers all parts that adorn his skin. ‭ There shall no more Ulyssesses come here. ‭ I am the man, that now this twentieth year ‭ (Still under suff’rance of a world of ill) ‭ My country-earth recover. ’Tis the will ‭ The prey-professor Pallas puts in act, ‭ Who put me thus together, thus distract ‭ In aged pieces as ev’n now you saw, ‭ This youth now rend’ring. ’Tis within the law ‭ Of her free pow’r. Sometimes to show me poor, ‭ Sometimes again thus amply to restore ‭ My youth and ornaments, she still would please. ‭ The Gods can raise, and throw men down, with ease.” ‭ This said, he sat; when his Telemachus pour’d ‭ Himself about him; tears on tears he show’r’d, ‭ And to desire of moan increas’d the cloud. ‭ Both wept and howl’d, and laid out shrieks more loud ‭ Than or the bird-bone-breaking eagle rears, ‭ Or brood-kind vulture with the crooked seres, ‭ When rustic hands their tender eyries draw, ‭ Before they give their wings their full-plum’d law. ‭ But miserably pour’d they from beneath ‭ Their lids their tears, while both their breasts did breathe ‭ As frequent cries; and, to their fervent moan, ‭ The light had left the skies, if first the son ‭ Their dumb moans had not vented, with demand ‭ What ship it was that gave the natural land ‭ To his bless’d feet? He then did likewise lay ‭ Hand on his passion, and gave these words way: ‭ “I’ll tell thee truth, my son: The men that bear ‭ Much fame for shipping, my reducers were ‭ To long-wish’d Ithaca, who each man else ‭ That greets their shore give pass to where he dwells. ‭ The Phæacensian peers, in one night’s date, ‭ While I fast slept, fetch’d th’ Ithacensian state, ‭ Grac’d me with wealthy gifts, brass, store of gold, ‭ And robes fair-wrought; all which have secret hold ‭ In caves that by the Gods’ advice I chus’d. ‭ And now Minerva’s admonitions us’d ‭ For this retreat, that we might here dispose ‭ In close discourse the slaughters of our foes. ‭ Recount the number of the Wooers then, ‭ And let me know what name they hold with men, ‭ That my mind may cast over their estates ‭ A curious measure, and confer the rates ‭ Of our two pow’rs and theirs, to try, if we ‭ Alone may propagate to victory ‭ Our bold encounters of them all, or prove ‭ The kind assistance of some others’ love.” ‭ “O father,” he replied, “I oft have heard ‭ Your counsels and your force of hand preferr’d ‭ To mighty glory, but your speeches now ‭ Your vent’rous mind exceeding mighty show. ‭ Ev’n to amaze they move me; for, in right ‭ Of no fit counsel, should be brought to fight ‭ Two men ’gainst th’ able faction of a throng. ‭ No one two, no one ten, no twice ten, strong ‭ These Wooers are, but more by much. For know, ‭ That from Dulichius there are fifty-two, ‭ All choice young men; and ev’ry one of these ‭ Six men attend. From Samos cross’d the seas ‭ Twice-twelve young gallants. From Zacynthus came ‭ Twice-ten. Of Ithaca, the best of name, ‭ Twice-six. Of all which all the state they take ‭ A sacred poet and a herald make. ‭ Their delicacies two, of special sort ‭ In skill of banquets, serve. And all this port ‭ If we shall dare t’ encounter, all-thrust-up ‭ In one strong roof, have great care lest the cup, ‭ Your great mind thirsts, exceeding bitter taste, ‭ And your retreat commend not to your haste ‭ Your great attempt, but make you say, you buy ‭ Their pride’s revenges at a price too high. ‭ And therefore, if you could; ’twere well you thought ‭ Of some assistant. Be your spirit wrought ‭ In such a man’s election, as may lend ‭ His succours freely, and express a friend.” ‭ His father answer’d: “Let me ask of thee; ‭ Hear me, consider, and then answer me. ‭ Think’st thou, if Pallas and the King of skies ‭ We had to friend, would their sufficiencies ‭ Make strong our part? Or that some other yet ‭ My thoughts must work for?” “These,” said he “are set ‭ Aloft the clouds, and are found aids indeed, ‭ As pow’rs not only that these men exceed, ‭ But bear of all men else the high command, ‭ And hold of Gods an overruling hand.” ‭ “Well then,” said he, “not these shall sever long ‭ Their force and ours in fights assur’d and strong. ‭ And then ’twixt us and them shall Mars prefer ‭ His strength, to stand our great distinguisher, ‭ When in mine own roofs I am forc’d to blows. ‭ But when the day shall first her fires disclose, ‭ Go thou for home, and troop up with the Wooers, ‭ Thy will with theirs join’d, pow’r with their rude pow’rs; ‭ And after shall the herdsman guide to town ‭ My steps, my person wholly overgrown ‭ With all appearance of a poor old swain, ‭ Heavy, and wretched. If their high disdain ‭ Of my vile presence make them my desert ‭ Affect with contumelies, let thy lov’d heart ‭ Beat in fix’d cónfines of thy bosom still, ‭ And see me suffer, patient of their ill. ‭ Ay, though they drag me by the heels about ‭ Mine own free earth, and after hurl me out, ‭ Do thou still suffer. Nay, though with their darts ‭ They beat and bruise me, bear. But these foul parts ‭ Persuade them to forbear, and by their names ‭ Call all with kind words; bidding, for their shames, ‭ Their pleasures cease. If yet they yield not way, ‭ There breaks the first light of their fatal day. ‭ In mean space, mark this: When the chiefly-wise ‭ Minerva prompts me, I’ll inform thine eyes ‭ With some giv’n sign, and then all th’ arms that are ‭ Aloft thy roof in some near room prepare ‭ For speediest use. If those brave men inquire ‭ Thy end in all, still rake up all thy fire ‭ In fair cool words, and say: ‘I bring them down ‭ To scour the smoke off, being so overgrown ‭ That one would think all fumes, that ever were ‭ Breath’d since Ulysses’ loss, reflected here. ‭ These are not like the arms he left behind, ‭ In way for Troy. Besides, Jove prompts my mind ‭ In their remove apart thus with this thought, ‭ That, if in height of wine there should be wrought, ‭ Some harsh contention ’twixt you, this apt mean ‭ To mutual bloodshed may be taken clean ‭ From out your reach, and all the spoil prevented ‭ Of present feast, perhaps ev’n then presented ‭ My mother’s nuptials to your long kind vows. ‭ Steel itself, ready, draws a man to blows.’ ‭ Thus make their thoughts secure; to us alone ‭ Two swords, two darts, two shields left: which see done ‭ Within our readiest reach, that at our will ‭ We may resume, and charge, and all their skill ‭ Pallas and Jove, that all just counsels breathe, ‭ May darken with secureness to their death. ‭ And let me charge thee now, as thou art mine, ‭ And as thy veins mine own true blood combine: ‭ Let, after this, none know Ulysses near, ‭ Not anyone of all the household there, ‭ Not here the herdsman, not Laertes be ‭ Made privy, not herself Penelopé ‭ But only let thyself and me work out ‭ The women’s thoughts of all things borne about ‭ The Wooers’ hearts; and then thy men approve, ‭ To know who honours, who with rev’rence love, ‭ Our well-weigh’d memories, and who is won ‭ To fail thy fit right, though my only son.” ‭ “You teach,” said he, “so punctually now, ‭ As I knew nothing, nor were sprung from you. ‭ I hope, hereafter, you shall better know ‭ What soul I bear, and that it doth not let ‭ The least loose motion pass his natural seat. ‭ But this course you propose will prove, I fear, ‭ Small profit to us; and could wish your care ‭ Would weigh it better as too far about. ‭ For time will ask much, to the sifting out ‭ Of each man’s disposition by his deeds; ‭ And, in the mean time, ev’ry Wooer feeds ‭ Beyond satiety, nor knows how to spare. ‭ The women yet, since they more easy are ‭ For our inquiry, I would wish you try, ‭ Who right your state, who do it injury. ‭ The men I would omit, and these things make ‭ Your labour after. But, to undertake ‭ The Wooers’ war, I wish your utmost speed, ‭ Especially if you could cheer the deed ‭ With some ostent from Jove.” Thus, as the sire ‭ Consented to the son, did here expire ‭ Their mutual speech. And now the ship was come, ‭ That brought the young prince and his soldiers home, ‭ The deep haven reach’d, they drew the ship ashore, ‭ Took all their arms out, and the rich gifts bore ‭ To Clitius’ house. But to Ulysses’ court ‭ They sent a herald first, to make report ‭ To wise Penelopé, that safe at field ‭ Her son was left; yet, since the ship would yield ‭ Most haste to her, he sent that first, and them ‭ To comfort with his utmost the extreme ‭ He knew she suffer’d. At the court now met ‭ The herald and the herdsman, to repeat ‭ One message to the queen. Both whom arriv’d ‭ Within the gates; both to be foremost striv’d ‭ In that good news. The herald, he for haste ‭ Amongst the maids bestow’d it, thinking plac’d ‭ The queen amongst them. “Now,” said he, “O queen, ‭ Your lov’d son is arriv’d.” And, then was seen ‭ The queen herself, to whom the herdsman told ‭ All that Telemachus enjoin’d he should; ‭ All which discharg’d, his steps he back bestows, ‭ And left both court and city for his sows. ‭ The Wooers then grew sad; soul-vex’d, and all ‭ Made forth the court; when, by the mighty wall ‭ They took their sev’ral seats, before the gates. ‭ To whom Eurymachus initiates. ‭ Their utter’d grievance. “O,” said he, “my friends, ‭ A work right-great begun, as proudly ends, ‭ We said, Telemachus should never make ‭ His voyage good, nor this shore ever take ‭ For his return’s receipt; and yet we fail, ‭ And he performs it. Come, let’s man a sail, ‭ The best In our election, and bestow ‭ Such soldiers in her as can swiftest row, ‭ To tell our friends that way-lay his retreat ‭ ‘Tis safe perform’d, and make them quickly get ‭ Their ship for Ithaca.” This was not said ‭ Before Amphinomus in port display’d ‭ The ship arriv’d, her sails then under-stroke, ‭ And oars resum’d; when, laughing, thus he spoke: ‭ “Move for no messenger. These men are come, ‭ Some God hath either told his turning home, ‭ Or they themselves have seen his ship gone by, ‭ Had her in chase, and lost her.” Instantly ‭ They rose, and went to port; found drawn to land ‭ The ship, the soldiers taking arms in hand. ‭ The Wooers themselves to council went in throng, ‭ And not a man besides, or old, or young, ‭ Let sit amongst them. Then Eupitheus’ son, ‭ Antinous, said: “See, what the Gods have done! ‭ They only have deliver’d from our ill ‭ The men we way-laid. Ev’ry windy hill ‭ Hath been their watch-tow’r, where by turns they stood ‭ Continual sentinel. And we made good ‭ Our work as well, for, sun once set, we never ‭ Slept wink ashore all night, but made sail ever, ‭ This way and that, ev’n till the morning kept ‭ Her sacred station, so to intercept ‭ And take his life, for whom our ambush lay; ‭ And yet hath God to his return giv’n way. ‭ But let us prosecute with counsels here ‭ His necessary death, nor anywhere ‭ Let rest his safety; for if he survive, ‭ Our sails will never-in wish’d havens arrive; ‭ Since he is wise, hath soul, and counsel too, ‭ To work the people, who, will never do ‭ Our faction favour. What we then intend ‭ Against his person, give we present end, ‭ Before he call a council, which, believe, ‭ His spirit will haste, and point where it doth grieve, ‭ Stand up amongst them all, and urge his death ‭ Decreed amongst us. Which complaint will breathe ‭ A fire about their spleens, and blow no praise ‭ On our ill labours. Lest, they therefore raise ‭ Pow’r to exile us from our native earth, ‭ And force our lives’ societies to the birth ‭ Of foreign countries, let our speeds prevent, ‭ His coming home to this austere complaint, ‭ At field and far from town, or in some way ‭ Of narrow passage, with his latest day ‭ Shown to his forward youth, his goods and lands ‭ Left to the free division of our hands, ‭ The moveables made all his mother’s dow’r, ‭ And his, whoever Fate affords the pow’r ‭ To celebrate, with her sweet Hymen’s rites. ‭ Or if this please not, but your appetites ‭ Stand to his safety, and to give him seat ‭ In his whole birth-right, let us look to eat ‭ At his cost never more, but ev’ry man ‭ Haste to his home, and wed, with whom he can ‭ At home, and there lay first about for dow’r ‭ And then the woman give his second pow’r ‭ Of nuptial-liking, and, for last, apply ‭ His purpose with most gifts and destiny.” ‭ This silence caus’d; whose breach, at last, begun ‭ Amphinomus, the much renownéd son ‭ Of Nisus surnam’d Aretiades, ‭ Who from Dulichius full of flow’ry leas ‭ Led all the Wooers, and in chief did please ‭ The queen with his discourse, because it grew ‭ From roots of those good minds that did endue [4] ‭ His goodly person; who, exceeding wise, ‭ Us’d this speech: “Friends, I never will advise ‭ The prince’s death; for ’tis a damnéd thing ‭ To put to death the issue of a king. ‭ First, therefore, let’s examine, what applause ‭ The Gods will give it: If the equal laws ‭ Of Jove approve it, I myself will be ‭ The man shall kill him, and this company ‭ Exhort to that mind: If the Gods remain ‭ Adverse, and hate it, I advise, refrain.” ‭ This said Amphinomus, and pleas’d them all ‭ When all arose, and in Ulysses’ hall ‭ Took seat again. Then to the queen was come ‭ The Wooers’ plot, to kill her son at home, ‭ Since their abroad-design had miss’d success, ‭ The herald Medon (who the whole address ‭ Knew of their counsels) making the report. ‭ The Goddess of her sex, with her fair sort ‭ Of lovely women, at the large hall’s door ‭ (Her bright cheeks clouded with a veil she wore) ‭ Stood, and directed to Antinous ‭ Her sharp reproof, which she digested thus: ‭ “Antinous! Compos’d of injury! ‭ Plotter of mischief! Though reports that fly ‭ Amongst our Ithacensian people say ‭ That thou, of all that glory in their sway, ‭ Art best in words and counsels, th’ art not so. ‭ Fond, busy fellow, why plott’st thou the woe ‭ And slaughter of my son, and dost not fear ‭ The presidents of suppliants, when the ear ‭ Of Jove stoops to them? ’Tis unjust to do ‭ Slaughter for slaughter, or pay woe for woe, ‭ Mischief for kindness. Death for life sought, then, ‭ Is an injustice to be loath’d of men. ‭ Serves not thy knowledge to remember when ‭ Thy father fled to us? Who (mov’d to wrath ‭ Against the Taphian thieves) pursued with scathe ‭ The guiltless Thesprots; in whose people’s fear, ‭ Pursuing him for wreak, he landed here, ‭ They after him, professing both their prize ‭ Of all his chiefly-valued faculties, ‭ And more priz’d life. Of all whose bloodiest ends ‭ Ulysses curb’d them, though they were his friends. ‭ Yet thou, like one that no law will allow ‭ The least true honour, eat’st his house up now ‭ That fed thy father; woo’st for love his wife, ‭ Whom thus thou griev’st and seek’st her sole son’s life! ‭ Cease, I command thee, and command the rest ‭ To see all thought of these foul fashions ceas’d.” ‭ Eurymachus replied: “Be confident, ‭ Thou all-of-wit-made, the most fam’d descent ‭ Of king Icarius. Free thy spirits of fear. ‭ There lives not anyone, nor shall live here ‭ Now, nor hereafter, while my life gives heat ‭ And light to me on earth, that dares intreat ‭ With any ill touch thy well-lovéd son, ‭ But here I vow, and here will see it done, ‭ His life shall stain my lance. If on his knees ‭ The city-racer, Laertiades, ‭ Hath made me sit, put in my hand his food, ‭ And held his red wine to me, shall the blood ‭ Of his Telemachus on my hand lay ‭ The least pollution, that my life can stay? ‭ No! I have ever charg’d him not to fear ‭ Death’s threat from any. And, for that most dear ‭ Love of his father, he shall ever be ‭ Much the most lov’d of all that live to me. ‭ Who kills a guiltless man from man may fly, ‭ From God his searches all escapes deny.” ‭ Thus cheer’d his words, but his affections still ‭ Fear’d not to cherish foul intent to kill ‭ Ev’n him whose life to all lives he preferr’d. ‭ The queen went up, and to her love appear’d ‭ Her lord so freshly, that she wept, till sleep ‭ (By Pallas forc’d on her) her eyes did steep ‭ In his sweet humour. When the even was come, ‭ The God-like herdsman reach’d the whole way home. ‭ Ulysses and his son for supper drest ‭ A year-old swine, and ere their host and guest ‭ Had got their presence, Pallas had put by ‭ With her fair rod Ulysses’ royalty, ‭ And render’d him an aged man again, ‭ With all his vile integuments, lest his swain ‭ Should know him in his trim, and tell his queen, ‭ In these deep secrets being not deeply seen. ‭ He seen, to him the prince these words did use: ‭ “Welcome divine Eumæus! Now what news ‭ Employs the city? Are the Wooers come ‭ Back from their scout dismay’d? Or here at home ‭ Will they again attempt me?” He replied: ‭ “These touch not my care. I was satisfied ‭ To do, with most speed, what I went to do; ‭ My message done, return. And yet, not so ‭ Came my news first; a herald (met with there) ‭ Forestall’d my tale, and told how safe you were. ‭ Besides which merely necessary thing, ‭ What in my way chanc’d I may over-bring, ‭ Being what I know, and witness’d with mine eyes. ‭ Where the Hermæan sepulchre doth rise ‭ Above the city, I beheld take port ‭ A ship, and in her many a man of sort; ‭ Her freight was shields and lances; and, methought, ‭ They were the Wooers; but, of knowledge, nought ‭ Can therein tell you.” The prince smil’d, and knew ‭ They were the Wooers, casting secret view ‭ Upon his father. But what they intended ‭ Fled far the herdsman; whose swain’s labours ended, ‭ They dress’d the supper, which, past want, was eat. ‭ When all desire suffic’d of wine and meat, ‭ Of other human wants they took supplies ‭ At Sleep’s soft hand, who sweetly clos’d their eyes. ‭ ‭ THE END OF THE SIXTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] ’Αΐδηλον ὅμιλον, ἀΐδηλος of ἀΐδης, orcus, and signifies ‭properly tenebricosus, or infernalis, so that perniciosus ‭(which is the Latin translation) is not so fit as damned for that crew ‭of dissolute Wooers. The phrase being now used to all so ‭licentious.

‭[2] Intending his father, whose return though he were far from ‭knowing, or fully expecting, yet he desired to order all things as he ‭were present.

‭[3] Intending to Laertes all that Eumæus would have told.

‭[4] ϕπεσὶ ἀγαθῃ̑σιν, bonis mentibus, the plural number used ever ‭by Homer. ‭ THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Telemachus, return’d to town, ‭ Makes to his curious mother known, ‭ In part, his travels. After whom ‭ Ulysses to the court doth come, ‭ In good Eumæus’ guide, and prest ‭ To witness of the Wooers’ feast; ‭ Whom, though twice ten years did bestow ‭ In far-off parts, his dog doth know. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ρω̑. ‭ Ulysses shows ‭ Through all disguise. ‭ Whom his dog knows; ‭ Who knowing dies.

‭ But when air’s rosy birth, the morn, arose, ‭ Telemachus did for the town dispose ‭ His early steps; and took to his command ‭ His fair long lance, well-sorting with his hand, ‭ Thus parting with Eumæus: “Now, my friend, ‭ I must to town, lest too far I extend ‭ My mother’s moan for me, who, till her eyes ‭ Mine own eyes witness, varies tears and cries ‭ Through all extremes. Do then this charge of mine, ‭ And guide to town this hapless guest of thine, ‭ To beg elsewhere his further festival. ‭ Give they that please, I cannot give to all, ‭ Mine own wants take up for myself my pain. ‭ If it incense him, he the worst shall gain. ‭ The lovely truth I love, and must be plain.” ‭ “Alas, friend,” said his father, “nor do I ‭ Desire at all your further charity. ‭ ‘Tis better beg in cities than in fields, ‭ And take the worst a beggar’s fortune yields. ‭ Nor am I apt to stay in swine-styes more, ‭ However; ever the great chief before ‭ The poor ranks must to ev’ry step obey. ‭ But go; your man in my command shall sway, ‭ Anon yet too, by favour, when your fires ‭ Have comforted the cold heat age expires, ‭ And when the sun’s flame hath besides corrected ‭ The early air abroad, not being protected ‭ By these my bare weeds from the morning’s frost, ‭ Which (if so much ground is to be engrost ‭ By my poor feet as you report) may give ‭ Too violent charge to th’ heat by which I live.” ‭ This said, his son went on with spritely pace, ‭ And to the Wooers studied little grace. ‭ Arriv’d at home, he gave his jav’lin stay ‭ Against a lofty pillar, and bold way ‭ Made further in. When having so far gone ‭ That he transcended the fair porch of stone, ‭ The first by far that gave his entry eye ‭ Was nurse Euryclea; who th’ embrodery ‭ Of stools there set was giving cushions fair; ‭ Who ran upon him, and her rapt repair ‭ Shed tears for joy. About him gather’d round ‭ The other maids; his head and shoulders crown’d ‭ With kisses and embraces. From above ‭ The Queen herself came, like the Queen of Love, ‭ Or bright Diana; cast about her son ‭ Her kind embraces, with effusión ‭ Of loving tears; kiss’d both his lovely eyes, ‭ His cheeks, and forehead; and gave all supplies ‭ With this entreaty; “Welcome, sweetest light! ‭ I never had conceit to set quick sight ‭ On thee thus soon, when thy lov’d father’s fame ‭ As far as Pylos did thy spirit inflame, ‭ In that search ventur’d all-unknown to me. ‭ O say, by what pow’r cam’st thou now to be ‭ Mine eyes’ dear object?” He return’d reply: ‭ “Move me not now, when you my ’scape descry ‭ From imminent death, to think me fresh entrapt; ‭ The fear’d wound rubbing, felt before I ’scapt. ‭ Double not needless passion on a heart ‭ Whose joy so green is, and so apt t’ invert; ‭ But pure weeds putting on, ascend and take ‭ Your women with you, that ye all may make ‭ Vows of full hecatombs in sacred fire ‭ To all the Godheads, if their only Sire ‭ Vouchsafe revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he ‭ Is to protect as being their Deity. ‭ My way shall be directed to the hall ‭ Of common concourse, that I thence may call ‭ A stranger, who from off the Pylian shore ‭ Came friendly with me; whom I sent before ‭ With all my soldiers, but in chief did charge ‭ Piræus with him, wishing him t’ enlarge ‭ His love to him at home, in best affair, ‭ And utmost honours, till mine own repair.” ‭ Her son thus spoken, his words could not bear ‭ The wings too easily through her either ear, ‭ But putting pure weeds on, made vows entire ‭ Of perfect hecatombs in sacred fire ‭ To all the Deities, if their only Sire ‭ Vouchsaf’d revenge of guest-rites wrong’d, which he ‭ Was to protect as being their Deity. ‭ Her son left house, in his fair hand his lance, ‭ His dogs attending; and, on ev’ry glance ‭ His looks cast from them, Pallas put a grace ‭ That made him seem of the celestial race. ‭ Whom, come to concourse, ev’ry man admir’d, ‭ About him throng’d the Wooers, and desir’d ‭ All good to him in tongues, but in their hearts ‭ Most deep ills threaten’d to his most deserts. ‭ Of whose huge rout once free, he cast glad eye ‭ On some that, long before his infancy, ‭ Were with his father great and gracious, ‭ Grave Halitherses, Mentor, Antiphus: ‭ To whom he went, took seat by them, and they ‭ Inquir’d of all things since his parting day. ‭ To them Piræus came, and brought his guest ‭ Along the city thither, whom not least ‭ The prince respected, nor was long before ‭ He rose and met him. The first word yet bore ‭ Piræus from them both; whose haste besought ‭ The prince to send his women to see brought ‭ The gifts from his house that Atrides gave, ‭ Which his own roofs, he thought, would better save. ‭ The wise prince answer’d: “I can scarce conceive ‭ The way to these works. If the Wooers reave ‭ By privy stratagem my life at home, ‭ I rather wish Piræus may become ‭ The master of them, than the best of these. ‭ But, if I sow in their fields of excess ‭ Slaughter and ruin, then thy trust employ, ‭ And to me joying bring thou those with joy.” ‭ This said, he brought home his grief-practis’d guest; ‭ Where both put off, both oil’d, and did invest ‭ Themselves in rich robes, wash’d, and sate, and eat. ‭ His mother, in a fair chair taking seat ‭ Directly opposite, her loom applied; ‭ Who, when her son and guest had satisfied ‭ Their appetites with feast, said: “O my son, ‭ You know that ever since your sire was won ‭ To go in Agamemnon’s guide to Troy, ‭ Attempting sleep, I never did enjoy ‭ One night’s good rest, but made my quiet bed ‭ A sea blown-up with sighs, with tears still shed ‭ Embrew’d and troubled; yet, though all your miss ‭ In your late voyage hath been made for this, ‭ That you might know th’ abode your father made. ‭ You shun to tell me what success you had. ‭ Now then, before the insolent access ‭ The Wooers straight will force on us, express ‭ What you have heard.” “I will,” said he, “and true. ‭ We came to Pylos, where the studious due ‭ That any father could afford his son, ‭ (But new-arriv’d from some course he had run ‭ To an extreme length, in some voyage vow’d), ‭ Nestor, the pastor of the people, show’d ‭ To me arriv’d, in turrets thrust-up high, ‭ Where not his brave sons were more lov’d than I. ‭ Yet of th’ unconquer’d ever-sufferer; ‭ Ulysses, never he could set his ear, ‭ Alive or dead, from any earthy man. ‭ But to the great Lacedæmonian, ‭ Atrides, famous for his lance, he sent, ‭ With horse and chariots, me, to learn th’ event ‭ From his relation; where I had the view ‭ Of Argive Helen, whose strong beauties drew, ‭ By wills of Gods, so many Grecian states, ‭ And Trojans, under such laborious fates. ‭ Where Menelaus ask’d me, what affair ‭ To Lacedæmon render’d my repair. ‭ I told him all the truth, who made reply: ‭ ‘O deed of most abhorr’d indecency! ‭ A sort of impotents attempt his bed ‭ Whose strength of mind hath cities levelléd! ‭ As to a lion’s den, when any hind ‭ Hath brought her young calves, to their rest inclin’d, ‭ When he is ranging hills, and herby dales, ‭ To make of feeders there his festivals, ‭ But, turning to his luster, calves and dam ‭ He shows abhorr’d death, in his anger’s flame; ‭ So, should Ulysses find this rabble hous’d ‭ In his free turrets, courting his espous’d, ‭ Foul death would fall them. O, I would to Jove, ‭ Phœbus, and Pallas, that, when he shall prove ‭ The broad report of his exhausted store ‭ True with his eyes, his nerves and sinews wore ‭ That vigour then that in the Lesbian tow’rs, ‭ Provok’d to wrastle with the iron pow’rs ‭ Philomelides vaunted, he approv’d; ‭ When down he hurl’d his challenger, and mov’d ‭ Huge shouts from all the Achives then in view. ‭ If, once come home, he all those forces drew ‭ About him there to work, they all were dead, ‭ And should find bitter his attempted bed. ‭ But what you ask and sue for, I, as far ‭ As I have heard the true-spoke mariner, ‭ Will tell directly, nor delude your ear: ‭ He told me that an island did ensphere, ‭ In much discomfort, great Laertes’ son; ‭ And that the Nymph Calypso, overrun ‭ With his affection, kept him in her caves, ‭ Where men, nor ship, of pow’r to brook the waves, ‭ Were near his convoy to his country’s shore, ‭ And where herself importun’d evermore ‭ His quiet stay; which not obtain’d, by force ‭ She kept his person from all else recourse.’ ‭ This told Atrides, which was all he knew. ‭ Nor stay’d I more, but from the Gods there blew ‭ A prosp’rous wind, that set me quickly here.” ‭ This put his mother quite from all her cheer. ‭ When Theoclymenus the augur said: ‭ “O woman, honour’d with Ulysses’ bed, ‭ Your son, no doubt, knows clearly nothing more, ‭ Hear me yet speak, that can the truth uncore, ‭ Nor will be curious. Jove then witness bear, ‭ And this thy hospitable table here, ‭ With this whole household of your blameless lord, ‭ That at this hour his royal feet are shor’d ‭ On his lov’d country-earth, and that ev’n here ‭ Coming, or creeping, he will see the cheer ‭ These Wooers make, and in his soul’s field sow ‭ Seeds that shall thrive to all their overthrow. ‭ This, set a ship-board, I knew sorted thus, ‭ And cried it out to your Telemachus.” ‭ Penelopé replied: “Would this would prove, ‭ You well should witness a most friendly love, ‭ And gifts such of me, as encount’ring Fame ‭ Should greet you with a blesséd mortal’s name.” ‭ This mutual speech past, all the Wooers were ‭ Hurling the stone, and tossing of the spear, ‭ Before the palace, in the pavéd court, ‭ Where otherwhiles their petulant resort ‭ Sat plotting injuries. But when the hour ‭ Of supper enter’d, and the feeding pow’r ‭ Brought sheep from field, that fill’d up ev’ry way ‭ With those that us’d to furnish that purvey, ‭ Medon, the herald (who of all the rest ‭ Pleas’d most the Wooers, and at ev’ry feast ‭ Was ever near) said: “You whose kind consort ‭ Make the fair branches of the tree our court, ‭ Grace it within now, and your suppers take. ‭ You that for health, and fair contention’s sake, ‭ Will please your minds, know, bodies must have meat; ‭ Play’s worse than idleness in times to eat.” ‭ This said, all left, came in, cast by, on thrones ‭ And chairs, their garments. Their provisións ‭ Were sheep, swine, goats, the chiefly-great and fat, ‭ Besides an ox that from the herd they gat. ‭ And now the king and herdsman, from the field, ‭ In good way were to town; ’twixt whom was held ‭ Some walking conference, which thus begun ‭ The good Eumæus: “Guest, your will was won, ‭ Because the prince commanded, to make way ‭ Up to the city, though I wish’d your stay, ‭ And to have made you guardian of my stall; ‭ But I, in care and fear of what might fall ‭ In after-anger of the prince, forbore. ‭ The checks of princes touch their subjects sore. ‭ But make we haste, the day is nearly ended, ‭ And cold airs still are in the even extended.” ‭ “I know’t,” said he, “consider all; your charge ‭ Is giv’n to one that understands at large. ‭ Haste then. Hereafter, you shall lead the way; ‭ Afford your staff too, if it fit your stay, ‭ That I may use it; since you say our pass ‭ Is less friend to a weak foot than it was.” ‭ Thus cast he on his neck his nasty scrip, ‭ All-patch’d and torn; a cord, that would not slip ‭ For knots and bracks about the mouth of it, ‭ Made serve the turn; and then his swain did fit ‭ His forc’d state with a staff. Then plied they hard ‭ Their way to town, their cottage left in guard ‭ To swains and dogs. And now Eumæus led ‭ The king along, his garments to a thread ‭ All-bare and burn’d, and he himself hard bore ‭ Upon his staff, at all parts like a poor ‭ And sad old beggar. But when now they got ‭ The rough highway, their voyage wanted not ‭ Much of the city, where a fount they reach’d, ‭ From whence the town their choicest water fetch’d, ‭ That ever overflow’d, and curious art ‭ Was shown about it; in which three had part ‭ Whose names Neritus and Polyctor were, ‭ And famous Ithacus. It had a sphere ‭ Of poplar, that ran round about the wall; ‭ And into it a lofty rock let fall ‭ Continual supply of cool clear stream. ‭ On whose top, to the Nymphs that were supreme ‭ In those parts’ loves, a stately altar rose, ‭ Where ev’ry traveller did still impose ‭ Devoted sacrifice. At this fount found ‭ These silly travellers a man renown’d ‭ For guard of goats, which now he had in guide, ‭ Whose huge-stor’d herd two herdsmen kept beside, ‭ For all herds it excell’d, and bred a feed ‭ For Wooers only. He was Dolius’ seed, ‭ And call’d Melanthius. Who casting eye ‭ On these two there, he chid them terribly, ‭ And so past mean, that ev’n the wretched fate ‭ Now on Ulysses he did irritate. ‭ His fume to this effect he did pursue: ‭ “Why so,’tis now at all parts passing true, ‭ That ill leads ill, good evermore doth train ‭ With like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain, ‭ Whither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer, ‭ This bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar, ‭ Whose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors? ‭ Who, with his standing in so many doors, ‭ Hath broke his back; and all his beggary tends ‭ To beg base crusts, but to no manly ends, ‭ As asking swords, or with activity ‭ To get a caldron. Wouldst thou give him me, ‭ To farm my stable, or to sweep my yard, ‭ And bring browse to my kids, and that preferr’d ‭ He should be at my keeping for his pains ‭ To drink as much whey as his thirsty veins ‭ Would still be swilling (whey made all his fees) ‭ His monstrous belly would oppress his knees. ‭ But he hath learn’d to lead base life about, ‭ And will not work, but crouch among the rout ‭ For broken meat to cram his bursten gut. ‭ Yet this I’ll say, and he will find it put ‭ In sure effect, that if he enters where ‭ Ulysses’ roofs cast shade, the stools will there ‭ About his ears fly, all the house will throw, ‭ And rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.” ‭ Past these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn’d ‭ Divine Ulysses; who at no part turn’d ‭ His face from him, but had his spirit fed ‭ With these two thoughts, if he should strike him dead ‭ With his bestowéd staff, or at his feet ‭ Make his direct head and the pavement meet. ‭ But he bore all, and entertain’d a breast ‭ That in the strife of all extremes did rest. ‭ Eumæus, frowning on him, chid him yet, ‭ And, lifting up his hands to heav’n, he set ‭ This bitter curse at him: “O you that bear ‭ Fair name to be the race of Jupiter, ‭ Nymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever ‭ Burn’d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never ‭ Fail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid, ‭ Grant this grace to me: Let the man thus hid ‭ Shine through his dark fate, make some God his guide, ‭ That, to thee, goatherd, this same palate’s pride, [1] ‭ Thou driv’st afore thee, he may come and make ‭ The scatt’rings of the earth, and overtake ‭ Thy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err ‭ About the city, hunted by his fear. ‭ And in the mean space by some slothful swains ‭ Let lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle’s veins.” ‭ “O Gods!” replied Melanthius, “what a curse ‭ Hath this dog bark’d out, and can yet do worse! ‭ This man shall I have giv’n into my hands, ‭ When in a well-built ship to far-off lands ‭ I shall transport him, that, should I want here, ‭ My sale of him may find me victuals there. ‭ And, for Ulysses, would to heav’n his joy ‭ The silver-bearing-bow God would destroy, ‭ This day, within his house, as sure as he ‭ The day of his return shall never see.” ‭ This said, he left them going silent on; ‭ But he out-went them, and took straight upon ‭ The palace-royal, which he enter’d straight, ‭ Sat with the Wooers, and his trencher’s freight ‭ The carvers gave him of the flesh there vented, ‭ But bread the rev’rend butleress presented. ‭ He took against Eurymachus his place, ‭ Who most of all the Wooers gave him grace. ‭ And now Ulysses and his swain got near, ‭ When round about them visited their ear ‭ The hollow harp’s delicious-stricken string, ‭ To which did Phemius, near the Wooers, sing. ‭ Then by the hand Ulysses took his swain, ‭ And said: “Eumæus, one may here see plain, ‭ In many a grace, that Laertiades ‭ Built here these turrets, and,’mongst others these, ‭ His whole court arm’d with such a goodly wall, ‭ The cornice, and the cope, majestical, ‭ His double gates, and turrets, built too strong ‭ For force or virtue ever to expugn. ‭ I know the feasters in it now abound, ‭ Their cates cast such a savour; and the sound ‭ The harp gives argues an accomplish’d feast. ‭ The Gods made music banquet’s dearest guest.” ‭ “These things,” said he, “your skill may tell with ease, ‭ Since you are grac’d with greater knowledges. ‭ But now consult we how these works shall sort, ‭ If you will first approach this praiséd court, ‭ And see these Wooers, I remaining here; ‭ Or I shall enter, and yourself forbear? ‭ But be not you too tedious in your stay, ‭ Lest thrust ye be and buffeted away. ‭ Brain hath no fence for blows; look to ’t I pray.” ‭ “You speak to one that comprehends,” said he, ‭ “Go you before, and here adventure me. ‭ I have of old been us’d to cuffs and blows; ‭ My mind is harden’d, having borne the throes ‭ Of many a sour event in waves and wars, ‭ Where knocks and buffets are no foreigners. ‭ And this same harmful belly by no mean ‭ The greatest abstinent can ever wean. ‭ Men suffer much bane by the belly’s rage; ‭ For whose sake ships in all their equipage ‭ Are arm’d, and set out to th’ untamed seas, ‭ Their bulks full-fraught with ills to enemies.” ‭ Such speech they chang’d; when in the yard there lay ‭ A dog, call’d Argus, which, before his way ‭ Assum’d for Ilion, Ulysses bred, ‭ Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead, ‭ As being too young, but, growing to his grace, ‭ Young men made choice of him for ev’ry chace, ‭ Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts. ‭ But his king gone, and he, now past his parts, ‭ Lay all abjectly on the stable’s store, ‭ Before the oxstall, and mules’ stable door, ‭ To keep the clothes cast from the peasants’ hands, ‭ While they laid compass on Ulysses’ lands, ‭ The dog, with ticks (unlook’d-to) overgrown. ‭ But by this dog no sooner seen but known ‭ Was wise Ulysses, who new-enter’d there, ‭ Up went his dog’s laid ears, and, coming near, ‭ Up he himself rose, fawn’d, and wagg’d his stern, ‭ Couch’d close his ears, and lay so; nor discern [2] ‭ Could evermore his dear-lov’d lord again. ‭ Ulysses saw it, nor had pow’r t’ abstain ‭ From shedding tears; which (far-off seeing his swain) ‭ He dried from his sight clean; to whom he thus ‭ His grief dissembled: “’Tis miraculous, ‭ That such a dog as this should have his lair ‭ On such a dunghill, for his form is fair. ‭ And yet, I know not, if there were in him ‭ Good pace, or parts, for all his goodly limb; ‭ Or he liv’d empty of those inward things, ‭ As are those trencher-beagles tending kings, ‭ Whom for their pleasure’s, or their glory’s, sake, ‭ Or fashion, they into their favour take.” ‭ “This dog,” said he, “was servant to one dead ‭ A huge time since. But if he bore his head, ‭ For form and quality, of such a height, ‭ As when Ulysses, bound for th’ Ilion fight, ‭ Or quickly after, left him, your rapt eyes ‭ Would then admire to see him use his thighs ‭ In strength and swiftness. He would nothing fly, ‭ Nor anything let ’scape. If once his eye ‭ Seiz’d any wild beast, he knew straight his scent; ‭ Go where he would, away with him he went. ‭ Nor was there ever any savage stood ‭ Amongst the thickets of the deepest wood ‭ Long time before him, but he pull’d him down; ‭ As well by that true hunting to be shown ‭ In such vast coverts, as for speed of pace ‭ In any open lawn. For in deep chace ‭ He was a passing-wise and well-nos’d hound. ‭ And yet is all this good in him uncrown’d ‭ With any grace here now, nor he more fed ‭ Than any errant cur. His king is dead, ‭ Far from his country; and his servants are ‭ So negligent they lend his hound no care. ‭ Where masters rule not, but let men alone, ‭ You never there see honest service done. ‭ That man’s half-virtue Jove takes quite away, ‭ That once is sun-burnt with the servile day.” ‭ This said, he enter’d the well-builded-tow’rs, ‭ Up bearing right upon the glorious Wooers, ‭ And left poor Argus dead; his lord’s first sight ‭ Since that time twenty years bereft his light. ‭ Telemachus did far the first behold ‭ Eumæus enter, and made signs he should ‭ Come up to him. He, noting, came, and took ‭ On earth his seat. And then the master-cook ‭ Serv’d in more banquet; of which, part he set ‭ Before the Wooers, part the prince did get, ‭ Who sate alone, his table plac’d aside; ‭ To which the herald did the bread divide. ‭ After Eumæus, enter’d straight the king, [3] ‭ Like to a poor and heavy aged thing, ‭ Bore hard upon his staff, and was so clad ‭ As would have made his mere beholder sad. ‭ Upon the ashen floor his limbs he spread, ‭ And ’gainst a cypress-threshold stay’d his head, ‭ The tree wrought smooth, and in a line direct ‭ Tried by the plumb and by the architect. ‭ The prince then bade the herdsman give him bread, ‭ The finest there, and see that prostrated ‭ At-all-parts plight of his giv’n all the cheer ‭ His hands could turn to: “Take,” said he, “and bear ‭ These cates to him, and bid him beg of all ‭ These Wooers here, and to their festival ‭ Bear up with all the impudence he can; ‭ Bashful behaviour fits no needy man.” ‭ He heard, and did his will. “Hold guest,” said he, ‭ “Telemachus commends these cates to thee, ‭ Bids thee bear up, and all these Wooers implore. ‭ Wit must make impudent whom Fate makes poor.” ‭ “O Jove,” said he, “do my poor pray’rs the grace ‭ To make him blessed’st of the mortal race, ‭ And ev’ry thought now in his gen’rous heart ‭ To deeds that further my desires convert.” ‭ Thus took he in with both his hands his store, ‭ And in the uncouth scrip, that lay before ‭ His ill-shod feet, repos’d it; whence he fed ‭ All time the music to the feasters play’d. ‭ Both jointly ending, then began the Wooers ‭ To put in old act their tumultuous pow’rs; ‭ When Pallas standing close did prompt her friend, ‭ To prove how far the bounties would extend ‭ Of those proud Wooers; so, to let him try ‭ Who most, who least, had learn’d humanity. ‭ However, no thought touch’d Minerva’s mind, ‭ That anyone should’scape his wreak design’d. ‭ He handsomely became all, crept about ‭ To ev’ry Wooer, held a forc’d hand out, ‭ And all his work did in so like a way, ‭ As he had practis’d begging many a day. ‭ And though they knew all beggars could do this, ‭ Yet they admir’d it as no deed of his; ‭ Though far from thought of other, us’d expence ‭ And pity to him, who he was, and whence, ‭ Inquiring mutually. Melanthius then: ‭ “Hear me, ye Wooers of the far-fam’d queen, ‭ About this beggar. I have seen before ‭ This face of his; and know for certain more, ‭ That this swain brought him hither. What he is, ‭ Or whence he came, flies me.” Reply to this ‭ Antinous made, and mock’d Eumæus thus: ‭ “O thou renownéd herdsman, why to us ‭ Brought’st thou this beggar? Serves it not our hands; ‭ That other land-leapers, and cormorands, ‭ Profane poor knaves, lie on us, unconducted, ‭ But you must bring them? So amiss instructed ‭ Art thou in course of thrift, as not to know ‭ Thy lord’s goods wrack’d in this their overflow? ‭ Which think’st thou nothing, that thou call’st in these?” ‭ Eumæus answer’d: “Though you may be wise, ‭ You speak not wisely. Who calls in a guest ‭ That is a guest himself? None call to feast ‭ Other than men that are of public use, ‭ Prophets, or poets, whom the Gods produce, ‭ Physicians for men’s ills, or architects. ‭ Such men the boundless earth affords respects ‭ Bounded in honour, and may call them well. ‭ But poor men who calls? Who doth so excell ‭ In others’ good to do himself an ill? ‭ But all Ulysses’ servants have been still ‭ Eyesores in your way more than all that woo, ‭ And chiefly I. But what care I for you, ‭ As long as these roofs hold as thralls to none ‭ The wise Penelope and her god-like son?” ‭ “Forbear,” said he, “and leave this tongue’s bold ill. ‭ Antinous uses to be crossing still, ‭ And give sharp words; his blood that humour bears, ‭ To set men still together by the ears. ‭ But,” turning then t’ Antinous, “O,” said he, ‭ “You entertain a father’s care of me, ‭ To turn these eating guests out. ’Tis advice ‭ Of needful use for my poor faculties, ‭ But God doth not allow this; there must be ‭ Some care of poor men in humanity. ‭ What you yourselves take, give; I not envy, ‭ But give command that hospitality ‭ Be giv’n all strangers. Nor shall my pow’rs fear, ‭ If this mood in me reach my mother’s ear; ‭ Much less the servants’, that are here to see ‭ Ulysses’ house kept in his old degree. ‭ But you bear no such mind, your wits more cast ‭ To fill yourself than let another taste.” ‭ Antinous answer’d him: “Brave-spoken man! ‭ Whose mind’s free fire see check’d no virtue can. ‭ If all we Wooers here would give as much ‭ As my mind serves, his [4] largess should be such ‭ As would for three months serve his far-off way ‭ From troubling your house with more cause of stay.” ‭ This said, he took a stool up, that did rest, ‭ Beneath the board, his spangled feet at feast, ‭ And offer’d at him; but the rest gave all, ‭ And fill’d his fulsome scrip with festival. ‭ And so Ulysses for the present was, ‭ And for the future, furnish’d, and his pass ‭ Bent to the door to eat. Yet could not leave ‭ Antinous so, but said: “Do you too give, ‭ Lov’d lord; your presence makes a show to me ‭ As you not worst were of the company, ‭ But best, and so much that you seem the king, ‭ And therefore you should give some better thing ‭ Than bread, like others. I will spread your praise ‭ Through all the wide world, that have in my days ‭ Kept house myself, and trod the wealthy ways ‭ Of other men ev’n to the title Blest; ‭ And often have I giv’n an erring guest ‭ (How mean soever) to the utmost gain ‭ Of what he wanted, kept whole troops of men, ‭ And had all other comings in, with which ‭ Men live so well, and gain the fame of rich. ‭ Yet Jove consum’d all; he would have it so; ‭ To which, his mean was this: He made me go ‭ Far off, for Egypt, in the rude consort ‭ Of all-ways-wand’ring pirates, where, in port, ‭ I bade my lov’d men draw their ships ashore, ‭ And dwell amongst them; sent out some t’ explore ‭ Up to the mountains, who, intemperate, ‭ And their inflam’d bloods bent to satiate, ‭ Forag’d the rich fields, hal’d the women thence, ‭ And unwean’d children, with the foul expence ‭ Both of their fames and bloods. The cry then flew ‭ Straight to the city; and the great fields grew ‭ With horse and foot, and flam’d with iron arms; ‭ When Jove (that breaks the thunder in alarms) ‭ An ill flight cast amongst my men; not one ‭ Inspir’d with spirit to stand, and turn upon ‭ The fierce pursuing foe; and therefore stood ‭ Their ill fate thick about them; some in blood, ‭ And some in bondage; toils led by constraint ‭ Fast’ning upon them. Me along they sent ‭ To Cyprus with a stranger-prince they met, ‭ Dmetor Iasides, who th’ imperial seat ‭ Of that sweet island sway’d in strong command. ‭ And thus feel I here need’s contemned hand.” ‭ “And what God sent,” said he, “this suff’ring bane ‭ To vex our banquet? Stand off, nor profane ‭ My board so boldly, lest I show thee here ‭ Cyprus and Egypt made more sour than there. ‭ You are a saucy set-fac’d vagabond. ‭ About with all you go, and they, beyond ‭ Discretion, give thee, since they find not here ‭ The least proportion set down to their cheer. ‭ But ev’ry fountain hath his under-floods. ‭ It is no bounty to give others’ goods.” ‭ “O Gods,” replied Ulysses, “I see now, ‭ You bear no soul in this your goodly show. ‭ Beggars at your board, I perceive, should get ‭ Scarce salt from your hands, if themselves brought meat; ‭ Since, sitting where another’s board is spread, ‭ That flows with feast, not to the broken bread ‭ Will your allowance reach.” “Nay then,” said he, ‭ And look’d austerely, “if so saucy be ‭ Your suffer’d language, I suppose, that clear ‭ You shall not ’scape without some broken cheer.” ‭ Thus rapt he up a stool, with which he smit ‭ The king’s right shoulder, ’twixt his neck and it. ‭ He stood him like a rock. Antinous’ dart ‭ Nor stirr’d Ulysses; who in his great heart ‭ Deep ills projected, which, for time yet, close ‭ He bound in silence, shook his head, and went ‭ Out to the entry, where he then gave vent ‭ To his full scrip, sat on the earth, and eat, ‭ And talk’d still to the Wooers: “Hear me yet, ‭ Ye Wooers of the Queen. It never grieves ‭ A man to take blows, where for sheep, or beeves, ‭ Or other main possessions, a man fights; ‭ But for his harmful belly this man smites, ‭ Whose love to many a man breeds many a woe. ‭ And if the poor have Gods, and Furies too, ‭ Before Antinous wear his nuptial wreath, ‭ He shall be worn upon the dart of death.” ‭ “Harsh guest,” said he, “sit silent at your meat, ‭ Or seek your desp’rate plight some safer seat, ‭ Lest by the hands or heels youths drag your years, ‭ And rend your rotten rags about your ears.” ‭ This made the rest as highly hate his folly, ‭ As he had violated something holy. ‭ When one, ev’n of the proudest, thus began: ‭ “Thou dost not nobly, thus to play the man ‭ On such an errant wretch. O ill dispos’d! ‭ Perhaps some sacred Godhead goes enclos’d ‭ Ev’n in his abject outside; for the Gods ‭ Have often visited these rich abodes ‭ Like such poor stranger pilgrims, since their pow’rs ‭ (Being always shapeful) glide through towns and tow’rs, ‭ Observing, as they pass still, who they be ‭ That piety love, and who impiety.” ‭ This all men said, but he held sayings cheap. ‭ And all this time Telemachus did heap ‭ Sorrow on sorrow on his beating heart, ‭ To see his father stricken; yet let part ‭ No tear to earth, but shook his head, and thought ‭ As deep as those ills that were after wrought. ‭ The Queen now, hearing of her poor guest’s stroke, ‭ Said to her maid (as to her Wooer she spoke), ‭ “I wish the famous-for-his-bow, the Sun, ‭ Would strike thy heart so.” Her wish, thus begun, ‭ Her lady, fair Eurynome, pursued ‭ Her execration, and did thus conclude: ‭ “So may our vows call down from heav’n his end, ‭ And let no one life of the rest extend ‭ His life till morning.” “O Eurynomé,” ‭ Replied the Queen, “may all Gods speak in thee, ‭ For all the Wooers we should rate as foes, ‭ Since all their weals they place in others’ woes! ‭ But this Antinous we past all should hate, ‭ As one resembling black and cruel Fate. ‭ A poor strange wretch begg’d here, compell’d by need, ‭ Ask’d all, and ev’ry one gave in his deed, ‭ Fill’d his sad scrip, and eas’d his heavy wants, ‭ Only this man bestow’d unmanly taunts, ‭ And with a cruel blow, his force let fly, ‭ ‘Twixt neck and shoulders show’d his charity.” ‭ These minds, above, she and her maids did show, ‭ While, at his scrip, Ulysses sat below. ‭ In which time she Eumæus call’d, and said: ‭ “Go, good Eumæus, and see soon convey’d ‭ The stranger to me; bid him come and take ‭ My salutations for his welcome’s sake, ‭ And my desire serve, if he hath not heard ‭ Or seen distress’d Ulysses, who hath err’d ‭ Like such a man, and therefore chance may fall ‭ He hath by him been met and spoke withal?” ‭ “O Queen,” said he, “I wish to heav’n your ear ‭ Were quit of this unrev’rend noise you hear ‭ From these rude Wooers, when I bring the guest; ‭ Such words your ear would let into your breast ‭ As would delight it to your very heart. ‭ Three nights and days I did my roof impart ‭ To his fruition (for he came to me ‭ The first of all men since he fled the sea) ‭ And yet he had not giv’n a perfect end ‭ To his relation of what woes did spend ‭ The spite of Fate on him, but as you see [5] ‭ A singer, breathing out of Deity ‭ Love-kindling lines, when all men seated near ‭ Are rapt with endless thirst to ever hear; ‭ So sweeten’d he my bosom at my meat, ‭ Affirming that Ulysses was in Crete, ‭ Where first the memories of Minos were, ‭ A guest to him there dwelling then, as dear ‭ As his true father; and from thence came he ‭ Tir’d on with sorrows, toss’d from sea to sea, ‭ To cast himself in dust, and tumble here, ‭ At Wooers’ feet, for blows and broken cheer. ‭ But of Ulysses, where the Thesprots dwell, ‭ A wealthy people, Fame, he says, did tell ‭ The still survival; who his native light ‭ Was bound for now, with treasure infinite.” ‭ “Call him,” said she, “that he himself may say ‭ This over to me. We shall soon have way ‭ Giv’n by the Wooers; they, as well at gate, ‭ As set within doors, use to recreate ‭ Their high-fed spirits. As their humours lead ‭ They follow; and may well; for still they tread ‭ Uncharg’d ways here, their own wealth lying unwasted ‭ In poor-kept houses, only something tasted ‭ Their bread and wine is by their household swains, ‭ But they themselves let loose continual reins ‭ To our expenses, making slaughter still ‭ Of sheep, goats, oxen, feeding past their fill, ‭ And vainly lavishing our richest wine; ‭ All these extending past the sacred line, ‭ For here lives no man like Ulysses now ‭ To curb these reins. But should he once show ‭ His country-light his presence, he and his ‭ Would soon revenge these Wooers’ injuries.” ‭ This said, about the house, in echoes round, ‭ Her son’s strange neesings made a horrid sound; [6] ‭ At which the Queen yet laugh’d, and said: “Go call ‭ The stranger to me. Heard’st thou not, to all ‭ My words last utter’d, what a neesing brake ‭ From my Telemachus? From whence I make, ‭ This sure conclusion: That the death and fate ‭ Of ev’ry Wooer here is near his date. ‭ Call, then, the guest, and if he tell as true ‭ What I shall ask him, coat, cloak, all things new, ‭ These hands shall yield him.” This said, down he went, ‭ And told Ulysses, “that the Queen had sent ‭ To call him to her, that she might enquire ‭ About her husband what her sad desire ‭ Urg’d her to ask; and, if she found him true, ‭ Both coat, and cassock (which he needed) new ‭ Her hands would put on him; and that the bread, ‭ Which now he begg’d amongst the common tread, ‭ Should freely feed his hunger now from her, ‭ Who all he wish’d would to his wants prefer.” ‭ His answer was: “I will with fit speed tell ‭ The whole truth to the Queen; for passing well ‭ I know her lord, since he and I have shar’d ‭ In equal sorrows. But I much am scar’d ‭ With this rude multitude of Wooers here, ‭ The rage of whose pride smites heav’n’s brazen sphere. ‭ Of whose rout when one struck me for no fault, ‭ Telemachus nor none else turn’d th’ assault ‭ From my poor shoulders. Therefore, though she haste, ‭ Beseech the Queen her patience will see past ‭ The day’s broad light, and then may she enquire. ‭ ’Tis but my closer pressing to the fire ‭ In th’ ev’ning’s cold, because my weeds, you know, ‭ Are passing thin; for I made bold to show ‭ Their bracks to you, and pray’d your kind supply.” ‭ He heard, and hasted; and met instantly ‭ The Queen upon the pavement in his way, ‭ Who ask’d: “What! Bring’st thou not? What cause of stay ‭ Find his austere supposes? Takes he fear ‭ Of th’ unjust Wooers? Or thus hard doth bear ‭ On any other doubt the house objects? ‭ He does me wrong, and gives too nice respects ‭ To his fear’d safety.” “He does right,” said he, ‭ “And what he fears should move the policy ‭ Of any wise one; taking care to shun ‭ The violent Wooers. He bids bide, till sun ‭ Hath hid his broad light. And, believe it, Queen, ‭ ’Twill make your best course, since you two, unseen, ‭ May pass th’ encounter; you to speak more free, ‭ And he your ear gain less distractedly.” ‭ “The guest is wise,” said she, “and well doth give ‭ The right thought use. Of all the men that live, ‭ Life serves none such as these proud Wooers are, ‭ To give a good man cause to use his care.” ‭ Thus, all agreed, amongst the Wooers goes ‭ Eumæus to the prince, and, whisp’ring close, ‭ Said: “Now, my love, my charge shall take up me, ‭ (Your goods and mine). What here is, you must see ‭ In fit protection. But, in chief, regard ‭ Your own dear safeguard; whose state study hard, ‭ Lest suff’rance seize you. Many a wicked thought ‭ Conceal these Wooers; whom just Jove see brought ‭ To utter ruin, ere it touch at us.” ‭ “So chance it, friend,” replied Telemachus, ‭ “Your bever taken, go. In first of day ‭ Come, and bring sacrifice the best you may. ‭ To me and to th’ Immortals be the care ‭ or whatsoever here the safeties are.” ‭ This said, he sat in his elaborate throne. ‭ Eumæus (fed to satisfaction) ‭ Went to his charge, left both the court and walls ‭ Full of secure and fatal festivals, ‭ In which the Wooers’ pleasures still would sway. ‭ And now begun the even’s near-ending day. ‭ THE END OF THE SEVENTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Intending his fat herd, kept only for the Wooers’ dainty palates.

‭[2] The dog died as soon as he had seen Ulysses.

‭[3] Ulysses’ ruthful fashion of entry to his own hall.

‭[4] His—intending Ulysses.

‭[5] Simile, in which Ulysses is compared with a poet for the ‭sweetness of his speech.

‭[6] Neezing a good omen.

‭ THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ ‭ THE ARGUMENT ‭ ‭ Ulysses and rogue Irus fight. ‭ Penelope vouchsafes her sight ‭ To all her Wooers; who present ‭ Gifts to her, ravish’d with content. ‭ A certain parlé then we sing. ‭ Betwixt a Wooer and the King. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Σίγμα. ‭ The beggar’s glee. ‭ The King’s high fame. ‭ Gifts giv’n to see ‭ A virtuous dame.

‭ There came a common beggar to the court, ‭ Who in the city begg’d of all resort, ‭ Excell’d in madness of the gut, drunk, ate, ‭ Past intermission, was most hugely great, ‭ Yet had no fibres in him nor no force, ‭ In sight a man, in mind a living corse. ‭ His true name was Arnæus, for his mother ‭ Impos’d it from his birth, and yet another ‭ The city youth would give him (from the course ‭ He after took, deriv’d out of the force ‭ That need held on him, which was up and down ‭ To run on all men’s errands through the town) ‭ Which sounded Irus. When whose gut was come, ‭ He needs would bar Ulysses his own home, ‭ And fell to chiding him: “Old man,” said he, ‭ “Your way out of the entry quickly see ‭ Be with fair language taken, lest your stay ‭ But little longer see you dragg’d away. ‭ See, sir, observe you not how all these make ‭ Direct signs at me, charging me to take ‭ Your heels, and drag you out? But I take shame. ‭ Rise yet, y’ are best, lest we two play a game ‭ At cuffs together.” He bent brows, and said: ‭ “Wretch! I do thee no ill, nor once upbraid ‭ Thy presence with a word, nor, what mine eye ‭ By all hands sees thee giv’n, one thought envy. ‭ Nor shouldst thou envy others. Thou may’st see ‭ The place will hold us both; and seem’st to me ‭ A beggar like myself; which who can mend? ‭ The Gods give most to whom they least are friend. ‭ The chief goods Gods give, is in good to end. ‭ But to the hands’ strife, of which y’ are so free, ‭ Provoke me not, for fear you anger me; ‭ And lest the old man, on whose scorn you stood, ‭ Your lips and bosom make shake hands in blood. ‭ I love my quiet well, and more will love ‭ To-morrow than to-day. But if you move ‭ My peace beyond my right, the war you make ‭ Will never after give you will to take ‭ Ulysses’ house into your begging walk.” ‭ “O Gods,” said he, “how volubly doth talk ‭ This eating gulf! And how his fume breaks out, ‭ As from an old crack’d oven! Whom I will clout ‭ So bitterly, and so with both hands mall ‭ His chaps together, that his teeth shall fall ‭ As plain seen on the earth as any sow’s, ‭ That ruts the corn-fields, or devours the mows. ‭ Come, close we now, that all may see what wrong ‭ An old man tempts that takes at cuffs a young.” ‭ Thus in the entry of those lofty tow’rs ‭ These two, with all spleen, spent their jarring pow’rs. ‭ Antinous took it, laugh’d, and said: “O friends, ‭ We never had such sport! This guest contends ‭ With this vast beggar at the buffet’s fight. ‭ Come, join we hands, and screw up all their spite.” ‭ All rose in laughters; and about them bore ‭ All the ragg’d rout of beggars at the door. ‭ Then mov’d Antinous the victor’s hire ‭ To all the Wooers thus: “There are now at fire ‭ Two breasts of goat; both which let law set down ‭ Before the man that wins the day’s renown, ‭ With all their fat and gravy. And of both ‭ The glorious victor shall prefer his tooth, ‭ To which he makes his choice of, from us all, ‭ And ever after banquet in our hall, ‭ With what our boards yield; not a beggar more ‭ Allow’d to share, but all keep out at door.” ‭ This he propos’d; and this they all approv’d, ‭ To which Ulysses answer’d: “O most lov’d, ‭ By no means should an old man, and one old ‭ In chief with sorrows, be so over-bold ‭ To combat with his younger; but, alas, ‭ Man’s own-ill-working belly needs will pass ‭ This work upon me, and enforce me, too, ‭ To beat this fellow. But then, you must do ‭ My age no wrong, to take my younger’s part, ‭ And play me foul play, making your strokes’ smart ‭ Help his to conquer; for you eas’ly may ‭ With your strengths crush me. Do then right, and lay ‭ Your honours on it in your oaths, to yield ‭ His part no aid, but equal leave the field.” ‭ All swore his will. But then Telemachus ‭ His father’s scoffs with comforts serious ‭ Could not but answer, and made this reply: ‭ “Guest! If thine own pow’rs cheer thy victory, ‭ Fear no man’s else that will not pass it free. ‭ He fights with many that shall touch but thee. ‭ I’ll see thy guest-right paid. Thou here art come ‭ In my protection; and to this the sum ‭ Of all these Wooers (which Antinous are ‭ And King Eurymachus) conjoin their care.” ‭ Both vow’d it. When Ulysses, laying by ‭ His upper weed, his inner beggary ‭ Near show’d his shame, which he with rags prevented ‭ Pluck’d from about his thighs, and so presented ‭ Their goodly sight, which were so white and great, ‭ And his large shoulders were to view so set ‭ By his bare rags, his arms, his breast, and all, ‭ So broad, and brawny—their grace natural ‭ Being kept by Pallas, ever standing near— ‭ That all the Wooers his admirers were ‭ Beyond all measure, mutual whispers driv’n ‭ Through all their cluster, saying: “Sure as heav’n ‭ Poor Irus pull’d upon him bitter blows. ‭ Through his thin garment what a thigh he shows!” ‭ They said; but Irus felt. His coward mind ‭ Was mov’d at root. But now he needs must find ‭ Facts to his brags; and forth at all parts fit ‭ The servants brought him, all his art’ries smit ‭ With fears and tremblings. Which Antinous saw, ‭ And said: “Nay, now too late comes fear. No law ‭ Thou shouldst at first have giv’n thy braggart vein, ‭ Nor should it so have swell’d, if terrors strain ‭ Thy spirits to this pass, for a man so old, ‭ And worn with penuries that still lay hold ‭ On his ragg’d person. Howsoever, take ‭ This vow from me for firm: That if, he make ‭ Thy forces stoop, and prove his own supreme, ‭ I’ll put thee in a ship, and down the stream ‭ Send thee ashore where King Echetus reigns, ‭ (The roughest tyrant that the world contains) ‭ And he will slit thy nostrils, crop each ear, ‭ Thy shame cut off, and give it dogs to tear.” ‭ This shook his nerves the more. But both were now ‭ Brought to the lists; and up did either throw ‭ His heavy fists. Ulysses, in suspense ‭ To strike so home that he should fright from thence ‭ His coward soul, his trunk laid prostrate there, ‭ Or let him take more leisure to his fear, ‭ And stoop him by degrees. The last show’d best, ‭ To strike him slightly, out of fear the rest ‭ Would else discover him. But, peace now broke, ‭ On his right shoulder Irus laid his stroke. ‭ Ulysses struck him just beneath the ear, ‭ His jawbone broke, and made the blood appear; ‭ When straight he strew’d the dust, and made his cry ‭ Stand for himself; with whom his teeth did lie, ‭ Spit with his blood out; and against the ground ‭ His heels lay sprawling. Up the hands went round ‭ Of all the Wooers, all at point to die ‭ With violent laughters. Then the king did ply ‭ The beggar’s feet, and dragg’d him forth the hall, ‭ Along the entry, to the gates and wall; ‭ Where leaving him, he put into his hand ‭ A staff; and bade him there use his command ‭ On swine and dogs, and not presume to be ‭ Lord of the guests, or of the beggary, ‭ Since he of all men was the scum and curse; ‭ And so bade please with that, or fare yet worse. ‭ Then cast he on his scrip, all-patch’d and rent, ‭ Hung by a rotten cord, and back he went ‭ To greet the entry’s threshold with his seat. ‭ The Wooers throng’d to him, and did entreat ‭ With gentle words his conquest, laughing still, ‭ Pray’d Jove and all the Gods to give his will ‭ What most it wish’d him and would joy him most, ‭ Since he so happily had clear’d their coast ‭ Of that unsavoury morsel; whom they vow’d ‭ To see with all their utmost haste bestow’d ‭ Aboard a ship, and for Epirus sent ‭ To King Echetus, on whose throne was spent ‭ The worst man’s seat that breath’d. And thus was grac’d ‭ Divine Ulysses, who with joy embrac’d ‭ Ev’n that poor conquest. Then was set to him ‭ The goodly goat’s breast promis’d (that did swim ‭ In fat and gravy) by Antinous, ‭ And from a basket, by Amphinomus, ‭ Were two breads giv’n him; who, besides, renown’d ‭ His banquet with a golden goblet; crown’d, ‭ And this high salutation: “Frolic, guest, ‭ And be those riches that you first possest ‭ Restor’d again with full as many joys, ‭ As in your poor state I see now annoys.” ‭ “Amphinomus,” said he, “you seem to me ‭ Exceeding wise, as being the progeny ‭ Of such a father as authentic Fame ‭ Hath told me was so, one of honour’d name, ‭ And great revenues in Dulichius, ‭ His fair name Nisus. He is blazon’d thus; ‭ And you to be his son, his wisdom heiring, ‭ As well as wealth, his state in nought impairing. ‭ To prove which always, let me tell you this, ‭ (As warning you to shun the miseries ‭ That follow full states, if they be not held ‭ With wisdom still at full, and so compell’d ‭ To courses that abode not in their brows, ‭ By too much swing, their sudden overthrows) ‭ Of all things breathing, or that creep on earth, ‭ Nought is more wretched than a human birth. ‭ Bless’d men think never they can cursed be, ‭ While any power lasts to move a knee. ‭ But when the bless’d Gods make them feel that smart, ‭ That fled their faith so, as they had no heart ‭ They bear their suff’rings, and, what well they might ‭ Have clearly shunn’d, they then meet in despite. ‭ The mind of man flies still out of his way, ‭ Unless God guide and prompt it ev’ry day. ‭ I thought me once a blesséd man with men. ‭ And fashion’d me to all so counted then, ‭ Did all injustice like them, what for lust, ‭ Or any pleasure, never so unjust ‭ I could by pow’r or violence obtain, ‭ And gave them both in all their pow’rs the rein, ‭ Bold of my fathers and my brothers still; ‭ While which held good my arts seem’d never ill. ‭ And thus is none held simply good or bad, ‭ But as his will is either miss’d or had. ‭ All goods God’s gifts man calls, howe’er he gets them, ‭ And so takes all; what price soe’er God sets them, ‭ Says nought how ill they come, nor will controul ‭ That ravine in him, though it cost his soul. ‭ And these parts here I see these Wooers play, ‭ Take all that falls, and all dishonours lay ‭ On that man’s Queen, that, tell your friends, doth bear ‭ No long time’s absence, but is passing near. ‭ Let God then guide thee home, lest he may meet ‭ In his return thy undeparted feet; ‭ For when he enters, and sees men so rude, ‭ The quarrel cannot but in blood conclude.” ‭ This said, he sacrific’d, then drunk, and then ‭ Referr’d the giv’n bowl to the guide-of-men; ‭ Who walk’d away, afflicted at his heart, ‭ Shook head, and fear’d that these facts would convert ‭ To ill in th’ end; yet had not grace to fly, ‭ Minerva stay’d him, being ordain’d to die ‭ Upon the lance of young Ulyssides. ‭ So down he sat; and then did Pallas please ‭ T’ incline the Queen’s affections to appear ‭ To all the Wooers, to extend their cheer ‭ To th’ utmost lightning that still ushers death, ‭ And made her put on all the painted sheath, ‭ That might both set her Wooers’ fancies high, ‭ And get her greater honour in the eye ‭ Ev’n of her son and sov’reign than before. ‭ Who laughing yet, to show her humour bore ‭ No serious appetite to that light show, ‭ She told Eurynomé, that not till now ‭ She ever knew her entertain desire ‭ To please her Wooers’ eyes, but oft on fire ‭ She set their hate, in keeping from them still; ‭ Yet now she pleas’d t’ appear, though from no will ‭ To do them honour, vowing she would tell ‭ Her son that of them that should fit him well ‭ To make use of; which was, not to converse ‭ Too freely with their pride, nor to disperse ‭ His thoughts amongst them, since they us’d to give ‭ Good words, but through them ill intents did drive. ‭ Eurynomé replied: “With good advise ‭ You vow his counsel, and your open guise. ‭ Go then, advise your son, nor keep more close ‭ Your cheeks, still drown’d in your eyes’ overflows, ‭ But bathe your body, and with balms make clear ‭ Your thicken’d count’nance. Uncomposéd cheer, ‭ And ever mourning, will the marrow wear. ‭ Nor have you cause to mourn; your son hath now ‭ Put on that virtue which, in chief, your vow ‭ Wish’d, as your blessing, at his birth, might deck ‭ His blood and person.” “But forbear to speak ‭ Of baths, or balmings, or of beauty, now,” ‭ The Queen replied, “lest, urging comforts, you ‭ Discomfort much; because the Gods have won ‭ The spoil of my looks since my lord was gone. ‭ But these must serve. Call hither then to me ‭ Hippodamia and Autonoé, ‭ That those our train additions may supply ‭ Our own deserts. And yet, besides, not I, ‭ With all my age, have learn’d the boldness yet ‭ T’ expose myself to men, unless I get ‭ Some other gracers.” This said, forth she went ‭ To call the ladies, and much spirit spent ‭ To make their utmost speed, for now their Queen ‭ Would both herself show, and make them be seen. ‭ But now Minerva other projects laid, ‭ And through Icarius’ daughter’s veins convey’d ‭ Sweet sleep’s desire; in whose soft fumes involv’d ‭ She was as soon as laid, and quite dissolv’d ‭ Were all her lineaments. The Goddess then ‭ Bestow’d immortal gifts on her, that men ‭ Might wonder at her beauties; and the beams ‭ That glister in the Deified Supremes ‭ She clear’d her mourning count’nance up withall. ‭ Ev’n such a radiance as doth round empall ‭ Crown’d Cytherea, when her order’d places ‭ Conduct the bevy of the dancing Graces, ‭ She added to her own; more plump, more high, ‭ And fairer than the polish’d ivory, ‭ Rend’ring her parts and presence. This grace done, ‭ Away the Deity flew; and up did run ‭ Her lovely-wristed ladies, with a noise ‭ That blew the soft chains from her sleeping joys; ‭ When she her fair eyes wip’d, and, gasping, said: ‭ “O me unblest! How deep a sweet sleep spread ‭ His shades about me! Would Diana pleas’d ‭ To shoot me with a death no more diseas’d, ‭ As soon as might be, that no more my moan ‭ Might waste my blood in weepings never done, ‭ For want of that accomplish’d virtue spher’d ‭ In my lov’d lord, to all the Greeks preferr’d!” ‭ Then she descended with her maids, and took ‭ Place in the portal; whence her beamy look ‭ Reach’d ev’ry Wooer’s heart; yet cast she on ‭ So thin a veil, that through it quite there shone ‭ A grace so stol’n, it pleas’d above the clear, ‭ And sunk the knees of ev’ry Wooer there, ‭ Their minds so melted in love’s vehement fires, ‭ That to her bed she heighten’d all desires. ‭ The prince then coming near, she said: “O son, ‭ Thy thoughts and judgments have not yet put on ‭ That constancy in what becomes their good, ‭ Which all expect in thee. Thy younger blood ‭ Did sparkle choicer spirits; but, arriv’d ‭ At this full growth, wherein their form hath thriv’d ‭ Beyond the bounds of childhood, and when now, ‭ Beholders should affirm, ‘This man doth grow ‭ Like the rare son of his matchless Sire, ‭ (His goodliness, his beauty, and his fire ‭ Of soul aspir’d to)’ thou mak’st nothing good ‭ Thy fate, nor fortune, nor thy height of blood, ‭ In manage of thy actions. What a deed ‭ Of foul desert hath thy gross suff’rance freed ‭ Beneath thine own roof! A poor stranger here ‭ Us’d most unmanly! How will this appear ‭ To all the world, when Fame shall trumpet out, ‭ That thus, and thus, are our guests beat about ‭ Our court unrighted? ’Tis a blaze will show ‭ Extremely shameful to your name and you.” ‭ “I blame you not, O mother,” he replied, ‭ “That, this clear wrong sustain’d by me, you chide; ‭ Yet know I both the good and bad of all, ‭ Being past the years in which young errors fall. ‭ But, all this known, skill is not so exact ‭ To give, when once it knows, things fit their fact. ‭ I well may doubt the prease of strangers here, ‭ Who, bent to ill, and only my nerves near, ‭ May do it in despite. And yet the jar ‭ Betwixt our guest and Irus was no war ‭ Wrought by the Wooers; nor our guest sustain’d ‭ Wrong in that action, but the conquest gain’d. ‭ And would to Jove, Minerva, and the Sun, ‭ That all your Wooers might serve Contention ‭ For such a purchase as the beggar made, ‭ And wore such weak heads! Some should death invade, ‭ Strew’d in the entry, some embrue the hall, ‭ Till ev’ry man had vengeance capital, ‭ Sattled like Irus at the gates, his head ‭ Ev’ry way nodding, like one forfeited ‭ To reeling Bacchus, knees nor feet his own, ‭ To bear him where he’s better lov’d or known.” ‭ Their speeches giv’n this end, Eurymachus ‭ Began his courtship, and express’d it thus: ‭ “Most wise Icarius’ daughter! If all those, ‭ That did for Colchos vent’rous sail dispose ‭ For that rich purchase, had before but seen ‭ Earth’s richer prize in th’ Ithacensian Queen, ‭ They had not made that voyage, but to you ‭ Would all their virtues and their beings vow. ‭ Should all the world know what a worth you store, ‭ To-morrow than to-day, and next light, more ‭ Your court should banquet; since to all dames you ‭ Are far preferr’d, both for the grace of show, ‭ In stature, beauty, form in ev’ry kind ‭ Of all parts outward, and for faultless mind.” ‭ “Alas,” said she, “my virtue, body, form, ‭ The Gods have blasted with that only storm ‭ That ravish’d Greece to Ilion, since my lord, ‭ For that war shipp’d, bore all my goods aboard. ‭ If he, return’d, should come and govern here ‭ My life’s whole state, the grace of all things there ‭ His guide would heighten, as the spirit it bore; ‭ Which dead in me lives, giv’n him long before. ‭ A sad course I live now; Heav’n’s stern decree ‭ With many an ill hath numb’d and deaded me. ‭ He took life with him, when he took my hand ‭ In parting from me to the Trojan strand, ‭ These words my witness: ‘Woman! I conceive ‭ That not all th’ Achives bound for Troy shall leave ‭ Their native earth their safe returnéd bones, ‭ Fame saying, that Troy trains up approvéd sons ‭ In deeds of arms, brave putters-off of shafts, ‭ For winging lances masters of their crafts, ‭ Unmatchéd riders, swift of foot, and straight ‭ Can arbitrate a war of deadliest weight. ‭ Hope then can scarce fill all with life’s supply, ‭ And of all any failing, why not I? ‭ Nor do I know, if God hath marshall’d me ‭ Amongst the safe-return’d; or his decree ‭ Hath left me to the thraldom order’d there. ‭ However, all cares be thy burthens here, ‭ My sire and mother tend as much as now, ‭ I further off, more near in cares be you. ‭ Your son to man’s state grown, wed whom you will; ‭ And, you gone, his care let his household fill.’ ‭ Thus made my lord his will, which Heav’n sees prov’d ‭ Almost at all parts; for the Sun remov’d ‭ Down to his set, ere long, will lead the night ‭ Of those abhorréd nuptials, that should fright ‭ Each worthy woman, which her second are ‭ With any man that breathes, her first lord’s care ‭ Dead, because he to flesh and blood is dead; ‭ Which, I fear, I shall yield to, and so wed ‭ A second husband; and my reason is, ‭ Since Jove hath taken from me all his bliss. ‭ Whom God gives over they themselves forsake, ‭ Their griefs their joys, their God their devil, make. ‭ And ’tis a great grief, nor was seen till now ‭ In any fashion of such men as woo ‭ A good and wealthy woman, and contend ‭ Who shall obtain her, that those men should spend ‭ Her beeves and best sheep, as their chiefest ends, ‭ But rather that herself and all her friends ‭ They should with banquets and rich gifts entreat. ‭ Their life is death that live with other’s meat.” ‭ Divine Ulysses much rejoic’d to hear ‭ His Queen thus fish for gifts, and keep in cheer. ‭ Their hearts with hope that she would wed again, ‭ Her mind yet still her first intent retain. ‭ Antinous saw the Wooers won to give, ‭ And said: “Wise Queen, by all your means receive ‭ Whatever bounty any Wooer shall use. ‭ Gifts freely giv’n ’tis folly to refuse. ‭ For know, that we resolve not to be gone ‭ To keep our own roofs, till of all some one, ‭ Whom best you like, your long-woo’d love shall win.” ‭ This pleas’d the rest, and ev’ry one sent in ‭ His present by the herald. First had place ‭ Antinous’ gift: A robe of special grace, ‭ Exceeding full and fair, and twenty hues ‭ Chang’d lustre to it; to which choice of shows, ‭ Twelve massy plated buttons, all of gold, ‭ Enrich’d the substance, made to fairly hold ‭ The robe together, all lac’d down before, ‭ Where keeps and catches both sides of it wore. ‭ Eurymachus a golden tablet gave, ‭ In which did Art her choicest works engrave; ‭ And round about an amber verge did run, ‭ That cast a radiance from it like the Sun. ‭ Eurydamas two servants had that bore ‭ Two goodly earrings, whose rich hollows wore ‭ Three pearls in either, like so many eyes, ‭ Reflecting glances radiant as the skies. ‭ The king Pisander, great Polyctor’s heir, ‭ A casket gave, exceeding rich and fair. ‭ The other other wealthy gifts commended ‭ To her fair hand; which took, and straight ascended ‭ This Goddess of her sex her upper state. ‭ Her ladies all her gifts elaborate ‭ Up bearing after. All to dancing then ‭ The Wooers went, and song’s delightful strain; ‭ In which they frolick’d, till the evening came, ‭ And then rais’d sable Hesperus his flame. ‭ When, for their lights within, they set up there ‭ Three lamps, whose wicks were wood exceeding sere, ‭ And passing porous; which they caus’d to burn, ‭ Their matter ever minister’d by turn ‭ Of sev’ral handmaids. Whom Ulysses seeing ‭ Too conversant with Wooers, ill-agreeing ‭ With guise of maids, advis’d in this fair sort: ‭ “Maids of your long-lack’d King, keep you the port ‭ Your Queen’s chaste presence bears. Go up to her, ‭ Employ your looms, or rocks, and keep ye there; ‭ I’ll serve to feed these lamps, should these lords’ dances ‭ Last till Aurora cheer’d us with their glances. ‭ They cannot weary me, for I am one ‭ Born to endure when all men else have done.” ‭ They wantonly brake out in laughters all, ‭ Look’d on each other; and to terms did fall ‭ Cheek-proud Melantho, who was Dolius’ seed, ‭ Kept by the Queen, that gave her dainty bread ‭ Fit for her daughter; and yet won not so ‭ Her heart to her to share in any woe ‭ She suffer’d for her lord, but she was great ‭ With great Eurymachus, and her love’s heat ‭ In his bed quench’d. And this choleric thing ‭ Bestow’d this railing language on the King: ‭ “Base stranger, you are taken in your brain, ‭ You talk so wildly. Never you again ‭ Can get where you were born, and seek your bed ‭ In some smith’s hovel, or the marketsted, ‭ But here you must take confidence to prate ‭ Before all these; for fear can get no state ‭ In your wine-hardy stomach. Or ’tis like ‭ To prove your native garb, your tongue will strike ‭ On this side of your mouth still, being at best. ‭ Is the man idle-brain’d for want of rest? ‭ Or proud because he beat the roguish beggar? ‭ Take heed, Sir, lest some better man beleager ‭ Your ears with his fists, and set headlong hence ‭ Your bold abode here with your blood’s expence.” ‭ He, looking sternly on her, answer’d her: ‭ “Dog! What broad language giv’st thou? I’ll prefer ‭ Your usage to the prince, that he may fall ‭ Foul on your fair limbs till he tell them all.” ‭ This fray’d the wenches, and all straight got gone ‭ In fear about their business, ev’ry one ‭ Confessing he said well. But he stood now ‭ Close by the cressets, and did looks bestow ‭ On all men there; his brain employ’d about ‭ Some sharper business than to dance it out, ‭ Which had not long to go. Nor therefore would ‭ Minerva let the Wooers’ spleens grow cold ‭ With too good usuage of him, that his heart ‭ Might fret enough, and make his choler smart. ‭ Eurymachus provok’d him first, and made ‭ His fellow laugh, with a conceit he had ‭ Fetch’d far from what was spoken long before, ‭ That his poor form perhaps some Deity bore. ‭ “It well may chance,” said he, “some God doth bear ‭ This man’s resemblance, for, thus standing near ‭ The glist’ring torches, his slick’d head doth throw ‭ Beams round about it as those cressets do, ‭ For not a hair he hath to give it shade. ‭ Say, will thy heart serve t’ undertake a trade ‭ For fitting wages? Should I take thee hence ‭ To walk my grounds, and look to ev’ry fence, ‭ Or plant high trees, thy hire should raise thy forces ‭ Food store, and clothes. But these same idle courses ‭ Thou art so prompt in that thou wilt not work, ‭ But forage up and down, and beg, and lurk ‭ In ev’ry house whose roofs hold any will ‭ To feed such fellows. That thy gut may fill, ‭ Gives end to all thy being.” He replied: ‭ “I wish, at any work we two were tried, ‭ In height of spring-time, when heav’n’s lights are long, ‭ I a good crook’d scythe that were sharp and strong, ‭ You such another, where the grass grew deep, ‭ Up by day-break, and both our labours keep ‭ Up till slow darkness eas’d the labouring light, ‭ Fasting all day, and not a crumb till night; ‭ We then should prove our either workmanship. ‭ Or if, again, beeves, that the goad or whip ‭ Were apt t’ obey before a tearing plow, ‭ Big lusty beasts, alike in bulk and brow, ‭ Alike in labour, and alike in strength, ‭ Our task four acres, to be till’d in length ‭ Of one sole day; again: then you should try ‭ If the dull glebe before the plow-should fly, ‭ Or I a long stitch could bear clean and even. ‭ Or lastly, if the Guide of earth and heaven ‭ Should stir stern war up, either here or there, ‭ And that at this day I had double spear, ‭ And shield, and steel casque fitting for my brows; ‭ At this work likewise, ’midst the foremost blows, ‭ Your eyes should note me, and get little cause ‭ To twit me with my belly’s sole applause. ‭ But you affect t’ affect with injury, ‭ Your mind ungentle, seem in valour high, ‭ Because ’gainst few, and those not of the best, ‭ Your conversation hath been still profest. ‭ But if Ulysses, landed on his earth, ‭ And enter’d on the true right of his birth, ‭ Should come and front ye, straight his ample gates ‭ Your feet would hold too narrow for your fates.” ‭ He frown’d, rag’d, call’d him wretch, and vow’d ‭ To be his death, since he durst prove so proud ‭ Amongst so many, to tell him so home ‭ What he affected; ask’d, if overcome ‭ With wine he were, or, as his minion said, ‭ Talk’d still so idly, and were palsiéd ‭ In his mind’s instruments, or was proud because ‭ He gat from Irus off with such applause? ‭ With all which, snatching up a stool, he threw; ‭ When old Ulysses to the knees withdrew ‭ Of the Dulichian lord, Amphinomus, ‭ As if he fear’d him. His dart missing thus ‭ His aged object, and his page’s hand ‭ (A boy that waited on his cup’s command, ‭ Now holding of an ewer to him) he smit, ‭ Down fell the sounding ewer, and after it ‭ The guiltless page lay sprawling in the dust, ‭ And crying out. When all the Wooers thrust ‭ A tumult up amongst them, wishing all ‭ The rogue had perish’d in some hospital, ‭ Before his life there stirr’d such uproars up, ‭ And with rude speeches spice their pleasures’ cup. ‭ And all this for a beggar to fulfill ‭ A filthy proverb: Good still yields to ill. ‭ The prince cried out on them, to let the bad ‭ Obscure the good so; told them they were mad, ‭ Abus’d their banquet, and affirm’d some God ‭ Tried mast’ries with them; bade them take their load ‭ Of food and wine, sit up, or fall to bed ‭ At their free pleasures; and since he gave head ‭ To all their freedoms, why should they mistake ‭ Their own rich humours for a beggar’s sake? ‭ All bit their lips to be so taken down, ‭ And taught the course that should have been their own, ‭ Admir’d the prince; and said he bravely spoke. ‭ But Nisus’ son then struck the equal stroke, ‭ And said: “O friends, let no man here disdain ‭ To put up equal speeches, nor maintain ‭ With serious words an humour, nor with stroke ‭ A stranger in another’s house provoke, ‭ Nor touch the meanest servant, but confine ‭ All these dissentions in a bowl of wine; ‭ Which fill us, cup-bearer, that, having done ‭ Our nightly sacrifice, we may atone ‭ Our pow’rs with sleep, resigning first the guest ‭ Up to the prince, that holds all interest ‭ In his disposure here; the house being his ‭ In just descent, and all the faculties.” ‭ This all approv’d; when noble Mulius, ‭ Herald-in-chief to lord Amphinomus, ‭ The wine distributed with rev’rend grace ‭ To ev’ry Wooer; when the Gods giv’n place; ‭ With service fit; they serv’d themselves, and took ‭ Their parting cups, till, when they all had shook ‭ The angry humour off, they bent to rest, ‭ And ev’ry Wooer to sev’ral roofs addrest. ‭ THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭ THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses and his son eschew ‭ Offending of the Wooers’ view ‭ With any armour. His birth’s seat, ‭ Ulysses tells his Queen, is Crete, ‭ Euryclea the truth yet found, ‭ Discover’d by a scar-heal’d wound, ‭ Which in Parnassus’ tops a boar, ‭ Struck by him in his chace, did gore. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ταυ̑. ‭ The King still hid ‭ By what he said; ‭ By what he did ‭ Informs his maid.

‭ Yet did divine Ulysses keep his roof, ‭ And with Minerva plotted still the proof ‭ Of all the Wooers’ deaths; when thus his son ‭ He taught with these fore-counsels: “We must run ‭ A close course with these arms, and lay them by, ‭ And to the Wooers make so fair a sky ‭ As it would never thunder. Let me then, ‭ That you may well retain, repeat again ‭ What in Eumæus’ cottage I advis’d: ‭ If when they see no leisure exercis’d, ‭ In fetching down your arms, and ask what use ‭ Your mind will give them, say, ’tis their abuse ‭ With smoke and rust that makes you take them down, ‭ This not being like the armory well-known ‭ To be the leavings of Laertes’ son ‭ Consorting the design for Ilion; ‭ Your eyes may see how much they are infected, ‭ As all fires’ vapours ever since reflected ‭ On those sole arms. Besides, a graver thought ‭ Jove graves within you, lest, their spirits wrought ‭ Above their pitch with wine, they might contend ‭ At some high banquet, and to wounds transcend, ‭ Their feast inverting; which, perhaps, may be ‭ Their nuptial feast with wise Penelopé. ‭ The ready weapon, when the blood is up, ‭ Doubles the uproar heighten’d by the cup. ‭ Wrath’s means for act, curb all the ways ye can, ‭ As loadstones draw the steel, so steel draws man. ‭ Retain these words; nor what is good think, thus ‭ Receiv’d at second hand, superfluous.” ‭ The son, obeying, did Euryclea call, ‭ And bade her shut in th’ utter porches all ‭ The other women, till himself brought down ‭ His father’s arms, which all were overgrown ‭ By his neglect with rust, his father gone, ‭ And he too-childish to spend thoughts upon ‭ Those manly implements; but he would now ‭ Reform those young neglects, and th’ arms bestow ‭ Past reach of smoke. The loving nurse replied: ‭ “I wish, O son, your pow’rs would once provide ‭ For wisdom’s habit, see your household were ‭ In thrifty manage, and tend all things there. ‭ But if these arms must down, and ev’ry maid ‭ Be shut in utter rooms, who else should aid ‭ Your work with light?” He answer’d: “This my guest. ‭ There shall no one in my house taste my feast, ‭ Or join in my nave, that shall idly live, [1] ‭ However far hence he his home derive.” ‭ He said, and his words stood. The doors she shut ‭ Of that so well-fill’d house. And th’ other put ‭ Their thoughts in act; best shields, helms, sharpen’d lances, ‭ Brought down; and Pallas before both advances ‭ A golden cresset, that did cast a light ‭ As if the Day sat in the throne of Night. ‭ When, half-amaz’d, the prince said: “O my father, ‭ Mine eyes my soul’s pow’rs all in wonder gather, ‭ For though the walls, and goodly wind-beams here, ‭ All all these pillars, that their heads so rear, ‭ And all of fir, they seem yet all of fire. ‭ Some God is surely with us.” His wise sire ‭ Bade peace, and keep the counsels of the Gods, ‭ Nor ask a word: “These Pow’rs, that use abodes ‭ Above the stars, have pow’r from thence to shine ‭ Through night and all shades to earth’s inmost mine. ‭ Go thou for sleep, and leave me here to wake ‭ The women, and the Queen whose heart doth ache ‭ To make inquiry for myself of me.” ‭ He went to sleep where lights did endlessly ‭ Burn in his night-rooms; where he feasted rest, ‭ Till day’s fair weed did all the world invest. ‭ Thus was divine Ulysses left alone ‭ With Pallas, plotting foul confusion ‭ To all the Wooers. Forth then came the Queen; ‭ Phœbe, with golden Cytherea seen, ‭ Her port presented. Whom they set a chair ‭ Aside the fire, the fashion circular, ‭ The substance silver and rich elephant; ‭ Whose fabric did the cunning finger vaunt ‭ Of great Icmalius, who besides had done ‭ A footstool for her that did suit her throne, ‭ On which they cast an ample skin, to be ‭ The cushion for her other royalty. ‭ And there she sat; about whom came her maids, ‭ Who brought upon a table store of breads, ‭ And bowls that with the Wooers’ wine were crown’d. ‭ The embers then they cast upon the ground ‭ From out the lamps, and other fuel added, ‭ That still with cheerful flame the sad house gladded. ‭ Melantha seeing still Ulysses there, ‭ Thus she held out her spleen: “Still, stranger, here? ‭ Thus late in night? To see what ladies do? ‭ Avaunt you, wretch, hence, go without doors, go; ‭ And quickly, too, lest ye be singed away ‭ With burning firebrands.” He, thus seeing their fray ‭ Continued by her with such spleen, replied: ‭ “Minion! What makes your angry blood thus chide ‭ My presence still? Is it because you see ‭ I shine not in your wanton bravery, ‭ But wear these rags? It fits the needy fate ‭ That makes me beg thus of the common state. ‭ Such poor souls, and such beggars, yet are men; ‭ And ev’n my mean means means had to maintain ‭ A wealthy house, and kept a manly press, ‭ Was counted blessed, and the poor access ‭ Of any beggar did not scorn, but feed, ‭ With often hand, and any man of need ‭ Reliev’d as fitted; kept my servants, too, ‭ Not few, but did with those additions go ‭ That call choice men The Honest, who are styl’d ‭ The rich, the great. But what such great ones build ‭ Jove oft pulls down, as thus he ruin’d me; ‭ His will was such, which is his equity. ‭ And therefore, woman, bear you fitting hand ‭ On your behaviour, lest your spirit thus mann’d, ‭ And cherish’d with your beauties, when they wane, ‭ Comes down, your pride now being then your bane; ‭ And in the mean space shun the present danger, ‭ Lest your bold fashion breed your sov’reign’s anger, ‭ Or lest Ulysses come, of whom ev’n yet ‭ Hope finds some life in Fate. Or, be his seat ‭ Amongst the merely ruin’d, yet his son, ‭ Whose life’s heat Phœbus saves, is such a one ‭ As can discover who doth well deserve ‭ Of any woman here his years now serve.” ‭ The Queen gave ear, and thus suppress’d the flame: ‭ “Thou quite without a brow, past female shame, ‭ I hear thy monstrous boldness, which thy head ‭ Shall pay me pains for. Thou hast heard it said, ‭ And from myself too, and ev’ry part ‭ Thy knowledge serves thee, that, to ease my heart ‭ So punish’d in thy witness, my desire ‭ Dwelt on this stranger, that I might inquire ‭ My lost friend’s being. But ’tis ever tried, ‭ Both man and God are still forgot with pride. ‭ Eurynomé, bring here this guest a seat, ‭ And cushion on it, that we two may treat ‭ Of the affair in question. Set it near, ‭ That I may softly speak, yet he well hear.” ‭ She did this little freely; and he sat ‭ Close by the Queen, who ask’d him, Whence, and what ‭ He was himself? And what th’ inhabited place ‭ Where liv’d his parents? Whence he fetch’d his race? ‭ “O woman,” he replied, “with whom no man, ‭ That moves in earth’s unbounded circle, can ‭ Maintain contention for true honour giv’n, ‭ Whose fame hath reach’d the fairly-flowing heav’n, ‭ Who, like a never-ill-deserving king, ‭ That is well-spoke of, first, for worshipping, ‭ And striving to resemble God in empire; ‭ Whose equal hand impartially doth temper ‭ Greatness and Goodness; to whom therefore bears ‭ The black earth store of all grain, trees confers ‭ Cracking with burthen, long-liv’d herds creates, ‭ All which the sea with her sorts emulates; ‭ And all this feeds beneath his pow’rful hand ‭ Men, valiant, many, making strong his land ‭ With happy lives led; nothing else the cause ‭ Of all these blessings, but well-order’d laws; ‭ Like such a king are you, in love, in fame, ‭ And all the bliss that deifies a dame. ‭ And therefore do not mix this with a moan ‭ So wretched as is now in question; ‭ Ask not my race nor country, lest you fill ‭ My heart yet fuller with repeated ill; ‭ For I must follow it with many tears, ‭ Though ’tis not seemly to sit wounding ears ‭ In public roofs with our particular life. ‭ Time’s worst expense is still-repeated grief. ‭ I should be irksome to your ladies here, ‭ And you yourself would say you urg’d your ear ‭ To what offends it, my still-broken eyne ‭ Supposing wounded with your too-much wine.” ‭ “Stranger,” said she, “you fear your own excess ‭ With giving me too great a nobleness. ‭ The Gods my person, beauty, virtue too, ‭ Long since subverted, when the Ilion woe ‭ The Greek design attempted; in which went ‭ My praise and honour. In his government ‭ Had I deserv’d your utmost grace, but now ‭ Sinister Deity makes dishonour woo, ‭ In show of grace, my ruin. All the peers ‭ Sylvan Zacynthus, and Dulichius, spheres, ‭ Samos and Ithaca, strange strifes have shown ‭ To win me, spending on me all mine own; ‭ Will wed me, in my spite; and these are those ‭ That take from me all virtue to dispose ‭ Or guest or suppliant, or take any course ‭ Amongst my heralds, that should all disburse, ‭ To order anything. Though I need none ‭ To give me grief at home, abroad errs one ‭ That my veins shrink for, whom these holding gone, ‭ Their nuptials hasten, and find me as slow. ‭ Good spirits prompted me to make a show ‭ Of undertaking a most curious task, ‭ That an unmeasur’d space of time would ask; ‭ Which they enduring long would often say, ‭ When ends thy work? I soon had my delay, ‭ And pray’d their stay; for though my lord were dead, ‭ His father’s life yet matter ministred ‭ That must employ me; which, to tell them true, ‭ Was that great work I nam’d. For now near drew ‭ Laertes’ death, and on my hand did lie ‭ His funeral-robe, whose end, being now so nigh, ‭ I must not leave, and lose so much begun, ‭ The rather lest the Greek dames might be won ‭ To tax mine honour, if a man so great ‭ Should greet his grave without his winding sheet. ‭ Pride made them credulous, and I went on; ‭ When whatsoever all the day had done ‭ I made the night help to undo again, ‭ Though oil and watch it cost, and equal pain. ‭ Three years my wit secur’d me undiscern’d, ‭ Yet, when the fourth came, by my maids discern’d, ‭ False careless wenches, how they were deluded; ‭ When, by my light discern’d, they all intruded, ‭ Used threat’ning words, and made me give it end; ‭ And then could I to no more length extend ‭ My linger’d nuptials; not a counsel more ‭ Was to be stood upon; my parents bore ‭ Continual hand on me to make me wed; ‭ My son grew angry that so ruinéd ‭ His goods were by them. He is now a man ‭ Wise in a great degree, and one that can ‭ Himself give order to his household fare; ‭ And Jove give equal glory to his care. ‭ But thus you must not pass me; I must know, ‭ It may be for more end, from whence doth grow ‭ Your race and you; for I suppose you none ‭ Sprung of old oak, or justled out of stone.” ‭ He answer’d: “O Ulysses’ rev’rend wife! ‭ Yet hold you purpose to inquire my life? ‭ I’ll tell you, though it much afflict me more ‭ Than all the sorrows I have felt before. ‭ As worthily it may, since so long time ‭ As I have wander’d from my native clime, ‭ Through human cities, and in suff’rance still, ‭ To rip all wounds up, though of all their ill ‭ I touch but part, must actuate all their pain. ‭ But, ask you still, I’ll tell, though still sustain. ‭ In middle of the sable sea there lies ‭ An isle call’d Crete, a ravisher of eyes, ‭ Fruitful, and mann’d with many an infinite store; ‭ Where ninety cities crown the famous shore, ‭ Mix’d with all-languag’d men. There Greeks survive, ‭ There the great-minded Eteocretans live, ‭ There the Dorensians never out of war, ‭ The Cydons there, and there the singular ‭ Pelasgian people. There doth Cnossus stand, ‭ That mighty city, where had most command ‭ Great Jove’s disciple, Minos, who nine years ‭ Conferr’d with Jove, both great familiars ‭ In mutual counsels. And this Minos’ son, ‭ The mighty-minded king Deucalion, ‭ Was sire to me and royal Idomen, ‭ Who with Atrides went to Ilion then, ‭ My elder brother and the better man, ‭ My name Aethon. At that time began ‭ My knowledge of Ulysses, whom my home ‭ Receiv’d with guest-rites. He was thither come ‭ By force of weather, from the Malean coast ‭ But new got off, where he the navy lost, ‭ Then under sail for Troy, and wind-bound lay ‭ Long in Amnisus; hardly got away ‭ From horrid storms, that made him anchor there, ‭ In havens that sacred to Lucina were, ‭ Dreadful and dang’rous, in whose bosom crept ‭ Lucina’s cavern. But in my roof slept ‭ Ulysses, shor’d in Crete; who first inquir’d ‭ For royal Idomen, and much desir’d ‭ To taste his guest-rites, since to him had been ‭ A welcome guest my brother Idomen. ‭ The tenth or ’leventh light on Ulysses shin’d ‭ In stay at Crete, attending then the wind ‭ For threaten’d Ilion. All which time my house ‭ With love and entertainments curious ‭ Embrac’d his person, though a number more ‭ My hospitable roofs receiv’d before, ‭ His men I likewise call’d, and from the store ‭ Allow’d them meal and heat-exciting wine, ‭ And oxen for their slaughter, to confine ‭ In my free hand the utmost of their need. ‭ Twelve days the Greeks stay’d, ere they got them freed, ‭ A gale so bitter blew out of the north, ‭ That none could stand on earth, being tumbled forth ‭ By some stern God. But on the thirteenth day ‭ The tempest ceas’d, and then went Greeks their way.” ‭ Thus many tales Ulysses told his wife, ‭ At most but painting, yet most like the life; ‭ Of which her heart such sense took through her ears, ‭ It made her weep as she would turn to tears. ‭ And as from off the mountains melts the snow, ‭ Which Zephyr’s breath conceal’d, but was made flow ‭ By hollow Eurus, which so fast pours down, ‭ That with their torrent floods have overflown; ‭ So down her fair cheeks her kind tears did glide, ‭ Her miss’d lord mourning set so near her side. ‭ Ulysses much was mov’d to see her mourn, ‭ Whose eyes yet stood as dry as iron or horn ‭ In his untroubled lids, which in his craft ‭ Of bridling passion he from issue saft. ‭ When she had giv’n her moan so many tears, ‭ That now ’twas satiate, her yet loving fears ‭ Ask’d thus much further: “You have thus far tried ‭ My love’s credulity, but if gratified ‭ With so long stay he was with you, you can ‭ Describe what weed he wore, what kind of man ‭ Both he himself was, and what followers ‭ Observ’d him there.” “Alas,” said he, “the years ‭ Have grown so many since—this making now ‭ Their twentieth revolution—that my show ‭ Of these slight notes will set my memory sore, ‭ But, to my now remembrance, this he wore: ‭ A double purple robe, drawn close before ‭ With golden buttons, plaited thick, and bore ‭ A facing where a hundred colours shin’d. ‭ About the skirts a hound a freckled hind ‭ In full course hunted; on the fore skirts, yet, ‭ He pinch’d and pull’d her down, when with her feet, ‭ And all her force, she struggled hard for flight. ‭ Which had such life in gold, that to the sight ‭ It seem’d the hind itself for ev’ry hue, ‭ The hound and all so answering the view, ‭ That all admir’d all. I observ’d beside ‭ His inner weed, so rarely beautified ‭ That dumb amaze it bred, and was as thin ‭ As any dry and tender onion skin; ‭ As soft ’twas, too, and glister’d like the sun. ‭ The women were to loving wonder won ‭ By him and by his weeds. But, by the way, ‭ You must excuse me, that I cannot say ‭ He brought this suit from home, or had it there ‭ Sent for some present, or, perhaps, elsewhere ‭ Receiv’d it for his guest-gift; for your lord ‭ Had friends not few, the fleet did not afford ‭ Many that had not fewer. I bestow’d ‭ A well-edg’d sword on him, a robe that flow’d ‭ In folds and fulness, and did reach his feet, ‭ Of richest purple; brought him to his fleet ‭ With all my honour; and besides, to add ‭ To all this sifted circumstance, he had ‭ A herald there, in height a little more ‭ Put from the earth, that thicker shoulders wore, ‭ A swarth complexion and a curléd head, ‭ His name Eurybates; and much in stead ‭ He stood your king, employ’d in most command, ‭ Since most of all his mind could understand.” ‭ When all these signs she knew for chiefly true, ‭ Desire of moan upon her beauties grew, ‭ And yet, ev’n that desire suffic’d, she said: ‭ “Till this, my guest, a wretched state array’d ‭ Your ill-us’d person, but from this hour forth ‭ You shall be honour’d, and find all the worth ‭ That fits a friend. Those weeds these hands bestow’d ‭ From out my wardrobe; those gold buttons sew’d ‭ Before for closure and for ornament. ‭ But never more must his return present ‭ The person that gave those adornments state; ‭ And therefore, under an abhorréd fate, ‭ Was he induc’d to feed the common fame, ‭ To visit vile Troy, ay too vile to name.” ‭ “No more yet mourn,” said he, “nor thus see pin’d ‭ Your lovely person. Weeping wastes the mind. ‭ And yet I blame you not; for any dame ‭ That weds one young, and brings to him his name, ‭ Whatever man he is, will mourn his loss. ‭ Much more respectful then must show your woes ‭ That weep thus for Ulysses, who, Fame says, ‭ Was equal with the Gods in all his ways. ‭ But where no cause is there must be no moan, ‭ And therefore hear me, my relation ‭ Shall lay the clear truth naked to your view: ‭ I heard amongst the Thesprots for most true, ‭ That lord Ulysses liv’d, and stood just now ‭ On his return for home; that wealth did flow ‭ In his possession, which he made not known, ‭ But begg’d amongst the people, since alone ‭ He quite was left, for all his men were lost ‭ In getting off from the Trinacrian coast; ‭ Jove and the Sun was wroth with them for rape ‭ Made of his oxen, and no man let ’scape ‭ The rugged deeps of Neptune; only he, ‭ The ship’s keel only keeping, was by sea ‭ Cast on the fair Phæacian continent, ‭ Where men survive that are the Gods’ descent, ‭ And like a God receiv’d him, gave him heaps ‭ Of wealthy gifts, and would conduct his steps ‭ Themselves safe home; which he might long ago ‭ His pleasure make, but profit would not so. ‭ He gather’d going, and had mighty store ‭ Of gold in safeguard; so beyond the shore ‭ That common sails kept, his high flood of wit ‭ Bore glorious top, and all the world for it ‭ Hath far exceeded. All this Phædon told, ‭ That doth the sceptre of Thesprotia hold, ‭ Who swore to me, in household sacrifice, ‭ The ship was launch’d, and men to man the prise, ‭ That soon should set him on his country earth, ‭ Show’d me the goods, enough to serve the birth ‭ That in the tenth age of his seed should spring, ‭ Yet in his court contain’d. But then the king, ‭ Your husband, for Dodona was in way, ‭ That from th’ Oraculous Oak he might display ‭ Jove’s will what course for home would best prevail, ‭ To come in pomp, or bear a secret sail. ‭ But me the king dispatch’d in course before, ‭ A ship then bound for the Dulichian shore. ‭ So thus you see his safety whom you mourn; ‭ Who now is passing near, and his return ‭ No more will punish with delays, but see ‭ His friends and country. All which truth to thee ‭ I’ll seal with sacred oath. Be witness, Jove, ‭ Thou first and best of all the thron’d above! ‭ And thou house of the great Laertes’ heir, ‭ To whose high roofs I tender my repair, ‭ That what I tell the Queen event shall crown! ‭ This year Ulysses shall possess his own, ‭ Nay ere the next month ends shall here arrive, ‭ Nay, ere it enters, here abide alive!” ‭ “O may this prove,” said she; “gifts, friendship, then ‭ Should make your name the most renown’d of men. ‭ But ’tis of me receiv’d, and must so sort, ‭ That nor my lord shall ever see his court, ‭ Nor you gain your deduction thence, for now ‭ The alter’d house doth no such man allow ‭ As was Ulysses, if he ever were, ‭ To entertain a rev’rend passenger, ‭ And give him fair dismission. But, maids, see ‭ Ye bathe his feet, and then with tapestry, ‭ Best sheets and blankets, make his bed, and lay ‭ Soft waistcoats by him, that, lodg’d warm, he may ‭ Ev’n till the golden-seated morning’s ray ‭ Enjoy good rest; and then, with her first light, ‭ Bathe, and give alms, that cherish’d appetite ‭ He may apply within our hall, and sit ‭ Safe by Telemachus. Or, if th’ unfit ‭ And harmful mind of any be so base ‭ To grieve his age again, let none give grace ‭ Of doing any deed he shall command, ‭ How wroth soever, to his barbarous hand. ‭ For how shall you, guest, know me for a dame ‭ That pass so far, nay, turn and wind the fame ‭ Of other dames for wisdom, and the frame ‭ Of household usage, if your poor thin weeds ‭ I let draw on you want, and worser deeds, ‭ That may, perhaps, cause here your latest day? ‭ The life of man is short and flies away. ‭ And if the ruler’s self of households be ‭ Ungentle, studying inhumanity, ‭ The rest prove worse, but he bears all the blame; ‭ All men will, living, vow against his name ‭ Mischiefs and miseries, and, dead, supply ‭ With bitter epitaphs his memory. ‭ But if himself be noble—noble things ‭ Doing and knowing—all his underlings ‭ Will imitate his noblesse, and all guests ‭ Give it, in many, many interests.” ‭ “But, worthiest Queen,” said he, “where you command ‭ Baths and rich beds for me, I scorn to stand ‭ On such state now nor ever thought it yet, ‭ Since first I left the snowy hills of Crete. ‭ When once I fell a-shipboard those thoughts fled; ‭ I love to take now, as long since, my bed. ‭ Though I began the use with sleepless nights, ‭ I many a darkness with right homely rites ‭ Have spent ere this hour, and desir’d the morn ‭ Would come, and make sleep to the world a scorn. ‭ Nor run these dainty baths in my rude head; ‭ Nor any handmaid, to your service bred, ‭ Shall touch my ill-kept feet, unless there live ‭ Some poor old drudge here, that hath learn’d to give ‭ Old men good usage, and no work will fly, ‭ As having suffer’d ill as much as I. ‭ But if there live one such in your command, ‭ I will not shame to give my foot her hand.” ‭ She gave this answer: “O my lovéd guest, ‭ There never enter’d these kind roofs for rest ‭ Stranger or friend that so much wisdom laid ‭ In gage for guest-rites, as your lips have paid. ‭ There lives an old maid in my charge that knows ‭ The good you speak of by her many woes; ‭ That nourish’d and brought up, with curious care, ‭ Th’ unhappy man; your old familiar, ‭ Ev’n since his mother let him view the light, ‭ And oft hath felt in her weak arms his weight; ‭ And she, though now much weaker, shall apply ‭ Her maiden service to your modesty. ‭ Euryclea, rise, and wash the feet of one ‭ That is of one age with your sov’reign gone, ‭ Such hands, such feet hath, though of alter’d grace. ‭ Much grief in men will bring on change apace.” ‭ She, from her aged slumber wak’d, did clear ‭ Her heavy eyes, and instantly, to hear ‭ Her sov’reign’s name, had work enough to dry ‭ Her cheeks from tears, and to his memory ‭ These moans did offer: “O my son,” said she, ‭ “I never can take grief enough for thee, ‭ Whom Goodness hurts, and whom ev’n Jove’s high spleen, ‭ Since thou art Jove-like, hates the most of men. ‭ For none hath offer’d him so many thighs, ‭ Nor such whole hecatombs of sacrifice, ‭ Fat and selected, as thy zeal hath done; ‭ For all, but praying that thy noble son, ‭ Thy happy age might see at state of man. ‭ And yet hath Jove with mists Cimmerian ‭ Put out the light of his returning day. ‭ And as yourself, O father, in your way ‭ Took these fair roofs for hospitable rites, ‭ Yet find, for them, our dogged women’s spites; ‭ So he, in like course, being driven to proof, ‭ Long time ere this, what such a royal roof ‭ Would yield his mis’ries, found such usage there. ‭ And you, now flying the foul language here, ‭ And many a filthy fact of our fair dames, ‭ Fly me like them, and put on causeless shames ‭ To let me cleanse your feet. For not the cause ‭ The Queen’s command yields is the pow’r that draws ‭ My will to wash your feet, but what I do ‭ Proceeds from her charge and your rev’rence too; ‭ Since I in soul am stricken with a ruth ‭ Of your distresses, and past show of truth; [2] ‭ Your strangeness claiming little interest ‭ In my affections. And yet many a guest ‭ Of poor condition hath been harbour’d here, ‭ But never any did so right appear ‭ Like king Ulysses as yourself, for state ‭ Both of your stature, voice, and very gait.” ‭ “So all have said,” said he, “that ever yet ‭ Had the proportions of our figures met ‭ In their observance; so right your eye ‭ Proves in your soul your judging faculty.” ‭ Thus took she up a caldron brightly scour’d, ‭ To cleanse his feet in; and into it pour’d ‭ Store of cold wave, which on the fire she set; ‭ And therein bath’d, being temperately heat, ‭ Her sov’reign’s feet. Who turn’d him from the light, ‭ Since suddenly he doubted her conceit, ‭ So rightly touching at his state before, ‭ A scar now seeing on his foot, that bore ‭ An old note, to discern him, might descry ‭ The absolute truth; which, witness’d by her eye, ‭ Was straight approv’d. He first receiv’d this sore ‭ As in Parnassus’ tops a white-tooth’d boar ‭ He stood in chase withal, who struck him there, ‭ At such time as he liv’d a sojourner ‭ With his grandsire, Autolycus; who th’ art ‭ Of theft and swearing (not out of the heart, ‭ But by equivocation) first adorn’d ‭ Your witty man withal, and was suborn’d ‭ By Jove’s descent, ingenious Mercury, ‭ Who did bestow it, since so many a thigh ‭ Of lambs and kids he had on him bestow’d ‭ In sacred flames, who therefore when he vow’d ‭ Was ever with him. And this man impos’d ‭ Ulysses’ name, the light being first disclos’d ‭ To his first sight then, when his grandsire came ‭ To see the then preferrer of his fame, ‭ His lovéd daughter. The first supper done, ‭ Euryclea put in his lap her son, ‭ And pray’d him to bethink and give his name, ‭ Since that desire did all desires inflame. ‭ “Daughter and son-in-law,” said he, “let then ‭ The name that I shall give him stand with men. ‭ Since I arriv’d here at the hour of pain, ‭ In which mine own kind entrails did sustain ‭ Moan for my daughter’s yet unended throes, ‭ And when so many men’s and women’s woes, ‭ In joint compassion met of human birth, ‭ Brought forth t’ attend the many-feeding earth, ‭ Let Odyssëus be his name, as one [3] ‭ Expos’d to just constraint of all men’s moan. ‭ When here at home he is arriv’d at state ‭ Of man’s first youth he shall initiate ‭ His practis’d feet in travel made abroad, ‭ And to Parnassus, where mine own abode ‭ And chief means lie, address his way, where I ‭ Will give him from my open’d treasury ‭ What shall return him well, and fit the fame ‭ Of one that had the honour of his name.” ‭ For these fair gifts he went, and found all grace ‭ Of hands and words in him and all his race. ‭ Amphithea, his mother’s mother, too, ‭ Applied her to his love, withal, to do ‭ In grandame’s welcomes, both his fair eyes kist, ‭ And brows; and then commanded to assist ‭ Were all her sons by their respected sire ‭ In furnishing a feast, whose ears did fire ‭ Their minds with his command; who home straight led ‭ A five-years-old male ox, fell’d, slew, and flay’d, ‭ Gather’d about him, cut him up with art, ‭ Spitted, and roasted, and his ev’ry part ‭ Divided orderly. So all the day ‭ They spent in feast; no one man went his way ‭ Without his fit fill. When the sun was set, ‭ And darkness rose, they slept, till day’s fire het ‭ Th’ enlighten’d earth; and then on hunting went ‭ Both hounds and all Autolycus’ descent. ‭ In whose guide did divine Ulysses go, ‭ Climb’d steep Parnassus, on whose forehead grow ‭ All sylvan offsprings round. And Soon they reach’d ‭ The concaves, whence air’s sounding vapours fetch’d ‭ Their loud descent. As soon as any sun ‭ Had from the ocean, where his waters run ‭ In silent deepness, rais’d his golden head, ‭ The early huntsmen all the hill had spread, ‭ Their hounds before them on the searching trail, ‭ They near, and ever eager to assail: ‭ Ulysses brandishing a lengthful lance, ‭ Of whose first flight he long’d to prove the chance. ‭ Then found they lodg’d a boar of bulk extreme, ‭ In such a queach as never any beam ‭ The sun shot pierc’d, nor any pass let find ‭ The moist impressions of the fiercest wind, ‭ Nor any storm the sternest winter drives, ‭ Such proof it was; yet all within lay leaves ‭ In mighty thickness; and through all this flew ‭ The hounds’ loud mouths. The sounds the tumult threw, ‭ And all together, rous’d the boar, that rush’d ‭ Amongst their thickest, all his bristles push’d ‭ From forth his rough neck, and with flaming eyes ‭ Stood close, and dar’d all. On which horrid prise ‭ Ulysses first charg’d; whom above the knee ‭ The savage struck, and rac’d it crookedly ‭ Along the skin, yet never reach’d the bone. ‭ Ulysses’ lance yet through him quite was thrown, ‭ At his right shoulder ent’ring, at his left ‭ The bright head passage to his keenness cleft, ‭ And show’d his point gilt with the gushing gore. ‭ Down in the dust fell the extended boar, ‭ And forth his life flew. To Ulysses round ‭ His uncle drew; who, woeful for his wound, ‭ With all art bound it up, and with a charm ‭ Stay’d straight the blood, went home, and, when the harm ‭ Receiv’d full cure, with gifts, and all event ‭ Of joy and love to his lov’d home they sent ‭ Their honour’d nephew; whose return his sire ‭ And rev’rend mother took with joys entire, ‭ Enquir’d all passages, all which he gave ‭ In good relation, nor of all would save ‭ His wound from utt’rance; by whose scar he came ‭ To be discover’d by this aged dame. ‭ Which when she cleansing felt, and noted well, ‭ Down from her lap into the caldron fell ‭ His weighty foot, that made the brass resound, ‭ Turn’d all aside, and on th’ embrewéd ground ‭ Spilt all the water. Joy and grief together ‭ Her breast invaded; and of weeping weather ‭ Her eyes stood full; her small voice stuck within ‭ Her part expressive; till at length his chin ‭ She took and spake to him: “O son,” said she, ‭ “Thou art Ulysses, nor canst other be; ‭ Nor could I know thee yet, till all my king ‭ I had gone over with the warméd spring.” ‭ Then look’d she for the Queen to tell her all; ‭ And yet knew nothing sure, though nought could fall ‭ In compass of all thoughts to make her doubt, ‭ Minerva that distraction struck throughout ‭ Her mind’s rapt forces that she might not tell. ‭ Ulysses, noting yet her aptness well, ‭ With one hand took her chin, and made all show ‭ Of favour to her, with the other drew ‭ Her offer’d parting closer, ask’d her why ‭ She, whose kind breast had nurs’d so tenderly ‭ His infant life, would now his age destroy, ‭ Though twenty years had held him from the joy ‭ Of his lov’d country? But, since only she, ‭ God putting her in mind, now knew ’twas he, ‭ He charg’d her silence, and to let no ear ‭ In all the court more know his being there, ‭ Lest, if God gave into his wreakful hand ‭ Th’ insulting Wooers’ lives, he did not stand ‭ On any partial respect with her, ‭ Because his nurse, and to the rest prefer ‭ Her safety therefore, but, when they should feel ‭ His punishing finger, give her equal steel. ‭ “What words,” said she, “fly your retentive pow’rs? ‭ You know you lock your counsels in your tow’rs ‭ In my firm bosom, and that I am far ‭ From those loose frailties. Like an iron bar, ‭ Or bolt of solid’st stone, I will contain; ‭ And tell you this besides; that if you gain, ‭ By God’s good aid, the Wooers’ lives in yours, ‭ What dames are here their shameless paramours; ‭ And have done most dishonour to your worth, ‭ My information well shall paint you forth.” ‭ “It shall not need,” said he, “myself will soon, ‭ While thus I mask here, set on ev’ry one ‭ My sure observance of the worst and best. ‭ Be thou then silent, and leave God the rest.” ‭ This said, the old dame for more water went, ‭ The rest was all upon the pavement spent ‭ By known Ulysses’ foot. More brought, and he ‭ Supplied beside with sweetest ointments, she ‭ His seat drew near the fire, to keep him warm, ‭ And with his piec’d rags hiding close his harm. ‭ The Queen came near, and said: “Yet, guest, afford ‭ Your further patience, till but in a word ‭ I’ll tell my woes to you; for well I know ‭ That Rest’s sweet hour her soft foot orders now, ‭ When all poor men, how much soever griev’d, ‭ Would gladly get their woe-watch’d pow’rs reliev’d. ‭ But God hath giv’n my grief a heart so great ‭ It will not down with rest, and so I set ‭ My judgment up to make it my delight. ‭ All day I mourn, yet nothing let the right ‭ I owe my charge both in my work and maids; ‭ And when the night brings rest to others’ aids ‭ I toss my bed; Distress, with twenty points, ‭ Slaught’ring the pow’rs that to my turning joints ‭ Convey the vital heat. And as all night ‭ Pandareus’ daughter, poor Edone, sings, ‭ Clad in the verdure of the yearly springs, ‭ When she for Itylus, her lovéd son, ‭ By Zethus’ issue in his madness done ‭ To cruel death, pours out her hourly moan, ‭ And draws the ears to her of ev’ry one; ‭ So flows my moan that cuts in two my mind, ‭ And here and there gives my discourse the wind, ‭ Uncertain whether I shall with my son ‭ Abide still here, the safe possession ‭ And guard of all goods, rev’rence to the bed ‭ Of my lov’d lord, and to my far-off spread ‭ Fame with the people, putting still in use, ‭ Or follow any best Greek I can chuse ‭ To his fit house, with treasure infinite, ‭ Won to his nuptials. While the infant plight ‭ And want of judgment kept my son in guide, ‭ He was not willing with my being a bride, ‭ Nor with my parting from his court; but now, ‭ Arriv’d at man’s state, he would have me vow ‭ My love to some one of my Wooers here, ‭ And leave his court; offended that their cheer ‭ Should so consume his free possessions. ‭ To settle then a choice in these my moans, ‭ Hear and expound a dream that did engrave ‭ My sleeping fancy: Twenty geese I have, ‭ All which, me thought, mine eye saw tasting wheat ‭ In water steep’d, and joy’d to see them eat; ‭ When straight a crook-beak’d eagle from a hill ‭ Stoop’d, and truss’d all their necks, and all did kill; ‭ When, all left scatter’d on the pavement there, ‭ She took her wing up to the Gods’ fair sphere. ‭ I, ev’n amid my dream, did weep and mourn ‭ To see the eagle, with so shrewd a turn, ‭ Stoop my sad turrets; when, methought, there came ‭ About my mournings many a Grecian dame, ‭ To cheer my sorrows; in whose most extreme ‭ The hawk came back, and on the prominent beam ‭ That cross’d my chamber fell, and us’d to me ‭ A human voice, that sounded horribly, ‭ And said: ‘Be confident, Icarius’ seed, ‭ This is no dream, but what shall chance indeed. ‭ The geese the Wooers are, the eagle, I, ‭ Was heretofore a fowl, but now imply ‭ Thy husband’s being, and am come to give ‭ The Wooers’ death, that on my treasure live.’ ‭ With this sleep left me, and my waking way ‭ I took, to try if any violent prey ‭ Were made of those my fowls, which well enough ‭ I, as before, found feeding at their trough ‭ Their yoted wheat.” “O woman,” he replied, ‭ “Thy dream can no interpretation bide ‭ But what the eagle made, who was your lord, ‭ And said himself would sure effect afford ‭ To what he told you; that confusion ‭ To all the Wooers should appear, and none ‭ Escape the fate and death he had decreed.” ‭ She answer’d him: “O guest, these dreams exceed ‭ The art of man t’ interpret; and appear ‭ Without all choice or form; nor ever were ‭ Perform’d to all at all parts. But there are ‭ To these light dreams, that like thin vapours fare, ‭ Two two-leav’d gates, the one of ivory, ‭ The other horn. Those dreams, that fantasy ‭ Takes from the polish’d ivory port, delude ‭ The dreamer ever, and no truth include; ‭ Those, that the glitt’ring horn-gate lets abroad, ‭ Do evermore some certain truth abode. ‭ But this my dream I hold of no such sort ‭ To fly from thence; yet, whichsoever port ‭ It had access from, it did highly please ‭ My son and me. And this my thoughts profess: ‭ That day that lights me from Ulysses’ court ‭ Shall both my infamy and curse consort. ‭ I, therefore, purpose to propose them now, ‭ In strong contention, Ulysses’ bow; ‭ Which he that eas’ly draws, and from his draft ‭ Shoots through twelve axes (as he did his shaft, ‭ All set up in a row, and from them all ‭ His stand-far-off kept firm) my fortunes shall ‭ Dispose, and take me to his house from hence, ‭ Where I was wed a maid, in confluence ‭ Of feast and riches; such a court here then ‭ As I shall ever in my dreams retain.” ‭ “Do not,” said he, “defer the gameful prize, ‭ But set to task their importunities ‭ With something else than nuptials; for your lord ‭ Will to his court and kingdom be restor’d ‭ Before they thread those steels, or draw his bow.” ‭ “O guest,” replied Penelope, “would you ‭ Thus sit and please me with your speech, mine ears ‭ Would never let mine eyelids close their spheres! ‭ But none can live without the death of sleep, ‭ Th’ Immortals in our mortal memories keep ‭ Our ends and deaths by sleep, dividing so, ‭ As by the fate and portion of our woe, ‭ Our times spent here, to let us nightly try ‭ That while we live, as much live as we die. ‭ In which use I will to my bed ascend, ‭ Which I bedew with tears, and sigh past end ‭ Through all my hours spent, since I lost my joy ‭ For vile, lewd, never-to-be-naméd, Troy, ‭ Yet there I’ll prove for sleep, which take you here, ‭ Or on the earth, if that your custom were, ‭ Or have a bed, dispos’d for warmer rest.” ‭ Thus left she with her ladies her old guest, ‭ Ascended her fair chamber, and her bed, ‭ Whose sight did ever duly make her shed ‭ Tears for her lord; which still her eyes did steep, ‭ Till Pallas shut them with delightsome sleep. ‭ THE END OF THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Χοὶνικος ἅπτηται, they will needs turn this, quadram (for ‭modium) gustet. Though the words bear no such signification, ‭but give a proverb then in use repetition, which was: he shall not ‭join or make a spoke in the nave of my chariot, or chariot-wheel. ‭Χοίνικον, or χοίνικις, signifying modiolus rotæ, and ἅπτω, ‭recto.

‭[2] Intending with truth itself, not his show only.

‭[3] Autolycus gives his grandchild Ulysses his name: from whence ‭the Odysseys is derived, ’Οδυσσεύς, derived of ὀδύζομαι, ex ‭ὀδύνη factum; signifying dolorem proprie corporis, nam ira ex ‭dolore oritur. ‭ THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses, in the Wooers’ beds, ‭ Resolving first to kill the maids. ‭ That sentence giving off, his care ‭ For other objects doth prepare. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ ψ. ‭ Jove’s thunder chides, ‭ But cheers the King, ‭ The Wooers’ prides ‭ Discomfiting.

‭ Ulysses in the entry laid his head, ‭ And under him an ox-hide newly-flay’d, ‭ Above him sheep-fells store; and over those ‭ Eurynomé cast mantles. His repose ‭ Would bring no sleep yet, studying the ill ‭ He wish’d the Wooers; who came by him still ‭ With all their wenches, laughing, wantoning, ‭ In mutual lightness; which his heart did sting, ‭ Contending two ways, if, all patience fled, ‭ He should rush up and strike those strumpets dead, ‭ Or let that night be last, and take th’ extreme ‭ Of those proud Wooers, that were so supreme ‭ In pleasure of their high-fed fantasies. ‭ His heart did bark within him to surprise ‭ Their sports with spoils; no fell she-mastiff can, ‭ Amongst her whelps, fly eag’rer on a man ‭ She doth not know, yet scents him something near, ‭ And fain would come to please her tooth, and tear, ‭ Than his disdain, to see his roof so fil’d ‭ With those foul fashions, grew within him wild ‭ To be in blood of them. But, finding best ‭ In his free judgment to let passion rest, ‭ He chid his angry spirit, and beat his breast, ‭ And said: “Forbear, my mind, and think on this: ‭ There hath been time when bitter agonies ‭ Have tried thy patience. Call to mind the day ‭ In which the Cyclop, which pass’d manly sway ‭ Of violent strength, devour’d thy friends; thou then ‭ Stood’st firmly bold, till from that hellish den ‭ Thy wisdom brought thee off, when nought but death ‭ Thy thoughts resolv’d on.” This discourse did breathe ‭ The fiery boundings of his heart, that still ‭ Lay in that æsture, without end his ill ‭ Yet manly suff’ring. But from side to side ‭ It made him toss apace. You have not tried ‭ A fellow roasting of a pig before ‭ A hasty fire, his belly yielding store ‭ Of fat and blood, turn faster, labour more ‭ To have it roast, and would not have it burn, ‭ Than this and that way his unrest made turn ‭ His thoughts and body, would not quench the fire, ‭ And yet not have it heighten his desire ‭ Past his discretion, and the fit enough ‭ Of haste and speed, that went to all the proof ‭ His well-laid plots, and his exploits requir’d, ‭ Since he, but one, to all their deaths aspir’d. ‭ In this contention Pallas stoop’d from heav’n, ‭ Stood over him, and had her presence giv’n ‭ A woman’s form, who sternly thus began: ‭ “Why, thou most sour and wretched-fated man ‭ Of all that breathe, yet liest thou thus awake? ‭ The house in which thy cares so toss and take ‭ Thy quiet up is thine; thy wife is there; ‭ And such a son, as if thy wishes were ‭ To be suffic’d with one they could not mend.” ‭ “Goddess,” said he, “’tis true; but I contend ‭ To right their wrongs, and, though I be but one, ‭ To lay unhelp’d and wreakful hand upon ‭ This whole resort of impudents, that here ‭ Their rude assemblies never will forbear. ‭ And yet a greater doubt employs my care, ‭ That if their slaughters in my reaches are, ‭ And I perform them, Jove and you not pleas’d, ‭ How shall I fly their friends? And would stand seis’d ‭ Of counsel to resolve this care in me.” ‭ “Wretch,” she replied, “a friend of worse degree ‭ Might win thy credence, that a mortal were, I ‭ And us’d to second thee, though nothing near ‭ So pow’rful in performance nor in care; ‭ Yet I, a Goddess, that have still had share ‭ In thy achievements, and thy person’s guard, ‭ Must still be doubted by thy brain, so hard ‭ To credit anything above thy pow’r; ‭ And that must come from heav’n; if ev’ry hour ‭ There be not personal appearance made, ‭ And aid direct giv’n, that may sense invade. ‭ I’ll tell thee, therefore, clearly: If there were ‭ Of divers-languag’d men an army here ‭ Of fifty companies, all driving hence ‭ Thy sheep and oxen, and with violence ‭ Offer’d to charge us, and besiege us round, ‭ Thou shouldst their prey reprise, and them confound. ‭ Let sleep then seize thee. To keep watch all night ‭ Consumes the spirits, and makes dull the sight.” ‭ Thus pour’d the Goddess sleep into his eyes, ‭ And reascended the Olympian skies. ‭ When care-and-lineament-resolving sleep ‭ Had laid his temples in his golden steep, ‭ His-wise-in-chaste-wit-worthy wife did rise, ‭ First sitting up in her soft bed, her eyes ‭ Open’d with tears, in care of her estate, ‭ Which now her friends resolv’d to terminate ‭ To more delays, and make her marry one. ‭ Her silent tears then ceas’d, her orison ‭ This Queen of women to Diana made: ‭ “Rev’rend Diana, let thy darts invade ‭ My woeful bosom, and my life deprive, ‭ Now at this instant, or soon after drive ‭ My soul with tempests forth, and give it way ‭ To those far-off dark vaults, where never day ‭ Hath pow’r to shine, and let them cast it down ‭ Where refluent Oceanus doth crown ‭ His curléd head, where Pluto’s orchard is, ‭ And entrance to our after miseries. ‭ As such stern whirlwinds ravish’d to that stream ‭ Pandareus’ daughters, when the Gods to them ‭ Had reft their parents, and them left alone, ‭ Poor orphan children, in their mansion; ‭ Whose desolate life did Love’s sweet Queen incline ‭ To nurse with presséd milk and sweetest wine; ‭ Whom Juno deck’d beyond all other dames ‭ With wisdom’s light, and beauty’s moving flames; ‭ Whom Phœbe goodliness of stature render’d; ‭ And to whose fair hands wise Minerva tender’d ‭ The loom and needle in their utmost skill; ‭ And while Love’s Empress scal’d th’ Olympian hill ‭ To beg of lightning-loving Jove (since he ‭ The means to all things knows, and doth decree ‭ Fortunes, infortunes, to the mortal race) ‭ For those poor virgins, the accomplish’d grace ‭ Of sweetest nuptials, the fierce Harpies prey’d ‭ On ev’ry good and miserable maid, ‭ And to the hateful Furies gave them all ‭ In horrid service; yet, may such fate fall ‭ From steep Olympus on my loathéd head, ‭ Or fair-chair’d Phœbe strike me instant dead, ‭ That I may undergo the gloomy shore ‭ To visit great Ulysses’ soul, before ‭ I soothe my idle blood and wed a worse. ‭ And yet, beneath how desperate a curse ‭ Do I live now! It is an ill that may ‭ Be well endur’d, to mourn the whole long day, ‭ So night’s sweet sleeps, that make a man forget ‭ Both bad and good, in some degree would let ‭ My thoughts leave grieving; but, both day and night, ‭ Some cruel God gives my sad memory sight. ‭ This night, methought, Ulysses grac’d my bed ‭ In all the goodly state with which he led ‭ The Grecian army; which gave joys extreme ‭ To my distress, esteeming it no dream, ‭ But true indeed; and that conceit I had, ‭ That when I saw it false I might be mad. ‭ Such cruel fates command in my life’s guide.” ‭ By this the morning’s orient dews had dyed ‭ The earth in all her colours; when the King, ‭ In his sweet sleep, suppos’d the sorrowing ‭ That she us’d waking in her plaintive bed ‭ To be her mourning, standing by his head, ‭ As having known him there; who straight arose, ‭ And did again within the hall dispose ‭ The carpets and the cushions, where before ‭ They serv’d the seats. The hide without the door ‭ He carried back, and then, with held-up hands, ‭ He pray’d to Him that heav’n and earth commands: ‭ “O Father Jove, if through the moist and dry ‭ You, willing, brought me home, when misery ‭ Had punish’d me enough by your free dooms, ‭ Let some of these within those inner rooms, ‭ Startled with horror of some strange ostent, ‭ Come here, and tell me that great Jove hath bent ‭ Threat’nings without at some lewd men within.” ‭ To this his pray’r Jove shook his sable chin, ‭ And thunder’d from those pure clouds that, above ‭ The breathing air, in bright Olympus move. ‭ Divine Ulysses joy’d to hear it roar. ‭ Report of which a woman-miller bore ‭ Straight to his ears; for near to him there ground ‭ Mills for his corn, that twice six women found ‭ Continual motion, grinding barley-meal, ‭ And wheat, man’s marrow. Sleep the eyes did seal ‭ Of all the other women, having done ‭ Their usual task; which yet this dame alone ‭ Had scarce giv’n end to, being, of all the rest, ‭ Least fit for labour. But when these sounds prest ‭ Her ears, above the rumbling of her mill, ‭ She let that stand, look’d out, and heav’n’s steep hill ‭ Saw clear and temp’rate; which made her (unware ‭ Of giving any comfort to his care ‭ In that strange sign he pray’d for) thus, invoke: ‭ “O King of men and Gods, a mighty stroke ‭ Thy thund’ring hand laid on the cope of stars, ‭ No cloud in all the air; and therefore wars ‭ Thou bidst to some men in thy sure ostent! ‭ Perform to me, poor wretch, the main event, ‭ And make this day the last, and most extreme, ‭ In which the Wooers’ pride shall solace them ‭ With whorish banquets in Ulysses’ roof, ‭ That, with sad toil to grind them meal enough, ‭ Have quite dissolv’d my knees. Vouchsafe, then, now ‭ Thy thunders may their latest feast foreshow.” ‭ This was the boon Ulysses begg’d of Jove, [1] ‭ Which, with his thunder, through his bosom drove ‭ A joy, that this vaunt breath’d: “Why now these men, ‭ Despite their pride, will Jove make pay me pain.” ‭ By this had other maids, than those that lay ‭ Mix’d with the Wooers, made a fire like day ‭ Amidst the hearth of the illustrious hall; ‭ And then the Prince, like a Celestial, ‭ Rose from his bed, to his embalm’d feet tied ‭ Fair shoes, his sword about his breast applied, ‭ Took to his hand his sharp-pil’d lance, and met, ‭ Amidst the entry, his old nurse, that set ‭ His haste at sudden stand; to whom he said: ‭ “O, my lov’d nurse, with what grace have you laid ‭ And fed my guest here? Could you so neglect ‭ His age, to lodge him thus? Though all respect ‭ I give my mother’s wisdom, I must yet ‭ Affirm it fail’d in this; for she hath set ‭ At much more price a man of much less worth, ‭ Without his person’s note, and yet casts forth ‭ With ignominious hands, for his form sake, ‭ A man much better.” “Do not faulty make, ‭ Good son, the faultless. He was giv’n his seat ‭ Close to her side, and food till he would eat, ‭ Wine till his wish was serv’d; for she requir’d ‭ His wants, and will’d him all things he desir’d; ‭ Commanded her chief maids to make his bed, ‭ But he, as one whom sorrow only fed ‭ And all infortune, would not take his rest ‭ In bed, and cov’rings fit for any guest, ‭ But in the entry, on an ox’s hide ‭ Never at tanner’s, his old limbs implied, ‭ In warm sheep-fells; yet over all we cast ‭ A mantle, fitting for a man more grac’d.” ‭ He took her answer, left the house, and went, ‭ Attended with his dogs, to sift th’ event ‭ Of private plots, betwixt him and his sire ‭ In common counsel. Then the crew entire ‭ Of all the household maids Euryclea bad ‭ Bestir them through the house, and see it clad ‭ In all best form; gave all their parts; and one ‭ She set to furnish ev’ry seat and throne ‭ With needle works, and purple clothes of state; ‭ Another set to scour and cleanse the plate; ‭ Another all the tables to make proud ‭ With porous sponges; others she bestow’d ‭ In all speed to the spring, to fetch from thence ‭ Fit store of water; all at all expence ‭ Of pains she will’d to be; for this to all ‭ Should be a day of common festival, ‭ And not a Wooer now should seek his home, ‭ Elsewhere than there, but all were bid to come ‭ Exceeding early, and be rais’d to heav’n ‭ With all the entertainment could be giv’n. ‭ They heard with greedy ears, and ev’rything ‭ Put straight in practice. Twenty to the spring ‭ Made speed for water; many in the house ‭ Took pains; and all were both laborious ‭ And skill’d in labour; many fell to fell ‭ And cleave their wood; and all did more than well. ‭ Then troop’d the lusty Wooers in; and then ‭ Came all from spring; at their heels loaded men ‭ With slaughter’d brawns, of all the herd the prize, ‭ That had been long fed-up in sev’ral styes; ‭ Eumæus and his men convey’d them there, ‭ He, seeing now the king, began to cheer, ‭ And thus saluted him: “How now, my guest? ‭ Have yet your virtues found more interest ‭ In these great Wooers’ good respects? Or still ‭ Pursue they you with all their wonted ill?” ‭ “I would to heav’n, Eumæus,” he replied, ‭ “The Deities once would take in hand their pride, ‭ That such unseemly fashions put in frame ‭ In others’ roofs, as show no spark of shame.” ‭ Thus these; and to these came Melanthius, ‭ Great guardian of the most egregious ‭ Rich Wooers’ herds, consisting all of goats; ‭ Which he, with two more, drave, and made their cotes ‭ The sounding porticos of that fair court. ‭ Melanthius, seeing the king, this former sort ‭ Of upland language gave: “What? Still stay here, ‭ And dull these Wooers with thy wretched cheer? ‭ Not gone for ever yet? Why now I see ‭ This strife of cuffs betwixt the beggary, ‭ That yesterday assay’d to get thee gone, ‭ And thy more roguery, needs will fall upon ‭ My hands to arbitrate. Thou wilt not hence ‭ Till I set on thee; thy ragg’d impudence ‭ Is so fast-footed. Are there not beside ‭ Other great banquetants, but you must tide ‭ At anchor still with us?” He nothing said, ‭ But thought of ill enough, and shook his head. ‭ Then came Philœtius, a chief of men, ‭ That to the Wooers’ all-devouring den ‭ A barren steer drave, and fat goats; for they ‭ In custom were with traffickers by sea, ‭ That who they would sent, and had utt’rance there. ‭ And for these likewise the fair porches were ‭ Hurdles and sheep-pens, as in any fair. ‭ Philœtius took note in his repair ‭ Of seen Ulysses, being a man as well ‭ Giv’n to his mind’s use as to buy and sell, ‭ Or do the drudg’ry that the blood desir’d, ‭ And, standing near Eumæus, this enquir’d: ‭ “What guest is this that makes our house of late ‭ His entertainer? Whence claims he the state ‭ His birth in this life holds? What nation? ‭ What race? What country stands his speech upon? ‭ O’er hardly portion’d by the terrible Fates. ‭ The structure of his lineaments relates ‭ A king’s resemblance in his pomp of reign ‭ Ev’n thus in these rags. But poor erring men, ‭ That have no firm home, but range here and there ‭ As need compels, God keeps in this earth’s sphere, ‭ As under water, and this tune he sings, ‭ When he is spinning ev’n the cares of kings.” ‭ Thus coming to him, with a kind of fear ‭ He took his hand, and, touch’d exceeding near ‭ With mere imagination of his worth, ‭ This salutation he sent loudly forth: ‭ “Health! Father stranger! In another world ‭ Be rich and happy, though thou here art hurl’d ‭ At feet of never such insulting Need. ‭ O Jove, there lives no one God of thy seed ‭ More ill to man than thou. Thou tak’st no ruth— ‭ When thou thyself hast got him in most truth— ‭ To wrap him in the straits of most distress, ‭ And in the curse of others’ wickedness. ‭ My brows have swet to see it, and mine eyes ‭ Broke all in tears, when this being still the guise ‭ Of worthiest men, I have but only thought, ‭ That down to these ills was Ulysses wrought, ‭ And that, thus clad, ev’n he is error-driv’n, ‭ If yet he live and sees the light of heav’n. ‭ But, if now dead, and in the house of hell, ‭ O me! O good Ulysses! That my weal ‭ Did ever wish, and when, but half a man ‭ Amongst the people Cephallenian, ‭ His bounty to his oxen’s charge preferr’d ‭ One in that youth; which now is grown a herd ‭ Unspeakable for number, and feed there ‭ With their broad heads, as thick as of his ear ‭ A field of corn is to a man. Yet these ‭ Some men advise me with this noted prease ‭ Of Wooers may devour, and wish me drive ‭ Up to their feasts with them, that neither give ‭ His son respect, though in his own free roof, ‭ Nor have the wit to fear th’ infallible proof ‭ Of Heav’nly vengeance, but make offer now ‭ The long-lack’d King’s possessions to bestow ‭ In their self-shares. Methinks the mind in me ‭ Doth turn as fast, as in a flood or sea ‭ A raging whirlpit doth, to gather in ‭ To fishy death those swimmers in their sin; ‭ Or feeds a motion as circular ‭ To drive my herds away. But while the son ‭ Bears up with life, ’twere heinous wrong to run ‭ To other people with them, and to trust ‭ Men of another earth. And yet more just ‭ It were to venture their laws, the main right ‭ Made still their masters, than at home lose quite ‭ Their right and them, and sit and grieve to see ‭ The wrong authoriz’d by their gluttony. ‭ And I had long since fled, and tried th’ event ‭ With other proud kings, since more insolent ‭ These are than can be borne, but that ev’n still ‭ I had a hope that this, though born to ill, ‭ Would one day come from some coast, and their last ‭ In his roofs strew with ruins red and vast.” ‭ “Herdsman,” said he, “because thou art in show ‭ Nor lewd nor indiscreet, and that I know ‭ There rules in thee an understanding soul, ‭ I’ll take an oath, that in thee shall control ‭ All doubt of what I swear: Be witness, Jove, ‭ That sway’st the first seat of the thron’d above, ‭ This hospitable table, and this house, ‭ That still hold title for the strenuous ‭ Son of Laertes, that, if so you please, ‭ Your eyes shall witness Laertiades ‭ Arriv’d at home, and all these men that reign ‭ In such excesses here shall here lie slain!” ‭ He answer’d: “Stranger! Would just Jove would sign ‭ What you have sworn! In your eyes’ beams should shine ‭ What pow’rs I manage, and how these my hands ‭ Would rise and follow where he first commands.” ‭ So said Eumæus, praying all the Sky ‭ That wise Ulysses might arrive and try. ‭ Thus while they vow’d, the Wooers sat as hard ‭ On his son’s death, but had their counsels scar’d, ‭ For on their left hand did an eagle soar, ‭ And in her seres a fearful pigeon bore. ‭ Which seen, Amphinomus presag’d: “O friends, ‭ Our counsels never will receive their ends ‭ In this man’s slaughter. Let us therefore ply ‭ Our bloody feast, and make his oxen die.” ‭ Thus came they in, cast off on seats their cloaks, ‭ And fell to giving sacrificing strokes ‭ Of sheep and goats, the chiefly fat and great, ‭ Slew fed-up swine, and from the herd a neat. ‭ The inwards roasted they dispos’d bewixt ‭ Their then observers, wine in flagons mixt. ‭ The bowls Eumæus brought, Philœtius bread, ‭ Melanthius fill’d the wine. Thus drank and fed ‭ The feastful Wooers. Then the prince, in grace ‭ Of his close project, did his father place ‭ Amidst the pavéd entry, in a seat ‭ Seemless and abject, a small board and meat ‭ Of th’ only inwards; in a cup of gold ‭ Yet sent him wine, and bade him now drink bold, ‭ All his approaches he himself would free ‭ ’Gainst all the Wooers, since he would not see ‭ His court made popular, but that his sire ‭ Built it to his use. Therefore all the fire ‭ Blown in the Wooers’ spleens he bade suppress, ‭ And that in hands nor words they should digress ‭ From that set peace his speech did then proclaim. ‭ They bit their lips and wonder’d at his aim ‭ In that brave language; when Antinous said: ‭ “Though this speech, Grecians, be a mere upbraid, ‭ Yet this time give it pass. The will of Jove ‭ Forbids the violence of our hands to move, ‭ But of our tongues we keep the motion free, ‭ And, therefore, if his further jollity ‭ Tempt our encounter with his braves, let’s check ‭ His growing insolence, though pride to speak ‭ Fly passing high with him.” The wise prince made ‭ No more spring of his speech, but let it fade. ‭ And now the heralds bore about the town ‭ The sacred hecatomb; to whose renown ‭ The fair-hair’d Greeks assembled, and beneath ‭ Apollo’s shady wood the holy death ‭ They put to fire; which, made enough, they drew, ‭ Divided all, that did in th’ end accrue ‭ To glorious satisfaction. Those that were ‭ Disposers of the feast did equal cheer ‭ Bestow on wretched Laertiades, ‭ With all the Wooers’ souls; it so did please ‭ Telemachus to charge them. And for these ‭ Minerva would not see the malices ‭ The Wooers bore too much contain’d, that so ‭ Ulysses’ mov’d heart yet might higher flow ‭ In wreakful anguish. There was wooing there, ‭ Amongst the rest, a gallant that did bear ‭ The name of one well-learn’d in jests profane, ‭ His name Ctesippus, born a Samian; ‭ Who, proud because his father was so rich, ‭ Had so much confidence as did bewitch ‭ His heart with hope to wed Ulysses’ wife; ‭ And this man said: “Hear me, my lords, in strife ‭ For this great widow. This her guest did share ‭ Even feast with us, with very comely care ‭ Of him that order’d it; for ’tis not good ‭ Nor equal to deprive guests of their food, ‭ And specially whatever guest makes way ‭ To that house where Telemachus doth sway; ‭ And therefore I will add to his receit ‭ A gift of very hospitable weight, ‭ Which he may give again to any maid ‭ That bathes his grave feet, and her pains see paid, ‭ Or any servant else that the divine ‭ Ulysses’ lofty battlements confine.” ‭ Thus snatch’d he with a valiant hand, from out ‭ The poor folks’ common basket, a neat’s foot, ‭ And threw it at Ulysses; who his head ‭ Shrunk quietly aside, and let it shed ‭ His malice on the wall; the suff’ring man ‭ A laughter raising most Sardinian, ‭ With scorn and wrath mix’d, at the Samian. ‭ Whom thus the prince reprov’d: “Your valour wan ‭ Much grace, Ctesippus, and hath eas’d your mind ‭ With mighty profit, yet you see it find ‭ No mark it aim’d at; the poor stranger’s part ‭ Himself made good enough, to ’scape your dart. ‭ But should I serve thee worthily, my lance ‭ Should strike thy heart through, and, in place t’ advance ‭ Thyself in nuptials with his wealth, thy sire ‭ Should make thy tomb here; that the foolish fire ‭ Of all such valours may not dare to show ‭ These foul indecencies to me. I now ‭ Have years to understand my strength, and know ‭ The good and bad of things, and am no more ‭ At your large suff’rance, to behold my store ‭ Consum’d with patience, see my cattle slain, ‭ My wine exhausted, and my bread in vain ‭ Spent on your license; for to one then young ‭ So many enemies were match too strong. ‭ But let me never more be witness to ‭ Your hostile minds, nor those base deeds ye do; ‭ For, should ye kill me in my offer’d wreak, ‭ I wish it rather, and my death would speak ‭ Much more good of me, than to live and see ‭ Indignity upon indignity, ‭ My guests provok’d with bitter words and blows, ‭ My women-servants dragg’d about my house ‭ To lust and rapture.” This made silence seize ‭ The house throughout; till Damastorides ‭ At length the calm brake, and said: “Friend, forbear ‭ To give a just speech a disdainful ear; ‭ The guest no more touch, nor no servant here. ‭ Myself will to the Prince and Queen commend ‭ A motion grateful, if they please to lend ‭ Grateful receipt. As long as any hope ‭ Left wise Ulysses any passage ope ‭ To his return in our conceits, so long ‭ The Queen’s delays to our demands stood strong ‭ In cause and reason, and our quarrels thus ‭ With guests, the Queen, or her Telemachus, ‭ Set never foot amongst our lib’ral feast; ‭ For should the King return, though thought deceas’d, ‭ It had been gain to us, in finding him, ‭ To lose his wife. But now, since nothing dim ‭ The days break out that show he never more ‭ Shall reach the dear touch of his country-shore, ‭ Sit by your mother, in persuasion ‭ That now it stands her honour much upon ‭ To choose the best of us, and, who gives most, ‭ To go with him home. For so, all things lost ‭ In sticking on our haunt so, you shall clear ‭ Recover in our no more concourse here, ‭ Possess your birth-right wholly, eat and drink, ‭ And never more on our disgraces think.” ‭ “By Jove, no, Agelaus! For I swear ‭ By all my father’s sorrows, who doth err ‭ Far off from Ithaca, or rests in death, ‭ I am so far from spending but my breath ‭ To make my mother any more defer ‭ Her wishéd nuptials, that I’ll counsel her ‭ To make her free choice; and besides will give ‭ Large gifts to move her. But I fear to drive ‭ Or charge her hence; for God will not give way ‭ To any such course, if I should assay.” ‭ At this, Minerva made for foolish joy ‭ The Wooers mad, and rous’d their late annoy ‭ To such a laughter as would never down. ‭ They laugh’d with others’ cheeks, ate meat o’erflown ‭ With their own bloods, their eyes stood full of tears ‭ For violent joys; their souls yet thought of fears, ‭ Which Theoclymenus express’d, and said: ‭ “O wretches! Why sustain ye, well apaid, ‭ Your imminent ill? A night, with which death sees, ‭ Your heads and faces hides beneath your knees; ‭ Shrieks burn about you; your eyes thrust out tears; ‭ These fixéd walls, and that main beam that bears ‭ The whole house up, in bloody torrents fall; ‭ The entry full of ghosts stands; full the hall ‭ Of passengers to hell; and under all ‭ The dismal shades; the sun sinks from the poles; ‭ And troubled air pours bane about your souls.” ‭ They sweetly laughed at this. Eurymachus ‭ To mocks dispos’d, and said: “This new-come-t’-us ‭ Is surely mad, conduct him forth to light ‭ In th’ open market-place; he thinks ’tis night ‭ Within the house.” “Eurymachus,” said he, ‭ “I will not ask for any guide of thee, ‭ I both my feet enjoy, have ears and eyes, ‭ And no mad soul within me; and with these ‭ Will I go forth the doors, because I know ‭ That imminent mischief must abide with you, ‭ Which not a man of all the Wooers here ‭ Shall fly or ’scape. Ye all too highly bear ‭ Your uncurb’d heads. Impieties ye commit, ‭ And ev’ry man affect with forms unfit.” ‭ This said, he left the house, and took his way ‭ Home to Piræus; who, as free as day, ‭ Was of his welcome. When the Wooers’ eyes ‭ Chang’d looks with one another, and, their guise ‭ Of laughters still held on, still eas’d their breasts ‭ Of will to set the Prince against his guests, ‭ Affirming that of all the men alive ‭ He worst luck had, and prov’d it worst to give ‭ Guests entertainment; for he had one there ‭ A wand’ring hunter-out of provender, ‭ An errant beggar ev’ry way, yet thought ‭ (He was so hungry) that he needed nought ‭ But wine and victuals, nor knew how to do, ‭ Nor had a spirit to put a knowledge to, ‭ But liv’d an idle burthen to the earth. ‭ Another then stepp’d up, and would lay forth ‭ His lips in prophecy, thus: “But, would he hear ‭ His friends’ persuasions, he should find it were ‭ More profit for him to put both aboard ‭ For the Sicilian people, that afford ‭ These feet of men good price; and this would bring [2] ‭ Good means for better guests.” These, words made wing ‭ To his ears idly, who had still his eye ‭ Upon his father, looking fervently ‭ When he would lay his long-withholding hand ‭ On those proud Wooers. And, within command ‭ Of all this speech that pass’d, Icarius’ heir, ‭ The wise Penelope, her royal chair ‭ Had plac’d of purpose. Their high dinner then ‭ With all-pleas’d palates these ridiculous men ‭ Fell sweetly to, as joying they had slain ‭ Such store of banquet. But there did not reign ‭ A bitterer banquet-planet in all heav’n ‭ Than that which Pallas had to that day driv’n, ‭ And, with her able friend now, meant t’ appose, ‭ Since they till then were in deserts so gross. ‭ THE END OF THE TWENTIETH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Viz. That some from within might issue, and witness in his ‭hearing some wreakful ostent to his enemies from heaven.

‭[2] These feet of men, etc. ἀνδραποδισταί. ‭ THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Penelope proposeth now ‭ To him that draws Ulysses’ bow ‭ Her instant nuptials. Ithacus ‭ Eumæus and Philœtius ‭ Gives charge for guarding of the gates; ‭ And he his shaft shoots through the plates. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Φι̑. ‭ The nuptial vow ‭ And game rehears’d, ‭ Drawn is the bow, ‭ The steels are pierc’d.

‭ Pallus, the Goddess with the sparkling eyes, ‭ Excites Penelope t’ object the prize, ‭ The bow and bright steels, to the Wooers’ strength ‭ And here began the strife and blood at length. ‭ She first ascended by a lofty stair ‭ Her utmost chamber; of whose door her fair ‭ And half transparent hand receiv’d the key, ‭ Bright, brazen, bitted passing curiously, ‭ And at it hung a knob of ivory. ‭ And this did lead her where was strongly kept ‭ The treasure-royal; in whose store lay heapt ‭ Gold, brass, and steel, engrav’n with infinite art; ‭ The crooked bow, and arrowy quiver, part ‭ Of that rich magazine. In the quiver were ‭ Arrows a number, sharp and sighing gear. ‭ The bow was giv’n by kind Eurytides ‭ Iphitus, fashion’d like the Deities, ‭ To young Ulysses, when within the roof ‭ Of wise Orsilochus their pass had proof ‭ Of mutual meeting in Messena; where ‭ Ulysses claim’d a debt, to whose pay were ‭ The whole Messenian people bound, since they ‭ From Ithaca had forc’d a wealthy prey ‭ Of sheep and shepherds. In their ships they thrust ‭ Three hundred sheep together; for whose just ‭ And instant rendry old Laertes sent ‭ Ulysses his ambassador, that went ‭ A long way in the ambassy, yet then ‭ Bore but the foremost prime of youngest men; ‭ His father sending first to that affair ‭ His gravest counsellors, and then his heir. ‭ Iphitus made his way there, having lost ‭ Twelve female horse, and mules commended most ‭ For use of burthen; which were after cause ‭ Of death and fate to him; for, past all laws ‭ Of hospitality, Jove’s mighty son, ‭ Skill’d in great acts, was his confusion ‭ Close by his house, though at that time his guest, ‭ Respecting neither the apposéd feast, ‭ And hospitable table, that in love ‭ He set before him, nor the voice of Jove, ‭ But, seizing first his mares, he after slew ‭ His host himself. From those mares’ search now grew ‭ Ulysses known t’ Iphitus; who that bow ‭ At their encounter did in love bestow, ‭ Which great Eurytus’ hand had borne before, ‭ (Iphitus’ father) who, at death’s sad door, ‭ In his steep turrets, left it to his son. ‭ Ulysses gave him a keen falchion, ‭ And mighty lance. And thus began they there ‭ Their fatal loves; for after never were ‭ Their mutual tables to each other known, ‭ Because Jove’s son th’ unworthy part had shown ‭ Of slaughtering this God-like loving man, ‭ Eurytus’ son, who with that bow began ‭ And ended love t’ Ulysses; who so dear ‭ A gift esteem’d it, that he would not bear ‭ In his black fleet that guest-rite to the war, ‭ But, in fit memory of one so far ‭ In his affection, brought it home, and kept ‭ His treasure with it; where till now it slept. ‭ And now the Queen of women had intent ‭ To give it use, and therefore made ascent ‭ Up all the stairs’ height to the chamber door, ‭ Whose shining leaves two bright pilasters bore ‭ To such a close when both together went ‭ It would resist the air in their consent. ‭ The ring she took then, and did draw aside ‭ A bar that ran within, and then implied ‭ The key into the lock, which gave a sound, ‭ The bolt then shooting, as in pasture ground ‭ A bull doth low, and make the valleys ring; ‭ So loud the lock humm’d when it loos’d the spring, ‭ And ope the doors flew. In she went, along ‭ The lofty chamber, that was boarded strong ‭ With heart of oak, which many years ago ‭ The architect did smooth and polish so ‭ That now as then he made it freshly shine, ‭ And tried the evenness of it with a line. ‭ There stood in this room presses that enclos’d ‭ Robes odoriferous, by which repos’d ‭ The bow was upon pins; nor from it far ‭ Hung the round quiver glitt’ring like a star; ‭ Both which her white extended hand took down. ‭ Then sat she low, and made her lap a crown ‭ Of both these relics, which she wept to see, ‭ And cried quite out with loving memory ‭ Of her dear lord; to whose worth paying then ‭ Kind debts enow, she left, and, to the men ‭ Vow’d to her wooing, brought the crooked bow, ‭ And shaft-receiving quiver, that did flow ‭ With arrows beating sighs up where they fell. ‭ Then, with another chest, replete as well ‭ With games won by the King, of steel and brass, ‭ Her maids attended. Past whom making pass ‭ To where her Wooers were, she made her stay ‭ Amidst the fair hall door, and kept the ray ‭ Of her bright count’nance hid with veils so thin, ‭ That though they seem’d t’ expose, they let love in; ‭ Her maids on both sides stood; and thus she spake: ‭ “Hear me, ye Wooers, that a pleasure take ‭ To do me sorrow, and my house invade ‭ To eat and drink, as if ’twere only made ‭ To serve your rapines; my lord long away, ‭ And you allow’d no colour for your stay ‭ But his still absence; striving who shall frame ‭ Me for his wife; and, since ’tis made a game, ‭ I here propose divine Ulysses’ bow ‭ For that great master-piece to which ye vow. ‭ He that can draw it with least show to strive, ‭ And through these twelve axe-heads an arrow drive, ‭ Him will I follow, and this house forego ‭ That nourish’d me a maid, now furnish’d so ‭ With all things fit, and which I so esteem ‭ That I shall still live in it in my dream.” ‭ This said, she made Eumæus give it them. ‭ He took and laid it by, and wept for woe; ‭ And like him wept Philœtius, when the bow ‭ Of which his king was bearer he beheld. ‭ Their tears Antinous’ manhood much refell’d, ‭ And said: “Ye rustic fools! that still each day ‭ Your minds give over to this vain dismay, ‭ Why weep ye, wretches, and the widow’s eyes ‭ Tempt with renew’d thought, that would otherwise ‭ Depose her sorrows, since her lord is dead, ‭ And tears are idle? Sit, and eat your bread, ‭ Nor whisper more a word; or get ye gone, ‭ And weep without doors. Let this bow alone ‭ To our out-match’d contention. For I fear ‭ The bow will scarce yield draught to any here; ‭ Here no such man lives as Laertes’ son ‭ Amongst us all. I knew him; thought puts on ‭ His look’s sight now, methinks, though then a child.” ‭ Thus show’d his words doubt, yet his hopes instill’d ‭ His strength the stretcher of Ulysses’ string, ‭ And his steels’ piercer. But his shaft must sing ‭ Through his pierc’d palate first; whom so he wrong’d ‭ In his free roof, and made the rest ill-tongued ‭ Against his virtues. Then the sacred heat ‭ That spirited his son did further set ‭ Their confidence on fire, and said: “O friends, ‭ Jove hath bereft my wits. The Queen intends, ‭ Though I must grant her wise, ere long to leave ‭ Ulysses’ court, and to her bed receive ‭ Some other lord; yet, notwithstanding, I ‭ Am forc’d to laugh, and set my pleasures high ‭ Like one mad sick. But, Wooers, since ye have ‭ An object for your trials now so brave, ‭ As all the broad Achaian earth exceeds, ‭ As sacred Pylos, as the Argive breeds, ‭ As black Epirus, as Mycena’s birth, ‭ And as the more fam’d Ithacensian earth, ‭ All which, yourselves well know, and oft have said— ‭ For what need hath my mother of my aid ‭ In her advancement?—tender no excuse ‭ For least delay, nor too much time profuse ‭ In stay to draw this bow, but draw it straight, ‭ Shoot, and the steels pierce; make all see how slight ‭ You make these poor bars to so rich a prize. ‭ No eag’rer yet? Come all. My faculties ‭ Shall try the bow’s strength, and the piercéd steel. ‭ I will not for my rev’rend mother feel ‭ The sorrows that I know will seize my heart, ‭ To see her follow any, and depart ‭ From her so long-held home; but first extend ‭ The bow and arrow to their tender’d end. ‭ For I am only to succeed my sire ‭ In guard of his games, and let none aspire ‭ To their besides possession.” This said, ‭ His purple robe he cast off; by he laid ‭ His well-edg’d sword; and, first, a sev’ral pit ‭ He digg’d for ev’ry axe, and strengthen’d it ‭ With earth close ramm’d about it; on a rew ‭ Set them, of one height, by a line he drew ‭ Along the whole twelve; and so orderly ‭ Did ev’ry deed belonging (yet his eye ‭ Never before beholding how ’twas done) ‭ That in amaze rose all his lookers-on. ‭ Then stood he near the door, and prov’d to draw ‭ The stubborn bow. Thrice tried, and thrice gave law ‭ To his uncrown’d attempts; the fourth assay ‭ With all force off’ring, which a sign gave stay ‭ Giv’n by his father; though he show’d a mind ‭ As if he stood right heartily inclin’d ‭ To perfect the exploit, when all was done ‭ In only drift to set the Wooers on. ‭ His weakness yet confess’d, he said: “O shame! ‭ I either shall be ever of no name, ‭ But prove a wretch; or else I am too young, ‭ And must not now presume on pow’rs so strong ‭ As sinews yet more growing may engraft, ‭ To turn a man quite over with a shaft. ‭ Besides, to men whose nerves are best prepar’d, ‭ All great adventures at first proof are hard. ‭ But come, you stronger men, attempt this bow, ‭ And let us end our labour.” Thus, below ‭ A well-join’d board he laid it, and close by ‭ The brightly-headed shaft; then thron’d his thigh ‭ Amidst his late-left seat. Antinous then ‭ Bade all arise; but first, who did sustain ‭ The cup’s state ever, and did sacrifice ‭ Before they ate still, and that man bade rise, ‭ Since on the other’s right hand he was plac’d, ‭ Because he held the right hand’s rising, grac’d ‭ With best success still. This discretion won ‭ Supreme applause; and first rose Œnops’ son, ‭ Liodes, that was priest to all the rest, ‭ Sat lowest with the cup still, and their jest ‭ Could never like, but ever was the man ‭ That check’d their follies; and he now began ‭ To taste the bow, the sharp shaft took, tugg’d hard, ‭ And held aloft, and, till he quite had marr’d ‭ His delicate tender fingers, could not stir ‭ The churlish string; who therefore did refer ‭ The game to others, saying, that same bow, ‭ In his presage, would prove the overthrow ‭ Of many a chief man there; nor thought the fate ‭ Was any whit austere, since death’s short date ‭ Were much the better taken, than long life ‭ Without the object of their amorous strife, ‭ For whom they had burn’d-out so many days ‭ To find still other, nothing but delays ‭ Obtaining in them; and affirm’d that now ‭ Some hop’d to have her, but when that tough bow ‭ They all had tried, and seen the utmost done, ‭ They must rest pleas’d to cease; and now some one ‭ Of all their other fair-veil’d Grecian dames ‭ With gifts, and dower, and Hymeneal flames, ‭ Let her love light to him that most will give, ‭ And whom the nuptial destiny did drive.” ‭ Thus laid he on the well-join’d polish’d board ‭ The bow and bright-pil’d shaft, and then restor’d ‭ His seat his right. To him Antinous ‭ Gave bitter language, and reprov’d him thus: ‭ “What words, Liodes, pass thy speech’s guard, ‭ That ’tis a work to bear, and set so hard ‭ They set up my disdain! This bow must end ‭ The best of us? Since thy arms cannot lend ‭ The string least motion? Thy mother’s throes ‭ Brought never forth thy arms to draught of bows, ‭ Or knitting shafts off. Though thou canst not draw ‭ The sturdy plant, thou art to us no law. ‭ Melanthius! Light a fire, and set thereat ‭ A chair and cushions, and that mass of fat ‭ That lies within bring out, that we may set ‭ Our pages to this bow, to see it het ‭ And suppled with the suet, and then we ‭ May give it draught, and pay this great decree ‭ Utmost performance.” He a mighty fire ‭ Gave instant flame, put into act th’ entire ‭ Command laid on him, chair and cushions set, ‭ Laid on the bow, which straight the pages het, ‭ Chaf’d, suppled with the suet to their most; ‭ And still was all their unctuous labour lost, ‭ All Wooers’ strengths too indigent and poor ‭ To draw that bow; Antinous’ arms it tore, ‭ And great Eurymachus’, the both clear best, ‭ Yet both it tir’d, and made them glad to rest. ‭ Forth then went both the swains, and after them ‭ Divine Ulysses; when, being past th’ extreme ‭ Of all the gates, with winning words he tried ‭ Their loves, and this ask’d: “Shall my counsels hide ‭ Their depths from you? My mind would gladly know ‭ If suddenly Ulysses had his vow ‭ Made good for home, and had some God to guide ‭ His steps and strokes to wreak these Wooers’ pride, ‭ Would your aids join on his part, or with theirs? ‭ How stand your hearts affected?” They made pray’rs ‭ That some God would please to return their lord, ‭ He then should see how far they would afford ‭ Their lives for his. He, seeing their truth, replied; ‭ “I am your lord, through many a suff’rance tried, ‭ Arriv’d now here, whom twenty years have held ‭ From forth my country. Yet are not conceal’d ‭ From my sure knowledge your desires to see ‭ My safe return. Of all the company ‭ Now serving here besides, not one but you ‭ Mine ear hath witness’d willing to bestow ‭ Their wishes of my life, so long held dead. ‭ I therefore vow, which shall be perfected, ‭ That if God please beneath my hand to leave ‭ These Wooers lifeless, ye shall both receive ‭ Wives from that hand, and means, and near to me ‭ Have houses built to you, and both shall be ‭ As friends and brothers to my only son. ‭ And, that ye well may know me, and be won ‭ To that assurance, the infallible sign ‭ The white-tooth’d boar gave, this mark’d knee of mine, ‭ When in Parnassus he was held in chase ‭ By me, and by my famous grandsire’s race, ‭ I’ll let you see.” Thus sever’d he his weed ‭ From that his wound; and ev’ry word had deed ‭ In their sure knowledges. Which made them cast ‭ Their arms about him, his broad breast embrac’d, ‭ His neck and shoulders kiss’d. And him as well ‭ Did those true pow’rs of human love compell ‭ To kiss their heads and hands, and to their moan ‭ Had sent the free light of the cheerful sun, ‭ Had not Ulysses broke the ruth, and said; ‭ “Cease tears and sorrows, lest we prove display’d ‭ By some that issue from the house, and they ‭ Relate to those within. Take each his way, ‭ Not altogether in, but one by one, ‭ First I, then you; and then see this be done; ‭ The envious Wooers will by no means give ‭ The offer of the bow and arrow leave ‭ To come at me; spite then their pride, do thou, ‭ My good Eumæus, bring both shaft and bow ‭ To my hand’s proof; and charge the maids before ‭ That instantly they shut in ev’ry door, ‭ That they themselves (if any tumult rise ‭ Beneath my roofs by any that envies ‭ My will to undertake the game) may gain ‭ No passage forth, but close at work contain ‭ With all free quiet, or at least constrain’d, ‭ And therefore, my Philœtius, see maintain’d, ‭ When close the gates are shut, their closure fast, ‭ To which end be it thy sole work to cast ‭ Their chains before them.” This said, in he led, ‭ Took first his seat; and then they seconded ‭ His entry with their own. Then took in hand ‭ Eurymachus the bow, made close his stand ‭ Aside the fire, at whose heat here and there ‭ He warm’d and suppled it, yet could not stere ‭ To any draught the string, with all his art; ‭ And therefore swell’d in him his glorious heart, ‭ Affirming, “that himself and all his friends ‭ Had cause to grieve, not only that their ends ‭ They miss’d in marriage, since enough besides ‭ Kind Grecian dames there liv’d to be their brides ‭ In Ithaca, and other bord’ring towns, ‭ But that to all times future their renowns ‭ Would stand disparag’d, if Ulysses’ bow ‭ They could not draw, and yet his wife would woo.” ‭ Antinous answer’d; “That there could ensue ‭ No shame at all to them; for well he knew ‭ That this day was kept holy to the Sun ‭ By all the city, and there should be done ‭ No such profane act, therefore bade lay by ‭ The bow for that day; but the mastery ‭ Of axes that were set up still might stand, ‭ Since that no labour was, nor any hand ‭ Would offer to invade Ulysses’ house, ‭ To take, or touch with surreptitious ‭ Or violent hand, what there was left for use. ‭ He, therefore, bade the cup-bearer infuse ‭ Wine to the bowls, that so with sacrifice ‭ They might let rest the shooting exercise, ‭ And in the morning make Melanthius bring ‭ The chief goats of his herd, that to the King ‭ Of bows and archers they might burn the thighs ‭ For good success, and then attempt the prize.” ‭ The rest sat pleas’d with this. The heralds straight ‭ Pour’d water on their hands; each page did wait ‭ With his crown’d cup of wine, serv’d ev’ry man ‭ Till all were satisfied. And then began ‭ Ulysses’ plot of his close purpose thus: ‭ “Hear me, ye much renown’d Eurymachus, ‭ And king Antinous, in chief, who well, ‭ And with decorum sacred, doth compell ‭ This day’s observance, and to let lay down ‭ The bow all this light, giving Gods their own. ‭ The morning’s labour God the more will bless, ‭ And strength bestow where he himself shall please. ‭ Against which time let me presume to pray ‭ Your favours with the rest, that this assay ‭ May my old arms prove, trying if there lie ‭ In my poor pow’rs the same activity ‭ That long since crown’d them; or if needy fare ‭ And desolate wand’ring have the web worn bare ‭ Of my life’s thread at all parts, that no more ‭ Can furnish these affairs as heretofore.” ‭ This het their spleens past measure, blown with fear ‭ Lest his loath’d temples would the garland wear ‭ Of that bow’s draught; Antinous using speech ‭ To this sour purpose: “Thou most arrant wretch ‭ Of all guests breathing, in no least degree ‭ Grac’d with a human soul, it serves not thee ‭ To feast in peace with us, take equal share ‭ Of what we reach to, sit, and all things hear ‭ That we speak freely,—which no begging guest ‭ Did ever yet,—but thou must make request ‭ To mix with us in merit of the Queen. ‭ But wine inflames thee, that hath ever been ‭ The bane of men whoever yet would take ‭ Th’ excess it offers and the mean forsake. ‭ Wine spoil’d the Centaur great Eurytion, ‭ In guest-rites with the mighty-minded son ‭ Of bold Ixion, in his way to war ‭ Against the Lapithes; who, driv’n as far ‭ As madness with the bold effects of wine, ‭ Did outrage to his kind host, and decline ‭ Other heroës from him feasted there ‭ With so much anger that they left their cheer, ‭ And dragg’d him forth the fore-court, slit his nose, ‭ Cropp’d both his ears, and, in the ill-dispose ‭ His mind then suffer’d, drew the fatal day ‭ On his head with his host; for thence the fray ‭ Betwixt the Centaurs and the Lapithes ‭ Had mortal act. But he for his excess ‭ In spoil of wine fared worse himself; as thou ‭ For thy large cups, if thy arms draw the bow, ‭ My mind fortells shalt fear; for not a man ‭ Of all our consort, that in wisdom can ‭ Boast any fit share, will take prayers then, ‭ But to Echetus, the most stern of men, ‭ A black sail freight with thee, whose worst of ill, ‭ Be sure, is past all ransom. Sit, then, still, ‭ Drink temp’rately, and never more contend ‭ With men your youngers.” This the Queen did end ‭ With her defence of him, and told his foe ‭ It was not fair nor equal t’ overcrow ‭ The poorest guest her son pleas’d t’ entertain ‭ In his free turrets with so proud a strain ‭ Of threats and bravings; asking if he thought, ‭ That if the stranger to his arms had brought ‭ The stubborn bow down, he should marry her, ‭ And bear her home? And said, himself should err ‭ In no such hope; nor of them all the best ‭ That griev’d at any good she did her guest ‭ Should banquet there; since it in no sort show’d ‭ Noblesse in them, nor paid her what she ow’d ‭ Her own free rule there. This Eurymachus ‭ Confirm’d and said: “Nor feeds it hope in us, ‭ Icarius’ daughter, to solemnize rites ‭ Of nuptials with thee; nor in noblest sights ‭ It can show comely; but to our respects ‭ The rumour both of sexes and of sects ‭ Amongst the people would breed shame and fear, ‭ Lest any worst Greek said: ‘See, men that were ‭ Of mean deservings will presume t’ aspire ‭ To his wife’s bed, whom all men did admire ‭ For fame and merit, could not draw his bow, ‭ And yet his wife had foolish pride to woo, ‭ When straight an errant beggar comes and draws ‭ The bow with ease, performing all the laws ‭ The game besides contain’d’; and this would thus ‭ Prove both indignity and shame to us.” ‭ The Queen replied: “The fame of men, I see, ‭ Bears much price in your great suppos’d degree; ‭ Yet who can prove amongst the people great, ‭ That of one so esteem’d of them the seat ‭ Doth so defame and ruin? And beside, ‭ With what right is this guest thus vilified ‭ In your high censures, when the man in blood ‭ Is well compos’d and great, his parents good? [1] ‭ And therefore give the bow to him, to try ‭ His birth and breeding by his chivalry. ‭ If his arms draw it, and that Phœbus stands ‭ So great a glory to his strength, my hands ‭ Shall add this guerdon: Ev’ry sort of weed, ‭ A two-edg’d sword, and lance to keep him freed ‭ From dogs and men hereafter, and dismiss ‭ His worth to what place tends that heart of his.” ‭ Her son gave answer: “That it was a wrong ‭ To his free sway in all things that belong ‭ To guard of that house, to demand the bow ‭ Of any Wooer, and the use bestow ‭ Upon the stranger: for the bow was his ‭ To give or to withhold; no masteries ‭ Of her proposing giving any pow’r ‭ T’ impair his right in things for any Wooer, ‭ Or any that rough Ithaca affords, ‭ Any that Elis; of which no man’s words ‭ Nor pow’rs should curb him, stood he so inclin’d, ‭ To see the bow in absolute gift resign’d ‭ To that his guest to bear and use at will, ‭ And therefore bade his mother keep her still ‭ Amongst her women at her rock and loom; ‭ Bows were for men; and this bow did become ‭ Past all men’s his disposure, since his sire ‭ Left it to him, and all the house entire.” ‭ She stood dismay’d at this, and in her mind ‭ His wise words laid up, standing so inclin’d ‭ As he had will’d, with all her women going ‭ Up to her chamber, there her tears bestowing, ‭ As ev’ry night she did, on her lov’d lord, ‭ Till sleep and Pallas her fit rest restor’d. ‭ The bow Eumæus took, and bore away; ‭ Which up in tumult, and almost in fray, ‭ Put all the Wooers, one enquiring thus: ‭ “Whither, rogue, abject, wilt thou bear from us ‭ That bow propos’d? Lay down, or I protest ‭ Thy dogs shall eat thee, that thou nourishest ‭ To guard thy swine; amongst whom, left of all, ‭ Thy life shall leave thee, if the festival, ‭ We now observe to Phœbus, may our zeals ‭ Grace with his aid, and all the Deities else.” ‭ This threat made good Eumæus yield the bow ‭ To his late place, not knowing what might grow ‭ From such a multitude. And then fell on ‭ Telemachus with threats, and said: “Set gone ‭ That bow yet further; ’tis no servant’s part ‭ To serve too many masters; raise your heart ‭ And bear it off, lest, though you’re younger, yet ‭ With stones I pelt you to the field with it. ‭ If you and I close, I shall prove too strong. ‭ I wish as much too hard for all this throng ‭ The Gods would make me, I should quickly send ‭ Some after with just sorrow to their end, ‭ They waste my victuals so, and ply my cup, ‭ And do me such shrewd turns still.” This put up ‭ The Wooers all in laughters, and put down ‭ Their angers to him, that so late were grown ‭ So grave and bloody; which resolv’d that fear ‭ Of good Eumæus, who did take and bear ‭ The King the bow; call’d nurse, and bade her make ‭ The doors all sure, that if men’s tumults take ‭ The ears of some within, they may not fly, ‭ But keep at work still close and silently. ‭ These words put wings to her, and close she put ‭ The chamber door. The court-gates then were shut ‭ By kind Philœtius, who straight did go ‭ From out the hall, and in the portico ‭ Found laid a gable of a ship, compos’d ‭ Of spongy bulrushes; with which he clos’d, ‭ In winding round about them, the court-gates, ‭ Then took his place again, to view the fates ‭ That quickly follow’d. When he came, he saw ‭ Ulysses viewing, ere he tried to draw, ‭ The famous bow, which ev’ry way he mov’d, ‭ Up and down turning it; in which be prov’d ‭ The plight it was in, fearing, chiefly, lest ‭ The horns were eat with worms in so long rest. ‭ But what his thoughts intended turning so, ‭ And keeping such a search about the bow, ‭ The Wooers little knowing fell to jest, ‭ And said: “Past doubt he is a man profest ‭ In bowyers’ craft, and sees quite through the wood; ‭ Or something, certain, to be understood ‭ There is in this his turning of it still. ‭ A cunning rogue he is at any ill.” ‭ Then spake another proud one: “Would to heav’n, ‭ I might, at will, get gold till he hath giv’n ‭ That bow his draught!” With these sharp jests did these ‭ Delightsome Woo’rs their fatal humours please. ‭ But when the wise Ulysses once had laid ‭ His fingers on it, and to proof survey’d ‭ The still sound plight it held, as one of skill ‭ In song, and of the harp, doth at his will, ‭ In tuning of his instrument, extend ‭ A string out with his pin, touch all, and lend ‭ To ev’ry well-wreath’d string his perfect sound, ‭ Struck all together; with such ease drew round ‭ The King the bow. Then twang’d he up the string, ‭ That as a swallow in the air doth sing ‭ With no continued tune, but, pausing still, ‭ Twinks out her scatter’d voice in accents shrill; ‭ So sharp the string sung when he gave it touch, ‭ Once having bent and drawn it. Which so much ‭ Amaz’d the Wooers, that their colours went ‭ And came most grievously. And then Jove rent ‭ The air with thunder; which at heart did cheer ‭ The now-enough-sustaining traveller, ‭ That Jove again would his attempt enable. ‭ Then took he into hand, from off the table, ‭ The first drawn arrow: and a number more ‭ Spent shortly on the Wooers; but this one ‭ He measur’d by his arm, as if not known ‭ The length were to him, nock’d it then, and drew; ‭ And through the axes, at the first hole, flew ‭ The steel-charg’d arrow; which when he had done ‭ He thus bespake the Prince: “You have not won ‭ Disgrace yet by your guest; for I have strook ‭ The mark I shot at, and no such toil took ‭ In wearying the bow with fat and fire ‭ As did the Wooers. Yet reserv’d entire, ‭ Thank Heav’n, my strength is, and myself am tried, ‭ No man to be so basely vilified ‭ As these men pleas’d to think me. But, free way ‭ Take that, and all their pleasures; and while day ‭ Holds her torch to you, and the hour of feast ‭ Hath now full date, give banquet, and the rest, ‭ Poem and harp, that grace a well-fill’d board.” ‭ This said, he beckon’d to his son; whose sword ‭ He straight girt to him, took to hand his lance, ‭ And cómplete-arm’d did to his sire advance. ‭ THE END OF THE TWENTY-FIRST BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.

‭[1] Εὐπηγής, bene compactus et coagmentatus. ‭ THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ The Wooers in Minerva’s sight ‭ Slain by Ulysses; all the light ‭ And lustful housewives by his son ‭ And servants are to slaughter done. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Χι̑. ‭ The end of pride, ‭ And lawless lust, ‭ Is wretched tried ‭ With slaughters just.

‭ The upper rags that wise Ulysses wore ‭ Cast off, he rusheth to the great hall door ‭ With bow and quiver full of shafts, which down ‭ He pour’d before his feet, and thus made known ‭ His true state to the Wooers: “This strife thus ‭ Hath harmless been decided; now for us ‭ There rests another mark, more hard to hit, ‭ And such as never man before hath smit; ‭ Whose full point likewise my hands shall assay, ‭ And try if Phœbus will give me his day.” ‭ He said, and off his bitter arrow thrust ‭ Right at Antinous; and struck him just ‭ As he was lifting up the bowl, to show ‭ That ’twixt the cup and lip much ill may grow. ‭ Death touch’d not at his thoughts at feast; for who ‭ Would think that he alone could perish so ‭ Amongst so many, and he best of all? ‭ The arrow in his throat took full his fall, ‭ And thrust his head far through the other side. ‭ Down fell his cup, down he, down all his pride; ‭ Straight from his nostrils gush’d the human gore; ‭ And, as he fell, his feet far overbore ‭ The feastful table; all the roast and bread ‭ About the house strew’d. When his high-born head ‭ The rest beheld so low, up rush’d they all, ‭ And ransack’d ev’ry corner of the hall ‭ For shields and darts; but all fled far their reach. ‭ Then fell they foul on him with terrible speech, ‭ And told him it should prove the dearest shaft ‭ That ever pass’d him; and that now was saft ‭ No shift for him, but sure and sudden death; ‭ For he had slain a man, whose like did breathe ‭ In no part of the kingdom; and that now ‭ He should no more for games strive with his bow, ‭ But vultures eat him there. These threats they spent, ‭ Yet ev’ry man believ’d that stern event ‭ Chanc’d ’gainst the author’s will. O fools, to think ‭ That all their rest had any cup to drink ‭ But what their great Antinous began! ‭ He, frowning, said: “Dogs, see in me the man ‭ Ye all held dead at Troy. My house it is ‭ That thus ye spoil, and thus your luxuries ‭ File with my women’s rapes; in which ye woo ‭ The wife of one that lives, and no thought show ‭ Of man’s fit fear, or God’s, your present fame, ‭ Or any fair sense of your future name; ‭ And, therefore, present and eternal death ‭ Shall end your base life.” This made fresh fears breathe ‭ Their former boldness. Ev’ry man had eye ‭ On all the means, and studied ways to fly ‭ So deep deaths imminent. But seeing none, ‭ Eurymachus began with suppliant moan ‭ To move his pity, saying: “If you be ‭ This isle’s Ulysses, we must all agree, ‭ In grant of your reproof’s integrity, ‭ The Greeks have done you many a wrong at home, ‭ At field as many. But of all the sum ‭ Lies here contract in death; for only he ‭ Impos’d the whole ill-offices that we ‭ Are now made guilty of, and not so much ‭ Sought his endeavours, or in thought did touch ‭ At any nuptials, but a greater thing ‭ Employ’d his forces; for to be our king ‭ Was his chief object; his sole plot it was ‭ To kill your son, which Jove’s hand would not pass, ‭ But set it to his own most merited end. ‭ In which end your just anger, nor extend ‭ Your stern wreak further; spend your royal pow’rs ‭ In mild ruth of your people; we are yours; ‭ And whatsoever waste of wine or food ‭ Our liberties have made, we’ll make all good ‭ In restitutions. Call a court, and pass ‭ A fine of twenty oxen, gold, and brass, ‭ On ev’ry head, and raise your most rates still, ‭ Till you are pleas’d with your confesséd fill. ‭ Which if we fail to tender, all your wrath ‭ It shall be justice in our bloods to bathe.” ‭ “Eurymachus,” said he, “if you would give ‭ All that your fathers’ hoard, to make ye live, ‭ And all that ever you yourselves possess, ‭ Or shall by any industry increase, ‭ I would not cease from slaughter, till your bloods ‭ Had bought out your intemp’rance in my goods. ‭ It rests now for you that you either fight ‭ That will ’scape death, or make your way by flight. ‭ In whose best choice, my thoughts conceive, not one ‭ Shall shun the death your first hath undergone.” ‭ This quite dissolv’d their knees. Eurymachus, ‭ Enforcing all their fears, yet counsell’d thus: ‭ “O friends! This man, now he hath got the bow ‭ And quiver by him, ever will bestow ‭ His most inaccessible hands at us, ‭ And never leave, if we avoid him thus, ‭ Till he hath strewn the pavement with us all; ‭ And, therefore, join we swords, and on him fall ‭ With tables forc’d up, and borne in oppos’d ‭ Against his sharp shafts; when, being round-enclos’d ‭ By all our onsets, we shall either take ‭ His horrid person, or for safety make ‭ His rage retire from out the hall and gates; ‭ And then, if he escape, we’ll make our states ‭ Known to the city by our gen’ral cry. ‭ And thus this man shall let his last shaft fly ‭ That ever his hand vaunted.” Thus he drew ‭ His sharp-edg’d sword; and with a table flew ‭ In on Ulysses, with a terrible throat ‭ His fierce charge urging. But Ulysses smote ‭ The board, and cleft it through from end to end ‭ Borne at his breast; and made his shaft extend ‭ His sharp head to his liver, his broad breast ‭ Pierc’d at his nipple; when his hand releast ‭ Forthwith his sword, that fell and kiss’d the ground, ‭ With cups and victuals lying scatter’d round ‭ About the pavement; amongst which his brow ‭ Knock’d the imbrued earth, while in pains did flow ‭ His vital spirits, till his heels shook out ‭ His feastful life, and hurl’d a throne about ‭ That way-laid death’s convulsions in his feet; ‭ When from his tender eyes the light did fleet. ‭ Then charg’d Amphinomus with his drawn blade ‭ The glorious king, in purpose to have made ‭ His feet forsake the house; but his assay ‭ The prince prevented, and his lance gave way ‭ Quite through his shoulder, at his back; his breast ‭ The fierce pile letting forth. His ruin prest ‭ Groans from the pavement, which his forehead strook. ‭ Telemachus his long lance then forsook— ‭ Left in Amphinomus—and to his sire ‭ Made fiery pass, not staying to acquire ‭ His lance again, in doubt that, while he drew ‭ The fixéd pile, some other might renew ‭ Fierce charge upon him, and his unharm’d head ‭ Cleave with his back-drawn sword; for which he fled ‭ Close to his father, bade him arm, and he ‭ Would bring him shield and jav’lins instantly, ‭ His own head arming, more arms laying by ‭ To serve the swine-herd and the oxen-herd. ‭ Valour well arm’d is ever most preferr’d. ‭ “Run then,” said he, “and come before the last ‭ Of these auxiliary shafts are past, ‭ For fear, lest, left alone, they force my stand ‭ From forth the ports.” He flew, and brought to hand ‭ Eight darts, four shields, four helms. His own parts then ‭ First put in arms, he furnish’d both his men, ‭ That to their king stood close; but he, as long ‭ As he had shafts to friend, enough was strong ‭ For all the Wooers, and some one man still ‭ He made make even with earth, till all a hill ‭ Had rais’d in th’ even-floor’d hall. His last shaft spent, ‭ He set his bow against a beam, and went ‭ To arm at all parts, while the other three ‭ Kept off the Wooers, who, unarm’d, could be ‭ No great assailants. In the well-built wall ‭ A window was thrust out, at end of all ‭ The house’s entry; on whose utter side ‭ There lay a way to town, and in it wide ‭ And two-leav’d folds were forg’d, that gave fit mean ‭ For flyers-out; and, therefore, at it then ‭ Ulysses plac’d Eumæus in close guard; ‭ One only pass ope to it, which (prepar’d ‭ In this sort by Ulysses ’gainst all pass) ‭ By Agelaus’ tardy memory was ‭ In question call’d, who bade some one ascend ‭ At such a window, and bring straight to friend ‭ The city with his clamour, that this man ‭ Might quickly shoot his last. “This no one can ‭ Make safe access to,” said Melanthius, ‭ “For ’tis too near the hall’s fair doors, whence thus ‭ The man afflicts ye; for from thence there lies ‭ But one strait passage to it, that denies ‭ Access to all, if any one man stand, ‭ Being one of courage, and will countermand ‭ Our offer to it. But I know a way ‭ To bring you arms, from where the King doth lay ‭ His whole munition; and believe there is ‭ No other place to all the armories ‭ Both of himself and son.” This said, a pair ‭ Of lofty stairs he climb’d, and to th’ affair ‭ Twelve shields, twelve lances brought, as many casques ‭ With horsehair plumes; and set to bitter tasks ‭ Both son and sire. Then shrunk Ulysses’ knees, ‭ And his lov’d heart, when thus in arms he sees ‭ So many Wooers, and their shaken darts; ‭ For then the work show’d as it ask’d more parts ‭ To safe performance, and he told his son ‭ That or Melanthius or his maids had done ‭ A deed that foul war to their hands conferr’d. ‭ “O father,” he replied, “’tis I have err’d ‭ In this caus’d labour; I, and none but I, ‭ That left the door ope of your armoury. ‭ But some, it seems, hath set a sharper eye ‭ On that important place. Eumæus! Haste ‭ And shut the door, observing who hath past ‭ To this false action; any maid, or one ‭ That I suspect more, which is Dolius’ son.” ‭ While these spake thus, Melanthius went again ‭ For more fair arms; when the renownéd swain ‭ Eumæus saw, and told Ulysses straight ‭ It was the hateful man that his conceit ‭ Before suspected, who had done that ill; ‭ And, being again there, ask’d if he should kill, ‭ If his pow’r serv’d, or he should bring the swain ‭ To him, t’ inflict on him a sev’ral pain ‭ For ev’ry forfeit he had made his house. ‭ He answer’d: “I and my Telemachus ‭ Will here contain these proud ones in despite, ‭ How much soever these stol’n arms excite ‭ Their guilty courages, while you two take ‭ Possession of the chamber. The doors make ‭ Sure at your back, and then, surprising him, ‭ His feet and hands bind, wrapping ev’ry limb ‭ In pliant chains; and with a halter cast ‭ Above the wind-beam—at himself made fast— ‭ Aloft the column draw him; where alive ‭ He long may hang, and pains enough deprive ‭ His vexéd life before his death succeed.” ‭ This charge, soon heard, as soon they put to deed, ‭ Stole on his stealth, and at the further end ‭ Of all the chamber saw him busily bend ‭ His hands to more arms, when they, still at door, ‭ Watch’d his return. At last he came, and bore ‭ In one hand a fair helm, in th’ other held ‭ A broad and ancient rusty-rested shield, ‭ That old Laertes in his youth had worn, ‭ Of which the cheek-bands had with age been torn. ‭ They rush’d upon him, caught him by the hair, ‭ And dragg’d him in again; whom, crying out, ‭ They cast upon the pavement, wrapp’d about ‭ With sure and pinching cords both foot and hand, ‭ And then, in full act of their King’s command, ‭ A pliant chain bestow’d on him, and hal’d ‭ His body up the column, till he scal’d ‭ The highest wind-beam; where made firmly fast, ‭ Eumæus on his just infliction past ‭ This pleasurable cavil: “Now you may ‭ All night keep watch here, and the earliest day ‭ Discern, being hung so high, to rouse from rest ‭ Your dainty cattle to the Wooers’ feast. ‭ There, as befits a man of means so fair, ‭ Soft may you sleep, nought under you but air; ‭ And so long hang you.” Thus they left him there, ‭ Made fast the door, and with Ulysses were ‭ All arm’d in th’ instant. Then they all stood close, ‭ Their minds fire breath’d in flames against their foes, ‭ Four in th’ entry fighting all alone; ‭ When from the hall charg’d many a mighty one. ‭ But to them then Jove’s seed, Minerva, came, ‭ Resembling Mentor both in voice and frame ‭ Of manly person. Passing well apaid ‭ Ulysses was, and said: “Now, Mentor, aid ‭ ’Gainst these odd mischiefs; call to memory now ‭ My often good to thee, and that we two ‭ Of one year’s life are.” Thus he said, but thought ‭ ft was Minerva, that had ever brought ‭ To her side safety. On the other part, ‭ The Wooers threaten’d; but the chief in heart ‭ Was Agelaus, who to Mentor spake: ‭ “Mentor! Let no words of Ulysses make ‭ Thy hand a fighter on his feeble side ‭ ‘Gainst all us Wooers; for we firm abide ‭ In this persuasion, that when sire and son ‭ Our swords have slain, thy life is sure to run ‭ One fortune with them. What strange acts hast thou ‭ Conceit to form here? Thy head must bestow ‭ The wreak of theirs on us. And when thy pow’rs ‭ Are taken down by these fierce steels of ours, ‭ All thy possessions, in-doors and without, ‭ Must raise on heap with his; and all thy rout ‭ Of sons and daughters in thy turrets bleed ‭ Wreak off’rings to us; and our town stand freed ‭ Of all charge with thy wife.” Minerva’s heart ‭ Was fir’d with these braves, the approv’d desert ‭ Of her Ulysses chiding, saying: “No more ‭ Thy force nor fortitude as heretofore ‭ Will gain thee glory; when nine years at Troy White-wristed Helenen’s rescue did employ ‭ Thy arms and wisdom, still and ever us’d, ‭ The bloods of thousands through the field diffus’d ‭ By thy vast valour; Priam’s broad-way’d town ‭ By thy grave parts was sack’d and overthrown; ‭ And now, amongst thy people and thy goods, ‭ Against the Wooers’ base and petulant bloods ‭ Stint’st thou thy valour? Rather mourning here ‭ Than manly fighting? Come, friend, stand we near, ‭ And note my labour, that thou may’st discern ‭ Amongst thy foes how Mentor’s nerves will earn ‭ All thy old bounties.” This she spake, but stay’d ‭ Her hand from giving each-way-often-sway’d ‭ Uncertain conquest to his certain use, ‭ But still would try what self-pow’rs would produce ‭ Both in the father and the glorious son. ‭ Then on the wind-beam that along did ron ‭ The smoky roof, transform’d, Minerva sat, ‭ Like to a swallow; sometimes cuffing at ‭ The swords and lances, rushing from her seat, ‭ And up and down the troubl’d house did beat ‭ Her wing at ev’ry motion. And as she ‭ Had rous’d Ulysses; so the enemy ‭ Damastor’s son excited, Polybus, ‭ Amphinomus, and Demoptolemus, ‭ Eurynomus, and Polyctorides; ‭ For these were men that of the wooing prease ‭ Were most egregious, and the clearly best ‭ In strength of hand of all the desp’rate rest ‭ That yet surviv’d, and now fought for their souls; ‭ Which straight swift arrows sent among the fowls. ‭ But first, Damastor’s son had more spare breath ‭ To spend on their excitements ere his death, ‭ And said: That now Ulysses would forbear ‭ His dismal hand, since Mentor’s spirit was there, ‭ And blew vain vaunts about Ulysses’ ears; ‭ In whose trust he would cease his massacres, ‭ Rest him, and put his friend’s huge boasts in proof; ‭ And so was he beneath the entry’s roof ‭ Left with Telemachus and th’ other two. ‭ “At whom,” said he, “discharge no darts, but throw ‭ All at Ulysses, rousing his faint rest; ‭ Whom if we slaughter, by our interest ‭ In Jove’s assistance, all the rest may yield ‭ Our pow’rs no care, when he strews once the field.” ‭ As he then will’d, they all at random threw ‭ Where they suppos’d he rested; and then flew ‭ Minerva after ev’ry dart, and made ‭ Some strike the threshold, some the walls invade, ‭ Some beat the doors, and all acts render’d vain ‭ Their grave steel offer’d. Which escap’d, again” ‭ Came on Ulysses, saying: “O that we ‭ The Wooers’ troop with our joint archery ‭ Might so assail, that where their spirits dream ‭ On our deaths first, we first may slaughter them!” ‭ Thus the much-suff’rer said; and all let-fly, ‭ When ev’ry man struck dead his enemy. ‭ Ulysses slaughter’d Demoptolemus. ‭ Euryades by young Telemachus Hisis death encounter’d. Good Eumæus slew ‭ Elatus. And Philœtius overthrew ‭ Pisander. All which tore the pavéd floor ‭ Up with their teeth. The rest retir’d before ‭ Their second charge to inner rooms; and then ‭ Ulysses follow’d; from the slaughter’d men ‭ Their darts first drawing. While which work was done, ‭ The Wooers threw with huge contention ‭ To kill them all; when with her swallow-wing ‭ Minerva cuff’d, and made their jav’lins ring ‭ Against the doors and thresholds, as before. ‭ Some yet did graze upon their marks. One tore ‭ The prince’s wrist, which was Amphimedon, ‭ Th’ extreme part of the skin but touch’d upon. ‭ Ctesippus over good Eumeeus’ shield ‭ His shoulder’s top did taint; which yet did yield ‭ The lance free pass, and gave his hurt the ground. ‭ Again then charg’d the Wooers, and girt round ‭ Ulysses with their lances; who turn’d head, ‭ And with his jav’lin struck Eurydamas dead. ‭ Telemachus disliv’d Amphimedon; ‭ Eumæus, Polybus; Philœtius won ‭ Ctesippus’ bosom with his dart, and said, ‭ In quittance of the jester’s part he play’d, ‭ The neat’s foot hurling at Ulysses: “Now, ‭ Great son of Polytherses, you that vow ‭ Your wit to bitter taunts, and love to wound ‭ The heart of any with a jest, so crown’d ‭ Your wit be with a laughter, never yielding ‭ To fools in folly, but your glory building ‭ On putting down in fooling, spitting forth ‭ Puff’d words at all sorts, cease to scoff at worth, ‭ And leave revenge of vile words to the Gods, ‭ Since their wits bear the sharper edge by odds; ‭ And, in the mean time, take the dart I drave, ‭ For that right hospitable foot you gave ‭ Divine Ulysses, begging but his own.” ‭ Thus spake the black-ox-herdsman; and straight down ‭ Ulysses struck another with his dart— ‭ Damastor’s son. Telemachus did part, ‭ Just in the midst, the belly of the fair ‭ Evenor’s son; his fierce pile taking air ‭ Out at his back. Flat fell he on his face, ‭ His whole brows knocking, and did mark the place. ‭ And now man-slaught’ring Pallas took in hand ‭ Her snake-fring’d shield, and on that beam took stand ‭ In her true form, where swallow-like she sat. ‭ And then, in this way of the house and that, ‭ The Wooers, wounded at the heart with fear, ‭ Fled the encounter; as in pastures where ‭ Fat herds of oxen feed, about the field ‭ (As if wild madness their instincts impell’d) ‭ The high-fed bullocks fly, whom in the spring, ‭ When days are long, gad-bees or breezes sting. ‭ Ulysses and his son the flyers chas’d, ‭ As when, with crooked beaks and seres, a cast ‭ Of hill-bred eagles, cast-off at some game, ‭ That yet their strengths keep, but, put up, in flame ‭ The eagle stoops; from which, along the field ‭ The poor fowls make wing, this and that way yield ‭ Their hard-flown pinions, then the clouds assay ‭ For ’scape or shelter, their forlorn dismay ‭ All spirit exhaling, all wings’ strength to carry ‭ Their bodies forth, and, truss’d up, to the quarry ‭ Their falconers ride-in, and rejoice to see ‭ Their hawks perform a flight so fervently; ‭ So, in their flight, Ulysses with his heir ‭ Did stoop and cuff the Wooers, that the air ‭ Broke in vast sighs, whose heads they shot and cleft, ‭ The pavement boiling with the souls they reft. ‭ Liodes, running to Ulysses, took ‭ His knees, and thus did on his name invoke; ‭ “Ulysses! Let me pray thee to my place ‭ Afford the rev’rence, and to me the grace; ‭ That never did or said, to any dame ‭ Thy court contain’d, or deed, or word to blame; ‭ But others so affected I have made ‭ I lay down their insolence; and, if the trade ‭ They kept with wickedness have made them still ‭ Despise my speech, and use their wonted ill, ‭ They have their penance by the stroke of death, ‭ Which their desert divinely warranteth. ‭ But I am priest amongst them, and shall I ‭ That nought have done worth death amongst them die? ‭ From thee this proverb then will men derive: ‭ Good turns do never their mere deeds survive.” ‭ He, bending his displeaséd forehead, said: ‭ “If you be priest among them, as you plead, ‭ Yet you would marry, and with my wife too, ‭ And have descent by her. For all that woo ‭ Wish to obtain, which they should never do, ‭ Dames’ husbands living. You must therefore pray ‭ Of force, and oft in Court here, that the day ‭ Of my return for him might never shine; ‭ The death to me wish’d, therefore, shall be thine.” ‭ This said, he took a sword up that was cast ‭ From Agelaus, having struck his last, ‭ And on the priest’s mid neck he laid a stroke ‭ That struck his head off, tumbling as he spoke. ‭ Then did the poet Phemius (whose surname ‭ Was call’d Terpiades; who thither came ‭ Forc’d by the Wooers) fly death; but being near ‭ The court’s great gate, he stood, and parted there ‭ In two his counsels; either to remove ‭ And take the altar of Herceian Jove ‭ (Made sacred to him, with a world of art ‭ Engrav’n about it, where were wont t’ impart ‭ Laertes and Ulysses many a thigh ‭ Of broad-brow’d oxen to the Deity) ‭ Or venture to Ulysses, clasp his knee, ‭ And pray his ruth. The last was the decree ‭ His choice resolv’d on. ’Twixt the royal throne ‭ And that fair table that the bowl stood on ‭ With which they sacrific’d, his harp he laid ‭ Along the earth, the King’s knees hugg’d, and said: ‭ “Ulysses! Let my pray’rs obtain of thee ‭ My sacred skill’s respect, and ruth to me! ‭ It will hereafter grieve thee to have slain ‭ A poet, that doth sing to Gods and men. ‭ I of myself am taught, for God alone ‭ All sorts of song hath in my bosom sown, ‭ And I, as to a God, will sing to thee; ‭ Then do not thou deal like the priest with me. ‭ Thine own lov’d son Telemachus will say, ‭ That not to beg here, nor with willing way ‭ Was my access to thy high court addrest, ‭ To give the Wooers my song after feast, ‭ But, being many, and so much more strong, ‭ They forced me hither, and compell’d my song.” ‭ This did the prince’s sacred virtue hear, ‭ And to the King, his father, said: “Forbear ‭ To mix the guiltless with the guilty’s blood. ‭ And with him likewise let our mercies save ‭ Medon the herald, that did still behave ‭ Himself with care of my good from a child; ‭ If by Eumæus yet he be not kill’d, ‭ Or by Philœtius, nor your fury met, ‭ While all this blood about the house it swet.” ‭ This Medon heard, as lying hid beneath ‭ A throne set near, half-dead with fear of death; ‭ A new-flay’d ox-hide, as but there thrown by, ‭ His serious shroud made, he lying there to fly. ‭ But hearing this he quickly left the throne, ‭ His ox-hide cast as quickly, and as soon ‭ The prince’s knees seiz’d, saying: “O my love, ‭ I am not slain, but here alive and move. ‭ Abstain yourself, and do not see your sire ‭ Quench with my cold blood the unmeasur’d fire ‭ That flames in his strength, making spoil of me, ‭ His wrath’s right, for the Wooers’ injury.” ‭ Ulysses smil’d, and said: “Be confident ‭ This man hath sav’d and made thee different, ‭ To let thee know, and say, and others see, ‭ Good life is much more safe than villany. ‭ Go then, sit free without from death within. ‭ This much-renownéd singer from the sin ‭ Of these men likewise quit. Both rest you there, ‭ While I my house purge as it fits me here.” ‭ This said, they went and took their seat without ‭ At Jove’s high altar, looking round about, ‭ Expecting still their slaughter. When the King ‭ Search’d round the hall, to try life’s hidden wing ‭ Made from more death. But all laid prostrate there ‭ In blood and gore he saw. Whole shoals they were, ‭ And lay as thick as in a hollow creek ‭ Without the white sea, when the fishers break ‭ Their many-mesh’d draught-net up, there lie ‭ Fish frisking on the sands, and fain the dry ‭ Would for the wet change, but th’ all-seeing beam ‭ The sun exhales hath suck’d their lives from them; ‭ So one by other sprawl’d the Wooers there. ‭ Ulysses and his son then bid appear ‭ The nurse Euryclea, to let her hear ‭ His mind in something fit for her affair. ‭ He op’d the door, and call’d, and said: “Repair, ‭ Grave matron long since born, that art our spy ‭ To all this house’s servile housewif’ry; ‭ My father calls thee, to impart some thought ‭ That asks thy action.” His word found in nought ‭ Her slack observance, who straight op’d the door ‭ And enter’d to him; when himself before ‭ Had left the hall. But there the King she view’d ‭ Amongst the slain, with blood and gore imbrued. ‭ And as a lion skulking all in night, ‭ Far-off in pastures, and come home, all dight ‭ In jaws and breast-locks with an ox’s blood ‭ New feasted on him, his looks full of mood; ‭ So look’d Ulysses, all his hands and feet ‭ Freckled with purple. When which sight did greet ‭ The poor old woman (such works being for eyes ‭ Of no soft temper) out she brake in cries, ‭ Whose vent, though throughly open’d, he yet clos’d, ‭ Call’d her more near, and thus her plaints compos’d: ‭ “'Forbear, nor shriek thus, but vent joys as loud. ‭ It is no piety to bemoan the proud, ‭ Though ends befall them moving ne’er so much, ‭ These are the portions of the Gods to such. ‭ Men’s own impieties in their instant act ‭ Sustain their plagues, which are with stay but rackt. ‭ But these men Gods nor men had in esteem, ‭ Nor good nor bad had any sense in them, ‭ Their lives directly ill were, therefore, cause ‭ That Death in these stern forms so deeply draws. ‭ Recount, then, to me those licentious dames ‭ That lost my honour and their sex’s shames.” ‭ “I’ll tell you truly,” she replied: “There are ‭ Twice five-and-twenty women here that share ‭ All work amongst them; whom I taught to spin, ‭ And bear the just bands that they suffer’d in. ‭ Of all which only there were twelve that gave ‭ Themselves to impudence and light behave, ‭ Nor me respecting, nor herself—the Queen. ‭ And for your son he hath but lately been ‭ Of years to rule; nor would his mother bear ‭ His empire where her women’s labours were, ‭ But let me go and give her notice now ‭ Of your arrival. Sure some God doth show ‭ His hand upon her in this rest she takes, ‭ That all these uproars bears and never wakes.” ‭ “Nor wake her yet,” said he, “but cause to come ‭ Those twelve light women to this utter room.” ‭ She made all utmost haste to come and go, ‭ And bring the women he had summon’d so. ‭ Then both his swains and son he bade go call ‭ The women to their aid, and clear the hall ‭ Of those dead bodies, cleanse each board and throne ‭ With wetted sponges. Which with fitness done, ‭ He bade take all the strumpets ’twixt the wall ‭ Of his first court and that room next the hall, ‭ In which the vessels of the house were scour’d, ‭ And in their bosoms sheath their ev’ry sword, ‭ Till all their souls were fled, and they had then ‭ Felt ’twas but pain to sport with lawless men. ‭ This said, the women came all drown’d in moan, ‭ And weeping bitterly. But first was done ‭ The bearing thence the dead; all which beneath ‭ The portico they stow’d, where death on death ‭ They heap’d together. Then took all the pains ‭ Ulysses will’d. His son yet and the swains ‭ With paring-shovels wrought. The women bore ‭ Their parings forth, and all the clotter’d gore. ‭ The house then cleans’d, they brought the women out, ‭ And put them in a room so wall’d about ‭ That no means serv’d their sad estates to fly. ‭ Then said Telemachus: “These shall not die ‭ A death that lets out any wanton blood, ‭ And vents the poison that gave lust her food, ‭ The body cleansing, but a death that chokes ‭ The breath, and altogether that provokes ‭ And seems as bellows to abhorréd lust, ‭ That both on my head pour’d depraves unjust, ‭ And on my mother’s, scandalling the Court, ‭ With men debauch’d, in so abhorr’d a sort.” ‭ This said, a halser of a ship they cast ‭ About a cross-beam of the roof, which fast ‭ They made about their necks, in twelve parts cut, ‭ And hal’d them up so high they could not put ‭ Their feet to any stay. As which was done, ‭ Look how a mavis, or a pigeon, ‭ In any grove caught with a springe or net, ‭ With struggling pinions ’gainst the ground doth beat ‭ Her tender body, and that then strait bed ‭ Is sour to that swing in which she was bred; ‭ So striv’d these taken birds, till ev’ry one ‭ Her pliant halter had enforc’d upon ‭ Her stubborn neck, and then aloft was haul’d ‭ To wretched death. A little space they sprawl’d, ‭ Their feet fast moving, but were quickly still. ‭ Then fetch’d they down Melanthius, to fulfill ‭ The equal execution; which was done ‭ In portal of the hall, and thus begun: ‭ They first slit both his nostrils, cropp’d each ear, ‭ His members tugg’d off, which the dogs did tear ‭ And chop up bleeding sweet; and, while red-hot ‭ The vice-abhorring blood was, off they smote ‭ His hands and feet; and there that work had end. ‭ Then wash’d they hands and feet that blood had stain’d, ‭ And took the house again. And then the King ‭ Euryclea calling, bade her quickly bring ‭ All-ill-expelling brimstone, and some fire, ‭ That with perfumes cast he might make entire ‭ The house’s first integrity in all. ‭ And then his timely will was, she should call ‭ Her Queen and ladies; still yet charging her ‭ That all the handmaids she should first confer. ‭ She said he spake as fitted; but, before, ‭ She held it fit to change the weeds he wore, ‭ And she would others bring him, that not so ‭ His fair broad shoulders might rest clad, and show ‭ His person to his servants was to blame. ‭ “First bring me fire,” said he. She went and came ‭ With fire and sulphur straight; with which the hall ‭ And of the huge house all rooms capital ‭ He throughly sweeten’d. Then went nurse to call ‭ The handmaid servants down; and up she went ‭ To tell the news, and will’d them to present ‭ Their service to their sov’reign. Down they came ‭ Sustaining torches all, and pour’d a flame ‭ Of love about their lord, with welcomes home, ‭ With huggings of his hands, with laboursome ‭ Both heads and foreheads kisses, and embraces, ‭ And plied him so with all their loving graces ‭ That tears and sighs took up his whole desire; ‭ For now he knew their hearts to him entire. ‭ THE END OF THE TWENTY-SECOND BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS. ‭ THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ Ulysses to his wife is known. ‭ A brief sum of his travels shown. ‭ Himself, his son, and servants go ‭ T’ approve the Wooers’ overthrow. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ψι̑. ‭ For all annoys ‭ Sustain’d before, ‭ The true wife’s joys ‭ Now made the more.

‭ The servants thus inform’d, the matron goes ‭ Up where the Queen was cast in such repose, ‭ Affected with a fervent joy to tell ‭ What all this time she did with pain conceal. ‭ Her knees revok’d their first strength, and her feet ‭ Were borne above the ground with wings to greet ‭ The long-griev’d Queen with news her King was come; ‭ And, near her, said: “Wake, leave this withdrawn room, ‭ That now your eyes may see at length, though late, ‭ The man return’d, which, all the heavy date ‭ Your woes have rack’d out, you have long’d to see. ‭ Ulysses is come home, and hath set free ‭ His court of all your Wooers, slaught’ring all ‭ For wasting so his goods with festival, ‭ His house so vexing, and for violence done ‭ So all ways varied to his only son.” ‭ She answer’d her: “The Gods have made thee mad, ‭ Of whose pow’r now thy pow’rs such proof have had. ‭ The Gods can blind with follies wisest eyes, ‭ And make men foolish so to make them wise. ‭ For they have hurt ev’n thy grave brain, that bore ‭ An understanding spirit heretofore. ‭ Why hast thou wak’d me to more tears, when Moan ‭ Hath turn’d my mind, with tears into her own? ‭ Thy madness much more blameful, that with lies ‭ Thy haste is laden, and both robs mine eyes ‭ Of most delightsome sleep, and sleep of them, ‭ That now had bound me in his sweet extreme, ‭ T’ embrace my lids and close my visual spheres: ‭ I have not slept so much this twenty years, ‭ Since first my dearest sleeping-mate was gone ‭ For that too-ill-to-speak-of Ilion. ‭ Hence, take your mad steps back. If any maid ‭ Of all my train besides a part had play’d ‭ So bold to wake, and tell mine ears such lies, ‭ I had return’d her to her housewif’ries ‭ With good proof of my wrath to such rude dames. ‭ But go, your years have sav’d their younger blames.” ‭ She answer’d her: “I nothing wrong your ear, ‭ But tell the truth. Your long-miss’d lord is here, ‭ And, with the Wooers’ slaughter, his own hand, ‭ In chief exploit, hath to his own command ‭ Reduc’d his house; and that poor guest was he, ‭ That all those Wooers wrought such injury. ‭ Telemachus had knowledge long ago ‭ That ’twas his father, but his wisdom so ‭ Observ’d his counsels, to give surer end ‭ To that great work to which they did contend.” ‭ This call’d her spirits to their conceiving places; ‭ She sprung for joy from blames into embraces ‭ Of her grave nurse, wip’d ev’ry tear away ‭ From her fair cheeks, and then began to say ‭ What nurse said over thus: “O nurse, can this ‭ Be true thou say’st? How could that hand of his ‭ Alone destroy so many? They would still ‭ Troop all together. How could he then kill ‭ Such numbers so united?” “How,” said she, ‭ “I have not seen nor heard; but certainly ‭ The deed is done. We sat within in fear, ‭ The doors shut on us, and from thence might hear ‭ The sighs and groans of ev’ry man he slew, ‭ But heard nor saw more, till at length there flew ‭ Your son’s voice to mine ear, that call’d to me, ‭ And bade me then come forth, and then I see ‭ Ulysses standing in the midst of all ‭ Your slaughter’d Wooers, heap’d up, like a wall, ‭ One on another round about his side. ‭ It would have done you good to have descried ‭ Your conqu’ring lord all-smear’d with blood and gore ‭ So like a lion. Straight, then, off they bore ‭ The slaughter’d carcasses, that now before ‭ The fore-court gates lie, one on another pil’d. ‭ And now your victor all the hall, defil’d ‭ With stench of hot death, is perfuming round, ‭ And with a mighty fire the hearth hath crown’d. ‭ “Thus, all the death remov’d, and ev’ry room ‭ Made sweet and sightly, that yourself should come ‭ His pleasure sent me. Come, then, take you now ‭ Your mutual fills of comfort. Grief on you ‭ Hath long and many suff’rings laid; which length, ‭ Which many suff’rings, now your virtuous strength ‭ Of uncorrupted chasteness hath conferr’d ‭ A happy end to. He that long hath err’d ‭ Is safe arriv’d at home; his wife, his son, ‭ Found safe and good; all ill that hath been done ‭ On all the doers’ heads, though long prolong’d, ‭ His right hath wreak’d, and in the place they wrong’d.” ‭ She answer’d: “Do not you now laugh and boast ‭ As you had done some great act, seeing most ‭ Into his being; for you know he won— ‭ Ev’n through his poor and vile condition— ‭ A kind of prompted thought that there was plac’d ‭ Some virtue in him fit to be embrac’d ‭ By all the house, but most of all by me, ‭ And by my son that was the progeny ‭ Of both our loves. And yet it is not he, ‭ For all the likely proofs ye plead to me,— ‭ Some God hath slain the Wooers in disdain ‭ Of the abhorréd pride he saw so reign ‭ In those base works they did. No man alive, ‭ Or good or bad, whoever did arrive ‭ At their abodes once, ever could obtain ‭ Regard of them; and therefore their so vain ‭ And vile deserts have found as vile an end. ‭ But, for Ulysses, never will extend ‭ His wish’d return to Greece, nor he yet lives.” ‭ “How strange a Queen are you,” said she, “that gives ‭ No truth your credit, that your husband, set ‭ Close in his house at fire, can purchase yet ‭ No faith of you, but that he still is far ‭ From any home of his! Your wit’s at war ‭ With all credulity ever! And yet now, ‭ I’ll name a sign shall force belief from you: ‭ I bath’d him lately, and beheld the scar ‭ That still remains a mark too ocular ‭ To leave your heart yet blinded; and I then ‭ Had run and told you, but his hand was fain ‭ To close my lips from th’ acclamation ‭ My heart was breathing, and his wisdom won ‭ My still retention, till he gave me leave ‭ And charge to tell you this. Now then receive ‭ My life for gage of his return; which take ‭ In any cruel fashion, if I make ‭ All this not clear to you.” “Lov’d nurse,” said she, ‭ “Though many things thou know’st, yet these things be ‭ Veil’d in the counsels th’ uncreated Gods ‭ Have long time mask’d in; whose dark periods ‭ ’Tis hard for thee to see into. But come, ‭ Let’s see my son, the slain, and him by whom ‭ They had their slaughter.” This said, down they went; ‭ When, on the Queen’s part, divers thoughts were spent, ‭ If, all this giv’n no faith, she still should stand ‭ Aloof, and question more; or his hugg’d hand ‭ And lovéd head she should at first assay ‭ With free-giv’n kisses. When her doubtful way ‭ Had pass’d the stony pavement, she took seat ‭ Against her husband, in the opposite heat ‭ The fire then cast upon the other wall. ‭ Himself set by the column of the hall, ‭ His looks cast downwards, and expected still ‭ When her incredulous and curious will ‭ To shun ridiculous error, and the shame ‭ To kiss a husband that was not the same, ‭ Would down, and win enough faith from his sight. ‭ She silent sat, and her perplexéd plight ‭ Amaze encounter’d. Sometimes she stood clear ‭ He was her husband; sometimes the ill wear ‭ His person had put on transform’d him so ‭ That yet his stamp would hardly current go. ‭ Her son, her strangeness seeing, blam’d her thus: ‭ “Mother, ungentle mother! tyrannous! ‭ In this too-curious modesty you show. ‭ Why sit you from my father, nor bestow ‭ A word on me t’ enquire and clear such doubt ‭ As may perplex you? Found man ever out ‭ One other such a wife that could forbear ‭ Her lov’d lord’s welcome home, when twenty year ‭ In infinite suff’rance he had spent apart. ‭ No flint so hard is as a woman’s heart.” ‭ “Son,” said she, “amaze contains my mind, ‭ Nor can I speak and use the common kind ‭ Of those enquiries, nor sustain to see ‭ With opposite looks his count’nance. If this be ‭ My true Ulysses now return’d, there are ‭ Tokens betwixt us of more fitness far ‭ To give me argument he is my lord; ‭ And my assurance of him may afford ‭ My proofs of joy for him from all these eyes ‭ With more decorum than objéct their guise ‭ To public notice.” The much-suff’rer brake ‭ In laughter out, and to his son said: “Take ‭ Your mother from the prease, that she may make ‭ Her own proofs of me, which perhaps may give ‭ More cause to the acknowledgments that drive ‭ Their show thus off. But now, because I go ‭ So poorly clad, she takes disdain to know ‭ So loath’d a creature for her lovéd lord. ‭ Let us consult, then, how we may accord ‭ The town to our late action. Some one slain ‭ Hath made the all-left slaughterer of him fain ‭ To fly his friends and country; but our swords ‭ Have slain a city’s most supportful lords, ‭ The chief peers of the kingdom, therefore see ‭ You use wise means t’ uphold your victory.” ‭ “See you to that, good father,” said the son, ‭ “Whose counsels have the sov’reign glory won ‭ From all men living. None will strive with you, ‭ But with unquestion’d girlands grace your brow, ‭ To whom our whole alacrities we vow ‭ In free attendance. Nor shall our hands leave ‭ Your onsets needy of supplies to give ‭ All the effects that in our pow’rs can fall.” ‭ “Then this,” said he, “to me seems capital ‭ Of all choice courses: Bathe we first, and then ‭ Attire we freshly; all our maids and men ‭ Enjoining likewise to their best attire. ‭ The sacred singer then let touch his lyre, ‭ And go before us all in graceful dance, ‭ That all without, to whose ears shall advance ‭ Our cheerful accents, or of travellers by, ‭ Or firm inhabitants, solemnity ‭ Of frolic nuptials may imagine here. ‭ And this perform we, lest the massacre ‭ Of all our Wooers be divulg’d about ‭ The ample city, ere ourselves get out ‭ And greet my father in his grove of trees, ‭ Where, after, we will prove what policies ‭ Olympius shall suggest to overcome ‭ Our latest toils, and crown our welcome home.” ‭ This all obey’d; bath’d, put on fresh attire ‭ Both men and women did. Then took his lyre ‭ The holy singer, and set thirst on fire ‭ With songs and faultless dances; all the court ‭ Rung with the footings that the numerous sport ‭ From jocund men drew and fair-girdled dames; ‭ Which heard abroad, thus flew the common fames: ‭ “This sure the day is when the much-woo’d Queen ‭ Is richly wed. O wretch! That hath not been ‭ So constant as to keep her ample house ‭ Till th’ utmost hour had brought her foremost spouse.” ‭ Thus some conceiv’d, but little knew the thing. ‭ And now Eurynomé had bath’d the King, ‭ Smooth’d him with oils, and he himself attir’d ‭ In vestures royal. Her part then inspir’d ‭ The Goddess Pallas, deck’d his head and face ‭ With infinite beauties, gave a goodly grace ‭ Of stature to him, a much plumper plight ‭ Through all his body breath’d, curls soft and bright ‭ Adorn’d his head withal, and made it show ‭ As if the flow’ry hyacinth did grow ‭ In all his pride there, in the gen’ral trim ‭ Of ev’ry lock and ev’ry curious limb. ‭ Look how a skilful artizan, well-seen ‭ In all arts metalline, as having been ‭ Taught by Minerva and the God of fire, ‭ Doth gold with silver mix so that entire ‭ They keep their self-distinction, and yet so ‭ That to the silver from the gold doth flow ‭ A much more artificial lustre than his own, ‭ And thereby to the gold itself is grown ‭ A greater glory than if wrought alone, ‭ Both being stuck off by either’s mixtion; ‭ So did Minerva her’s and his combine, ‭ He more in her, she more in him, did shine. ‭ Like an Immortal from the bath he rose, ‭ And to his wife did all his grace dispose, ‭ Encount’ring this her strangeness: “Cruel dame ‭ Of all that breathe, the Gods past steel and flame ‭ Have made thee ruthless. Life retains not one ‭ Of all dames else that bears so overgrown ‭ A mind with abstinence, as twenty years ‭ To miss her husband drown’d in woes and tears, ‭ And at his coming keep aloof, and fare ‭ As of his so long absence and his care ‭ No sense had seiz’d her. Go, nurse, make a bed, ‭ That I alone may sleep; her heart is dead ‭ To all reflection!” To him thus replied ‭ The wise Penelope: “Man half-deified, ‭ ’Tis not my fashion to be taken straight ‭ With bravest men, nor poorest use to sleight. ‭ Your mean appearance made not me retire, ‭ Nor this your rich show makes me now admire, ‭ Nor moves at all; for what is all to me ‭ If not my husband? All his certainty ‭ I knew at parting; but, so long apart, ‭ The outward likeness holds no full desert ‭ For me to trust to. Go, nurse, see addrest ‭ A soft bed for him, and the single rest ‭ Himself affects so. Let it be the bed ‭ That stands within our bridal chamber-sted, ‭ Which he himself made. Bring it forth from thence, ‭ And see it furnish’d with magnificence.” ‭ This said she to assay him, and did stir ‭ Ev’n his establish’d patience; and to her ‭ Whom thus he answer’d: “Woman! your words prove ‭ My patience strangely. Who is it can move ‭ My bed out of his place? It shall oppress ‭ Earth’s greatest understander; and, unless ‭ Ev’n God himself come, that can eas’ly grace ‭ Men in their most skills, it shall hold his place; ‭ For man he lives not that (as not most skill’d, ‭ So not most young) shall easily make it yield, ‭ If, building on the strength in which he flows, ‭ He adds both levers too and iron crows: ‭ For in the fixture of the bed is shown ‭ A master-piece, a wonder; and ’twas done ‭ By me, and none but me, and thus was wrought: ‭ There was an olive-tree that had his grought ‭ Amidst a hedge, and was of shadow proud, ‭ Fresh, and the prime age of his verdure show’d, ‭ His leaves and arms so thick that to the eye ‭ It show’d a column for solidity. ‭ To this had I a comprehension ‭ To build my bridal bow’r; which all of stone, ‭ Thick as the tree of leaves, I rais’d, and cast ‭ A roof about it nothing meanly grac’d, ‭ Put glued doors to it, that op’d art enough, ‭ Then from the olive ev’ry broad-leav’d bough ‭ I lopp’d away; then fell’d the tree; and then ‭ Went over it both with my axe and plane, ‭ Both govern’d by my line, And then I hew’d ‭ My curious bedstead out; in which I shew’d ‭ Work of no common hand. All this begun, ‭ I could not leave till to perfection ‭ My pains had brought it; took my wimble, bor’d ‭ The holes, as fitted, and did last afford ‭ The varied ornament, which show’d no want ‭ Of silver, gold, and polish’d elephant. ‭ An ox-hide dyed in purple then I threw ‭ Above the cords. And thus to curious view ‭ I hope I have objected honest sign ‭ To prove I author nought that is not mine. ‭ But if my bed stand unremov’d or no, ‭ O woman, passeth human wit to know.” ‭ This sunk her knees and heart, to hear so true ‭ The signs she urg’d; and first did tears ensue ‭ Her rapt assurance; then she ran and spread ‭ Her arms about his neck, kiss’d oft his head, ‭ And thus the curious stay she made excus’d: ‭ “Ulysses! Be not angry that I us’d ‭ Such strange delays to this, since heretofore ‭ Your suff’ring wisdom hath the garland wore ‭ From all that breathe; and ’tis the Gods that, thus ‭ With mutual miss so long afflicting us, ‭ Have caus’d my coyness; to our youths envied ‭ That wish’d society that should have tied ‭ Our youths and years together; and since now ‭ Judgment and Duty should our age allow ‭ As full joys therein as in youth and blood, ‭ See all young anger and reproof withstood ‭ For not at first sight giving up my arms, ‭ My heart still trembling lest the false alarms ‭ That words oft strike-up should ridiculize me. ‭ Had Argive Helen known credulity ‭ Would bring such plagues with it, and her again, ‭ As authoress of them all, with that foul stain ‭ To her and to her country, she had stay’d ‭ Her love and mixture from a stranger’s bed; ‭ But God impell’d her to a shameless deed, ‭ Because she had not in herself decreed, ‭ Before th’ attempt, that such acts still were shent ‭ As simply in themselves as in th’ event ‭ By which not only she herself sustains, ‭ But we, for her fault, have paid mutual pains. ‭ Yet now, since these signs of our certain bed ‭ You have discover’d, and distinguishéd ‭ From all earth’s others, no one man but you ‭ Yet ever getting of it th’ only show, ‭ Nor one of all dames but myself and she ‭ My father gave, old Actor’s progeny, ‭ Who ever guarded to ourselves the door ‭ Of that thick-shaded chamber, I no more ‭ Will cross your clear persuasion, though till now ‭ I stood too doubtful and austere to you,” ‭ These words of hers, so justifying her stay, ‭ Did more desire of joyful moan convey ‭ To his glad mind than if at instant sight ‭ She had allow’d him all his wishes’ right. ‭ He wept for joy, t’ enjoy a wife so fit ‭ For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit, ‭ And held chaste virtue at a price so high, ‭ And as sad men at sea when shore is nigh, ‭ Which long their hearts have wish’d, their ship quite lost ‭ By Neptune’s rigour, and they vex’d and tost ‭ ’Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives, ‭ A few escap’d, and that few that survives, ‭ All drench’d in foam and brine, crawl up to land, ‭ With joy as much as they did worlds command; ‭ So dear to this wife was her husband’s sight, ‭ Who still embrac’d his neck, and had, till light ‭ Display’d her silver ensign, if the Dame, ‭ That bears the blue sky intermix’d with flame ‭ In her fair eyes, had not infix’d her thought ‭ On other joys, for loves so hardly brought ‭ To long’d-for meeting; who th’ extended night ‭ Withheld in long date, nor would let the light ‭ Her wing-hoov’d horse join—Lampus, Phaeton— ‭ Those ever-colts that bring the morning on ‭ To worldly men, but, in her golden chair, ‭ Down to the ocean by her silver hair ‭ Bound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said: ‭ “O wife! Nor yet are my contentions stay’d. ‭ A most unmeasur’d labour long and hard ‭ Asks more performance; to it being prepar’d ‭ By grave Tiresiás, when down to hell ‭ I made dark passage, that his skill might tell ‭ My men’s return and mine. But come, and now ‭ Enjoy the sweet rest that our Fates allow.” ‭ “The place of rest is ready,” she replied, ‭ “Your will at full serve, since the Deified ‭ Have brought you where your right is to command. ‭ But since you know, God making understand ‭ Your searching mind, inform me what must be ‭ Your last set labour; since ’twill fall to me, ‭ I hope, to hear it after, tell me now. ‭ The greatest pleasure is before to know.” ‭ “Unhappy!” said Ulysses; “To what end ‭ Importune you this labour? It will lend ‭ Nor you nor me delight, but you shall know ‭ I was commanded yet more to bestow ‭ My years in travel, many cities more ‭ By sea to visit; and when first for shore ‭ I left my shipping, I was will’d to take ‭ A naval oar in hand, and with it make ‭ My passage forth till such strange men I met ‭ As knew no sea, nor ever salt did eat ‭ With any victuals, who the purple beaks ‭ Of ships did never see, nor that which breaks ‭ The waves in curls, which is a fan-like oar, ‭ And serves as wings with which a ship doth soar. ‭ To let me know, then, when I was arriv’d ‭ On that strange earth where such a people liv’d, ‭ He gave me this for an unfailing sign: ‭ When any one that took that oar of mine, ‭ Borne on my shoulder, for a corn-cleanse fan, ‭ I met ashore, and show’d to be a man ‭ Of that land’s labour, there had I command ‭ To fix mine oar, and offer on that strand ‭ T’ imperial Neptune, whom I must implore, ‭ A lamb, a bull, and sow-ascending boar; ‭ And then turn home, where all the other Gods ‭ That in the broad heav’n made secure abodes ‭ I must solicit—all my curious heed ‭ Giv’n to the sev’ral rites they have decreed— ‭ With holy hecatombs; and then, at home, ‭ A gentle death should seize me that would come ‭ From out the sea, and take me to his rest ‭ In full ripe age, about me living blest ‭ My loving people; to which, he presag’d, ‭ The sequel of my fortunes were engag’d.” ‭ “If then,” said she, “the Gods will please t’ impose ‭ A happier being to your fortune’s close ‭ Than went before, your hope gives comfort strength ‭ That life shall lend you better days at length.” ‭ While this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed ‭ Eurynomé and nurse had made, and spread ‭ With richest furniture, while torches spent ‭ Their parcel-gilt thereon. To bed then went ‭ The aged nurse; and, where their sov’reigns were, ‭ Eurynomé, the chambermaid, did bear ‭ A torch, and went before them to their rest; ‭ To which she left them and for her’s addrest. ‭ The King and Queen then now, as newly-wed, ‭ Resum’d the old laws of th’ embracing bed. ‭ Telemachus and both his herdsmen then ‭ Dissolv’d the dances both to maids and men; ‭ Who in their shady roofs took timely sleep. ‭ The bride and bridegroom having ceas’d to keep ‭ Observéd love-joys, from their fit delight ‭ They turn’d to talk. The Queen then did recite ‭ What she had suffer’d by the hateful rout ‭ Of harmful Wooers, who had eat her out ‭ So many oxen and so many sheep, ‭ How many tun of wine their drinking deep ‭ Had quite exhausted. Great Ulysses then ‭ Whatever slaughters he had made of men, ‭ Whatever sorrows he himself sustain’d, ‭ Repeated amply; and her ears remain’d ‭ With all delight attentive to their end, ‭ Nor would one wink sleep till he told her all, ‭ Beginning where he gave the Cicons fall; ‭ From thence his pass to the Lotophagi; ‭ The Cyclop’s acts, the putting out his eye, ‭ And wreak of all the soldiers he had eat, ‭ No least ruth shown to all they could entreat; ‭ His way to Æolus; his prompt receit ‭ And kind dismission; his enforc’d retreat ‭ By sudden tempest to the fishy main, ‭ And quite distraction from his course again; ‭ His landing at the Læstrigonian port, ‭ Where ships and men in miserable sort ‭ Met all their spoils, his ship and he alone ‭ Got off from the abhorr’d confusión; ‭ His pass to Circe, her deceits and arts; ‭ His thence descension to th’ Infernal parts; ‭ His life’s course of the Theban prophet learn’d, ‭ Where all the slaughter’d Grecians he discern’d, ‭ And lovéd mother; his astonish’d ear ‭ With what the Siren’s voices made him hear; ‭ His ’scape from th’ erring rocks, which Scylla was, ‭ And rough Charybdis, with the dang’rous pass ‭ Of all that touch’d there; his Sicilian ‭ Offence giv’n to the Sun; his ev’ry man ‭ Destroy’d by thunder vollied out of heav’n, ‭ That split his ship; his own endeavours driv’n ‭ To shift for succours on th’ Ogygian shore, ‭ Where Nymph Calypso such affection bore ‭ To him in his arrival, that with feast ‭ She kept him in her caves, and would have blest ‭ His welcome life with an immortal state ‭ Would he have stay’d and liv’d her nuptial mate, ‭ All which she never could persuade him to; ‭ His pass to the Phæacians spent in woe; ‭ Their hearty welcome of him, as he were ‭ A God descended from the starry sphere; ‭ Their kind dismission of him home with gold, ‭ Brass, garments, all things his occasions would. ‭ This last word us’d, sleep seiz’d his weary eye ‭ That salves all care to all mortality. ‭ In mean space Pallas entertain’d intent ‭ That when Ulysses thought enough time spent ‭ In love-joys with his wife, to raise the day, ‭ And make his grave occasions call away. ‭ The morning rose and he, when thus he said: ‭ “O Queen, now satiate with afflictions laid ‭ On both our bosoms,—you oppresséd here ‭ With cares for my return, I ev’rywhere ‭ By Jove and all the other Deities tost ‭ Ev’n till all hope of my return was lost,— ‭ And both arriv’d at this sweet haven, our bed, ‭ Be your care us’d to see administ’red ‭ My house-possessions left. Those sheep, that were ‭ Consum’d in surfeits by your Wooers here, ‭ I’ll forage to supply with some; and more ‭ The suff’ring Grecians shall be made restore, ‭ Ev’n till our stalls receive their wonted fill. ‭ “And now, to comfort my good father’s ill ‭ Long suffer’d for me, to the many-tree’d ‭ And ample vineyard grounds it is decreed ‭ In my next care that I must haste and see ‭ His long’d-for presence. In the mean time, be ‭ Your wisdom us’d, that since, the sun ascended, ‭ The fame will soon be through the town extended ‭ Of those I here have slain, yourself, got close ‭ Up to your chamber, see you there repose, ‭ Cheer’d with your women, and nor look afford ‭ Without your court, nor any man a word.” ‭ This said, he arm’d; to arms both son and swain ‭ His pow’r commanding, who did entertain ‭ His charge with spirit, op’d the gates and out, ‭ He leading all. And now was hurl’d about ‭ Aurora’s ruddy fire; through all whose light ‭ Minerva led them through the town from sight. ‭ THE END OF THE TWENTY-THIRD BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS. ‭ THE TWENTY-FOURTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS ‭ THE ARGUMENT

‭ By Mercury the Wooers’ souls ‭ Are usher’d to th’ infernal pools. ‭ Ulysses with Laertes met, ‭ The people are in uproar set ‭ Against them, for the Wooers’ ends; ‭ Whom Pallas stays and renders friends. ‭ ANOTHER ARGUMENT

‭ Ω. ‭ The uproar’s fire, ‭ The people’s fall: ‭ The grandsire, sire, ‭ And son, to all.

‭ Cyllenian Hermes, with his golden rod, ‭ The Wooers’ souls, that yet retain’d abode ‭ Amidst their bodies, call’d in dreadful rout ‭ Forth to th’ Infernals; who came murmuring out. ‭ And as amidst the desolate retreat ‭ Of some vast cavern, made the sacred seat ‭ Of austere spirits, bats with breasts and wings ‭ Clasp fast the walls, and each to other clings, ‭ But, swept off from their coverts, up they rise ‭ And fly with murmurs in amazeful guise ‭ About the cavern; so these, grumbling, rose ‭ And flock’d together. Down before them goes ‭ None-hurting Mercury to Hell’s broad ways, ‭ And straight to those straits; where the ocean stays ‭ His lofty current in calm deeps, they flew, ‭ Then to the snowy rock they next withdrew, ‭ And to the close of Phœbus’ orient gates, ‭ The nation then of dreams, and then the states ‭ Of those souls’ idols that the weary dead ‭ Gave up in earth, which in a flow’ry mead ‭ Had habitable situatión. ‭ And there they saw the soul of Thetis’ son, ‭ Of good Patroclus, brave Antilochus, ‭ And Ajax, the supremely strenuous ‭ Of all the Greek host next Pelëion; ‭ All which assembled about Maia’s son. ‭ And to them, after, came the mournful ghost ‭ Of Agamemnon, with all those he lost ‭ In false Ægisthus’ court. Achilles then ‭ Beholding there that mighty king of men, ‭ Deplor’d his plight, and said: “O Atreus’ son! ‭ Of all heroës, all opinion ‭ Gave thee for Jove’s most lov’d, since most command ‭ Of all the Greeks he gave thy eminent hand ‭ At siege of Ilion, where we suffer’d so. ‭ And is the issue this, that first in woe ‭ Stern Fate did therefore set thy sequel down? ‭ None borne past others’ Fates can pass his own. ‭ I wish to heav’n that in the height of all ‭ Our pomp at Ilion Fate had sign’d thy fall, ‭ That all the Greeks might have advanc’d to thee ‭ A famous sepulchre, and Fame might see ‭ Thy son giv’n honour in thy honour’d end! ‭ But now a wretched death did Fate extend ‭ To thy confusion and thy issue’s shame.” ‭ “O Thetis’ son,” said he, “the vital flame ‭ Extinct at Ilion, far from th’ Argive fields, ‭ The style of Blessed to thy virtue yields. ‭ About thy fall the best of Greece and Troy ‭ Were sacrific’d to slaughter. Thy just joy ‭ Conceiv’d in battle with some worth forgot ‭ In such a death as great Apollo shot ‭ At thy encounters. Thy brave person lay ‭ Hid in a dusty whirlwind, that made way ‭ With human breaths spent in thy ruin’s state ‭ Thou, great, wert greatly valued in thy fate. ‭ All day we fought about thee; nor at all ‭ Had ceas’d our conflict, had not Jove let fall ‭ A storm that forc’d off our unwilling feet. ‭ But, having brought thee from the fight to fleet, ‭ Thy glorious person, bath’d and balm’d, we laid ‭ Aloft a bed; and round about thee paid ‭ The Greeks warm tears to thy deplor’d decease, ‭ Quite daunted, cutting all their curls’ increase. ‭ Thy death drave a divine voice through the seas ‭ That started up thy mother from the waves; ‭ And all the márine Godheads left their caves, ‭ Consorting to our fleet her rapt repair. ‭ The Greeks stood frighted to see sea and air ‭ And earth combine so in thy loss’s sense, ‭ Had taken ship and fled for ever thence, ‭ If old much-knowing-Nestor had not stay’d ‭ Their rushing off; his counsels having sway’d ‭ In all times former with such cause their courses; ‭ Who bade contain themselves, and trust their forces, ‭ For all they saw was Thetis come from sea, ‭ With others of the wat’ry progeny, ‭ To see and mourn for her deceaséd son. ‭ Which stay’d the fears that all to flight had won; ‭ And round about thee stood th’ old sea-God’s Seeds ‭ Wretchedly mourning, their immortal weeds ‭ Spreading upon thee. All the sacred Nine ‭ Of deathless Muses paid thee dues divine, ‭ By varied turns their heav’nly voices venting, ‭ All in deep passion for thy death consenting. ‭ And then of all our army not an eye ‭ You could have seen undrown’d in misery, ‭ The moving Muse so rul’d in ev’ry mind. ‭ Full seventeen days and nights our tears confin’d ‭ To celebration of thy mournéd end; ‭ Both men and Gods did in thy moan contend. ‭ The eighteenth day we spent about thy heap ‭ Of dying fire. Black oxen, fattest sheep ‭ We slew past number. Then the precious spoil, ‭ Thy corse, we took up, which with floods of oil ‭ And pleasant honey we embalm’d, and then ‭ Wrapp’d thee in those robes that the Gods did rain. ‭ In which we gave thee to the hallow’d flame; ‭ To which a number of heroical name, ‭ As prest to sacrifice their vital right ‭ To thy dead ruins while so bright they burn’d. ‭ Both foot and horse brake in, and fought and mourn’d ‭ In infinite tumult. But when all the night ‭ The rich flame lasted, and that wasted quite ‭ Thy body was with the enamour’d fire: ‭ We came in early morn, and an entire ‭ Collection made of ev’ry ivory bone; ‭ Which wash’d in wine, and giv’n fit unctión, ‭ A two-ear’d bowl of gold thy mother gave, ‭ By Bacchus giv’n her and did form receive ‭ From Vulcan’s famous hand, which, O renown’d ‭ Great Thetis’ son, with thy fair bones we crown’d ‭ Mix’d with the bones of Menœtiades ‭ And brave Antilochus; who, in decease ‭ Of thy Patroclus, was thy favour’s dear. ‭ About thee then a matchless sepulchre ‭ The sacred host of the Achaians rais’d ‭ Upon the Hellespont, where most it seiz’d, ‭ For height and conspicuity, the eyes ‭ Of living men and their posterities. ‭ Thy mother then obtain’d the Gods’ consent ‭ To institute an honour’d game, that spent ‭ The best approvement of our Grecian fames. ‭ In whose praise I must say that many games ‭ About heroës’ sepulchres mine eyes ‭ Have seen perform’d, but these bore off the prize ‭ With miracles to me from all before. ‭ In which thy silver-footed mother bore ‭ The institution’s name, but thy deserts, ‭ Being great with heav’n, caus’d all the eminent parts. ‭ And thus, through all the worst effects of Fate, ‭ Achilles’ fame ev’n Death shall propagate. ‭ While anyone shall lend the light an eye ‭ Divine Æacides shall never die. ‭ But wherein can these comforts be conceiv’d ‭ As rights to me? When, having quite achiev’d ‭ An end with safety, and with conquest, too, ‭ Of so unmatch’d a war, what none could do ‭ Of all our enemies there, at home a friend ‭ And wife have giv’n me inglorious end?” ‭ While these thus spake, the Argus-killing spy ‭ Brought-near Ulysses’ noble victory ‭ To their renew’d discourse, in all the ends ‭ The Wooers’ suffer’d, and show’d those his friends; ‭ Whom now amaze invaded with the view ‭ And made give back; yet Agamemnon knew ‭ Melanthius’ heir, much-fam’d Amphimedon, ‭ Who had in Ithaca guest-favours shown ‭ To great Atrides; who first spake, and said: ‭ “Amphimedon! What suff’rance hath been laid ‭ On your alive parts that hath made you make ‭ This land of darkness the retreat you take, ‭ So all together, all being like in years, ‭ Nor would a man have choos’d, of all the peers ‭ A city honours, men to make a part ‭ More strong for any object? Hath your smart ‭ Been felt from Neptune, being at sea—his wrath ‭ The winds and waves exciting to your scathe? ‭ Or have offensive men impos’d this fate— ‭ Your oxen driving, or your flock’s estate? ‭ Or for your city fighting and your wives, ‭ Have deaths untimely seiz’d your best-tim’d lives? ‭ Inform me truly. I was once your guest, ‭ When I and Menelaus had profest ‭ First arms for Ilion, and were come ashore ‭ On Ithaca, with purpose to implore ‭ Ulysses’ aid, that city-racing man, ‭ In wreak of the adult’rous Phrygian. ‭ Retain not you the time? A whole month’s date ‭ We spent at sea, in hope to instigate ‭ In our arrival old Laertes’ son, ‭ Whom, hardly yet, to our design we won.” ‭ The soul made answer: “Worthiest king of men, ‭ I well remember ev’ry passage then ‭ You now reduce to thought, and will relate ‭ The truth in whole form of our timeless fate: ‭ “We woo’d the wife of that long-absent king, ‭ Who (though her second marriage were a thing ‭ Of most hate to her) she would yet deny ‭ At no part our affections, nor comply ‭ With any in performance, but decreed, ‭ In her delays, the cruel Fates we feed. ‭ Her craft was this: She undertook to weave ‭ A funeral garment destin’d to receive ‭ The corse of old Laertes; being a task ‭ Of infinite labour, and which time would ask. ‭ In midst of whose attempt she caus’d our stay ‭ With this attraction: ‘Youths, that come in way ‭ Of honour’d nuptials to me, though my lord ‭ Abide amongst the dead, yet cease to board ‭ My choice for present nuptials, and sustain, ‭ Lest what is past me of this web be vain, ‭ Till all receive perfection. ’Tis a weed ‭ Dispos’d to wrap in at his funeral need ‭ The old Laertes; who, possessing much, ‭ Would, in his want of rites as fitting, touch ‭ My honour highly with each vulgar dame.’ ‭ Thus spake she, and persuaded; and her frame ‭ All-day she labour’d, her day’s work not small, ‭ But ev’ry night-time she unwrought it all. ‭ Three years continuing this imperfect task; ‭ But when the fourth year came her sleights could mask ‭ In no more covert, since her trusted maid ‭ Her whole deceit to our true note betray’d. ‭ With which surpriz’d, she could no more protract ‭ Her work’s perfection, but gave end exact ‭ To what remain’d, wash’d-up, and set thereon ‭ A gloss so bright that like the sun and moon ‭ The whole work show’d together. And when now ‭ Of mere necessity her honour’d vow ‭ She must make good to us, ill-fortune brought ‭ Ulysses home, who yet gave none one thought ‭ Of his arrival, but far-off at field ‭ Liv’d with his herdsman, nor his trust would yield ‭ Note of his person, but liv’d there as guest, ‭ Ragg’d as a beggar in that life profest. ‭ At length Telemachus left Pylos’ sand, ‭ And with a ship fetch’d soon his native land, ‭ When yet not home he went, but laid his way ‭ Up to his herdsman where his father lay; ‭ And where both laid our deaths. To town then bore ‭ The swine-herd and his King, the swain before, ‭ Telemachus in other ways bestow’d ‭ His course home first, t’ associate us that woo’d. ‭ The swain the King led after, who came on ‭ Raggéd and wretched, and still lean’d upon ‭ A borrow’d staff. At length he reach’d his home, ‭ Where (on the sudden and so wretched come) ‭ Nor we nor much our elders once did dream ‭ Of his return there, but did wrongs extreme ‭ Of words and blows to him; all which he bore ‭ With that old patience he had learn’d before. ‭ But when the mind of Jove had rais’d his own, ‭ His son and he fetch’d all their armour down, ‭ Fast-lock’d the doors, and, to prepare their use, ‭ He will’d his wife, for first mean, to produce ‭ His bow to us to draw; of which no one ‭ Could stir the string; himself yet set upon ‭ The deadly strength it held, drew all with ease, ‭ Shot through the steels, and then began to seize ‭ Our armless bosoms; striking first the breast ‭ Of king Antinous, and then the rest ‭ In heaps turn’d over; hopeful of his end ‭ Because some God, he knew, stood firm his friend. ‭ Nor prov’d it worse with him, but all in flood ‭ The pavement straight blush’d with our vital blood. ‭ And thus our souls came here; our bodies laid ‭ Neglected in his roofs, no word convey’d ‭ To any friend to take us home and give ‭ Our wounds fit balming, nor let such as live ‭ Entomb our deaths, and for our fortunes shed ‭ Those tears and dead-rites that renown the dead.” ‭ Atrides’ ghost gave answer: “O bless’d son ‭ Of old Laertes, thou at length hast won ‭ With mighty virtue thy unmatchéd wife. ‭ How good a knowledge, how untouch’d a life, ‭ Hath wise Penelope! How well she laid ‭ Her husband’s rights up, whom she lov’d a maid! ‭ For which her virtues shall extend applause, ‭ Beyond the circles frail mortality draws; ‭ The deathless in this vale of death comprising ‭ Her praise in numbers into infinites rising. ‭ The daughter Tyndarus begat begot ‭ No such chaste thoughts, but cut the virgin knot ‭ That knit her spouse and her with murd’rous swords. ‭ For which posterities shall put hateful words ‭ To notes of her that all her sex defam’d, ‭ And for her ill shall ev’n the good be blam’d.” ‭ To this effect these these digressions made ‭ In hell, earth’s dark and ever-hiding shade. ‭ Ulysses and his son, now past the town, ‭ Soon reach’d the field elaborately grown ‭ By old Laertes’ labour, when, with cares ‭ For his lost son, he left all court affairs, ‭ And took to this rude upland; which with toil ‭ He made a sweet and habitable soil; ‭ Where stood a house to him; about which ran, ‭ In turnings thick and labyrinthian, ‭ Poor hovels, where his necessary men ‭ That did those works (of pleasure to him then) ‭ Might sit, and eat, and sleep. In his own house ‭ An old Sicilian dame liv’d, studious ‭ To serve his sour age with her cheerful pains. ‭ Then said Ulysses to his son and swains: ‭ “Go you to town, and for your dinner kill ‭ The best swine ye can choose; myself will still ‭ Stay with my father, and assay his eye ‭ If my acknowledg’d truth it can descry, ‭ Or that my long time’s travel doth so change ‭ My sight to him that I appear as strange.” ‭ Thus gave he arms to them, and home they hied. ‭ Ulysses to the fruitful field applied ‭ His present place; nor found he Dolius there, ‭ His sons, or any servant, anywhere ‭ In all that spacious ground; all gone from thence ‭ Were dragging bushes to repair a fence, ‭ Old Dolius leading all. Ulysses found ‭ His father far above in that fair ground, ‭ Employ’d in proining of a plant; his weeds ‭ All torn and tatter’d, fit for homely deeds, ‭ But not for him. Upon his legs he wore ‭ Patch’d boots to guard him from the bramble’s gore; ‭ His hands had thorn-proof hedging mittens on; ‭ His head a goat-skin casque; through all which shone ‭ His heart giv’n over to abjectest moan. ‭ Him when Ulysses saw consum’d with age, ‭ And all the ensigns on him that the rage ‭ Of grief presented, he brake out in tears; ‭ And, taking stand then where a tree of pears ‭ Shot high his forehead over him, his mind ‭ Had much contention, if to yield to kind, ‭ Make straight way to his father, kiss, embrace, ‭ Tell his return, and put on all the face ‭ And fashion of his instant-told return; ‭ Or stay th’ impulsion, and the long day burn ‭ Of his quite loss giv’n in his father’s fear ‭ A little longer, trying first his cheer ‭ With some free dalliance, th’ earnest being so near. ‭ This course his choice preferr’d, and forth he went. ‭ His father then his aged shoulders bent ‭ Beneath what years had stoop’d, about a tree ‭ Busily digging: “O, old man,” said he, ‭ “You want no skill to dress and deck your ground, ‭ For all your plants doth order’d distance bound. ‭ No apple, pear, or olive, fig; or vine, ‭ Nor any plat or quarter you confine ‭ To grass or flow’rs stands empty of your care, ‭ Which shows exact in each peculiar; ‭ And yet (which let not move you) you bestow ‭ No care upon yourself, though to this show ‭ Of outward irksomeness to what you are ‭ You labour with an inward froward care, ‭ Which is your age, that should wear all without ‭ More neat and cherishing. I make no doubt ‭ That any sloth you use procures your lord ‭ To let an old man go so much abhorr’d ‭ In all his weeds; nor shines there in your look ‭ A fashion and a goodliness so took ‭ With abject qualities to merit this ‭ Nasty entreaty. Your resemblance is ‭ A very king’s, and shines through this retreat. ‭ You look like one that having wash’d and eat ‭ Should sleep securely, lying sweet and neat. ‭ It is the ground of age, when cares abuse it, ‭ To know life’s end, and, as ’tis sweet, so use it. ‭ “But utter truth, and tell what lord is he ‭ That rates your labour and your liberty? ‭ Whose orchard is it that you husband thus? ‭ Or quit me this doubt, for if Ithacus ‭ This kingdom claims for his, the man I found ‭ At first arrival here is hardly sound ‭ Of brain or civil, not enduring stay ‭ To tell nor hear me my inquiry out ‭ Of that my friend, if still he bore about ‭ His life and being, or were div’d to death, ‭ And in the house of him that harboureth ‭ The souls of men. For once he liv’d my guest; ‭ My land and house retaining interest ‭ In his abode there; where there sojourn’d none ‭ As guest from any foreign region ‭ Of more price with me. He deriv’d his race ‭ From Ithaca, and said his father was ‭ Laertes, surnam’d Arcesiades, ‭ I had him home, and all the offices ‭ Perform’d to him that fitted any friend, ‭ Whose proof I did to wealthy gifts extend: ‭ Seven talents gold; a bowl all-silver, set ‭ With pots of flowers; twelve robes that had no pleat! ‭ Twelve cloaks, or mantles, of delicious dye; ‭ Twelve inner weeds; twelve suits of tapestry. ‭ I gave him likewise women skill’d in use ‭ Of loom and needle, freeing him to choose ‭ Four the most fair.” His father, weeping, said: ‭ “Stranger! The earth to which you are convey’d ‭ Is Ithaca; by such rude men possess’d, ‭ Unjust and insolent, as first address’d ‭ To your encounter; but the gifts you gave ‭ Were giv’n, alas! to the ungrateful grave. ‭ If with his people, where you now arrive, ‭ Your fate had been to find your friend alive, ‭ You should have found like guest-rites from his hand, ‭ Like gifts, and kind pass to your wishéd land. ‭ But how long since receiv’d you for your guest ‭ Your friend, my son, who was th’ unhappiest ‭ Of all men breathing, if he were at all? ‭ O born when Fates and ill-aspects let fall ‭ A cruel influence for him! Far away ‭ From friends and country destin’d to allay. ‭ The sea-bred appetites, or, left ashore, ‭ To be by fowls and upland monsters tore, ‭ His life’s kind authors nor his wealthy wife ‭ Bemoaning, as behov’d, his parted life, ‭ Nor closing, as in honour’s course it lies ‭ To all men dead, in bed his dying eyes. ‭ But give me knowledge of your name and race. ‭ What city bred you? Where the anchoring-place ‭ Your ship now rides-at lies that shor’d you here ‭ And where your men? Or, if a passenger ‭ In other keels you came, who (giving land ‭ To your adventures here, some other strand ‭ To fetch in further course) have left to us ‭ Your welcome presence?” His reply was thus: ‭ “I am of Alybandé, where I hold ‭ My name’s chief house, to much renown extoll’d. ‭ My father Aphidantes, fam’d to spring ‭ From Polypemon, the Molossian king. ‭ My name Eperitus. My taking land ‭ On this fair Isle was rul’d by the command ‭ Of God or fortune, quite against consent ‭ Of my free purpose, that in course was bent ‭ For th’ isle Sicania. My ship is held ‭ Far from the city, near an ample field. ‭ And for Ulysses, since his pass from me ‭ ’Tis now five years. Unbless’d by destiny, ‭ That all this time hath had the fate to err! ‭ Though, at his parting, good birds did augur ‭ His putting-off, and on his right hand flew, ‭ Which to his passage my affection drew, ‭ His spirit joyful; and my hope was now ‭ To guest with him, and see his hand bestow ‭ Rites of our friendship.” This a cloud of grief ‭ Cast over all the forces of his life. ‭ With both his hands the burning dust he swept ‭ Up from the earth, which on his head he heapt, ‭ And fetch’d a sigh as in it life were broke. ‭ Which grieved his son, and gave so smart a stroke ‭ Upon his nostrils with the inward stripe, ‭ That up the vein rose there; and weeping ripe ‭ He was to see his sire feel such woe ‭ For his dissembled joy; which now let go, ‭ He sprung from earth, embrac’d and kiss’d his sire, ‭ And said: “O father! He of whom y’ enquire ‭ Am I myself, that, from you twenty years, ‭ Is now return’d. But do not break in tears, ‭ For now we must not forms of kind maintain, ‭ But haste and guard the substance. I have slain ‭ All my wife’s Wooers, so revenging now ‭ Their wrong so long time suffer’d. Take not you ‭ The comfort of my coming then to heart ‭ At this glad instant, but, in prov’d desert ‭ Of your grave judgment, give moan glad suspense, ‭ And on the sudden put this consequence ‭ In act as absolute, as all time went ‭ To ripening of your resolute assent.” ‭ All this haste made not his staid faith so free ‭ To trust his words; who said: “If you are he, ‭ Approve it by some sign.” “This scar then see,” ‭ Replied Ulysses, “giv’n me by the boar ‭ Slain in Parnassus, I being sent before ‭ By your’s and by my honour’d mother’s will, ‭ To see your sire Autolycus fulfill ‭ The gifts he vow’d at giving of my name. ‭ I’ll tell you, too, the trees, in goodly frame ‭ Of this fair orchard, that I ask’d of you ‭ Being yet a child, and follow’d for your show ‭ And name of ev’ry tree. You gave me then ‭ Of fig-trees forty, apple-bearers ten, ‭ Pear-trees thirteen, and fifty ranks of vine; ‭ Each one of which a season did confine ‭ For his best eating. Not a grape did grow ‭ That grew not there, and had his heavy brow ‭ When Jove’s fair daughters, the all ripening Hours, ‭ Gave timely date to it.” This charg’d the pow’rs ‭ Both of his knees and heart with such impression ‭ Of sudden comfort, that it gave possession ‭ Of all to Trance, the signs were all so true, ‭ And did the love that gave them so renew. ‭ He cast his arms about his son and sunk, ‭ The circle slipping to his feet; so shrunk ‭ Were all his age’s forces with the fire ‭ Of his young love rekindled. The old sire ‭ The son took up quite lifeless. But his breath ‭ Again respiring, and his soul from death ‭ His body’s pow’r recov’ring, out he cried, ‭ And said: “O Jupiter! I now have tried ‭ That still there live in heav’n rememb’ring Gods ‭ Of men that serve them; though the periods ‭ They set on their appearances are long ‭ In best men’s suff’rings, yet as sure as strong ‭ They are in comforts, be their strange delays ‭ Extended never so from days to days. ‭ Yet see the short joys or the soon-mix’d fears ‭ Of helps withheld by them so many years! ‭ For if the Wooers now have paid the pain ‭ Due to their impious pleasures, now again ‭ Extreme fear takes me, lest we straight shall see ‭ The Ithacensians here in mutiny, ‭ Their messengers dispatch’d to win to friend ‭ The Cephallenian cities.” “Do not spend ‭ Your thoughts on these cares,” said his suff’ring son, ‭ “But be of comfort, and see that course run ‭ That best may shun the worst. Our house is near, ‭ Telemachus and both his herdsmen there ‭ To dress our supper with their utmost haste; ‭ And thither haste we.” This said, forth they past, ‭ Came home, and found Telemachus at feast ‭ With both his swains; while who had done, all drest ‭ With baths and balms and royally array’d ‭ The old king was by his Sicilian maid. ‭ By whose side Pallas stood, his crook’d-age straight’ning, ‭ His flesh more plumping, and his looks enlight’ning. ‭ Who issuing then to view, his son admir’d ‭ The Gods’ aspects into his form inspir’d, ‭ And said: “O father, certainly some God ‭ By your addression in this state hath stood, ‭ More great, more rev’rend, rend’ring you by far ‭ At all your parts than of yourself you are!” ‭ “I would to Jove,” said he, “the Sun, and She ‭ That bears Jove’s shield, the state had stood with me ‭ That help’d me take-in the well-builded tow’rs ‭ Of strong Nericus (the Cephalian pow’rs ‭ To that fair city leading) two days past, ‭ While with the Wooers thy conflict did last, ‭ And I had then been in the Wooers’ wreak! ‭ I should have help’d thee so to render weak ‭ Their stubborn knees, that in thy joy’s desert ‭ Thy breast had been too little for thy heart.” ‭ This said, and supper order’d by their men, ‭ They sat to it; old Dolius ent’ring then, ‭ And with him, tried with labour, his sons came, ‭ Call’d by their mother, the Sicilian dame ‭ That brought them up and dress’d their father’s fare, ‭ As whose age grew, with it increas’d her care ‭ To see him serv’d as fitted. When thus set ‭ These men beheld Ulysses there at meat, ‭ They knew him, and astonish’d in the place ‭ Stood at his presence; who, with words of grace, ‭ Call’d to old Dolius, saying: “Come and eat, ‭ And banish all astonishment. Your meat ‭ Hath long been ready, and ourselves made stay, ‭ Expecting ever when your wishéd way ‭ Would reach amongst us.” This brought fiercely on ‭ Old Dolius from his stand; who ran upon, ‭ With both his arms abroad, the King, and kiss’d ‭ Of both his rapt up hands the either wrist, ‭ Thus welcoming his presence: “O my love, ‭ Your presence here, for which all wishes strove, ‭ No one expected. Ev’n the Gods have gone ‭ In guide before you to your mansión. ‭ Welcome, and all joys to your heart contend. ‭ Knows yet Penelope? Or shall we send ‭ Some one to tell her this?” “She knows,” said he, ‭ “What need these troubles, father, touch at thee?” ‭ Then came the sons of Dolius, and again ‭ Went over with their father’s entertain, ‭ Welcom’d, shook hands, and then to feast sat down. ‭ About which while they sat, about the town ‭ Fame flew, and shriek’d about the cruel death ‭ And fate the Wooers had sustain’d beneath ‭ Ulysses’ roofs. All heard; together all ‭ From hence and thence met in Ulysses’ hall, ‭ Short-breath’d and noiseful, bore out all the dead ‭ To instant burial, while their deaths were spread ‭ To other neighbour cities where they liv’d, ‭ From whence in swiftest fisher-boats arriv’d ‭ Men to transfer them home. In mean space here ‭ The heavy nobles all in council were; ‭ Where, met in much heap, up to all arose ‭ Extremely-griev’d Eupitheus so to lose ‭ His son Antinous, who, first of all, ‭ By great Ulysses’ hand had slaught’rous fall. ‭ Whose father, weeping for him, said: “O friends, ‭ This man hath author’d works of dismal ends, ‭ Long since conveying in his guide to Troy ‭ Good men, and many that did ships employ, ‭ All which are lost, and all their soldiers dead; ‭ And now the best men Cephallenia bred ‭ His hand hath slaughter’d. Go we then (before ‭ His ’scape to Pylos, or the Elians’ shore, ‭ Where rule the Epeans) ’gainst his horrid hand; ‭ For we shall grieve, and infamy will brand ‭ Our fames for ever, if we see our sons ‭ And brothers end in these confusions, ‭ Revenge left uninflicted. Nor will I ‭ Enjoy one day’s life more, but grieve and die ‭ With instant onset. Nor should you survive ‭ To keep a base and beastly name alive. ‭ Haste, then, lest flight prevent us.” This with tears ‭ His griefs advis’d, and made all sufferers ‭ In his affliction. But by this was come ‭ Up to the council from Ulysses’ home— ‭ When sleep had left them, which the slaughters there ‭ And their self-dangers from their eyes in fear ‭ Had two nights intercepted—those two men ‭ That just Ulysses sav’d out of the slain, ‭ Which Medon and the sacred singer were. ‭ These stood amidst the council; and the fear ‭ The slaughter had impress’d in either’s look ‭ Stuck still so ghastly, that amaze it strook ‭ Through ev’ry there beholder. To whose ears ‭ One thus enforc’d, in his fright, cause of theirs: ‭ “Attend me, Ithacensians! This stern fact ‭ Done by Ulysses was not put in act ‭ Without the Gods’ assistance. These self eyes ‭ Saw one of the immortal Deities ‭ Close by Ulysses, Mentor’s form put on ‭ At ev’ry part. And this sure Deity shone ‭ Now near Ulysses, setting on his bold ‭ And slaught’rous spirit, now the points controll’d ‭ Of all the Wooers’ weapons, round about ‭ The arm’d house whisking, in continual rout ‭ Their party putting, till in heaps they fell.” ‭ This news new fears did through their spirits impell, ‭ When Halitherses (honour’d Mastor’s son, ‭ Who of them all saw only what was done ‭ Present and future) the much-knowing man ‭ And aged heroë this plain course ran ‭ Amongst their counsels: “Give me likewise ear, ‭ And let me tell ye, friends, that these ills bear ‭ On your malignant spleens their sad effects, ‭ Who not what I persuaded gave respects, ‭ Nor what the people’s pastor, Mentor, said,— ‭ That you should see your issues’ follies stay’d ‭ In those foul courses, by their petulant life ‭ The goods devouring, scandalling the wife ‭ Of no mean person, who, they still would say, ‭ Could never more see his returning-day. ‭ Which yet appearing now, now give it trust, ‭ And yield to my free counsels: Do not thrust ‭ Your own safe persons on the acts your sons ‭ So dearly bought, lest their confusions ‭ On your lov’d heads your like addictions draw.” ‭ This stood so far from force of any law ‭ To curb their loose attempts, that much the more ‭ They rush’d to wreak, and made rude tumult roar. ‭ The greater part of all the court arose; ‭ Good counsel could not ill designs dispose. ‭ Eupitheus was persuader of the course, ‭ Which, cómplete-arm’d, they put in present force; ‭ The rest sat still in council. These men met ‭ Before the broad town, in a place they set ‭ All girt in arms; Eupitheus choosing chief ‭ To all their follies, who put grief to grief, ‭ And in his slaughter’d son’s revenge did burn. ‭ But Fate gave never feet to his return, ‭ Ordaining there his death. Then Pallas spake ‭ To Jove, her Father, with intent to make ‭ His will high arbiter of th’ act design’d, ‭ And ask’d of him what his unsearchéd mind ‭ Held undiscover’d? If with arms, and ill, ‭ And grave encounter he, would first fulfill ‭ His sacred purpose, or both parts combine ‭ In peaceful friendship? He ask’d: “Why incline ‭ These doubts thy counsels? Hast not thou decreed ‭ That Ithacus should come and give his deed ‭ The glory of revenge on these and theirs? ‭ Perform thy will; the frame of these affairs ‭ Have this fit issue: When Ulysses’ hand ‭ Hath reach’d full wreak, his then renown’d command ‭ Shall reign for ever, faithful truces strook ‭ ’Twixt him and all; for ev’ry man shall brook ‭ His sons’ and brothers’ slaughters; by our mean ‭ To send Oblivion in, expunging clean ‭ The character of enmity in them all, ‭ As in best leagues before. Peace, festival, ‭ And riches in abundance, be the state ‭ That crowns the close of wise Ulysses’ Fate.” ‭ This spurr’d the free, who from heav’n’s continent ‭ To th’ Ithacensian isle made straight descent. ‭ Where, dinner past, Ulysses said: “Some one ‭ Look out to see their nearness.” Dolius’ son ‭ Made present speed abroad, and saw them nigh, ‭ Ran back, and told, bade arm; and instantly ‭ Were all in arms. Ulysses’ part was four, ‭ And six more sons of Dolius; all his pow’r ‭ Two only more, which were his aged sire ‭ And like-year’d Dolius, whose lives’-slak’d fire ‭ All-white had left their heads, yet, driv’n by need, ‭ Made soldiers both of necessary deed. ‭ And now, all-girt in arms, the ports set wide, ‭ They sallied forth, Ulysses being their guide; ‭ And to them in the instant Pallas came, ‭ In form and voice like Mentor, who a flame ‭ Inspir’d of comfort in Ulysses’ heart ‭ With her seen presence. To his son, apart, ‭ He thus then spake: “Now, son, your eyes shall see, ‭ Expos’d in slaught’rous fight, the enemy, ‭ Against whom who shall best serve will be seen. ‭ Disgrace not then your race, that yet hath been ‭ For force and fortitude the foremost tried ‭ Of all earth’s offsprings.” His true son replied: ‭ “Yourself shall see, lov’d father, if you please, ‭ That my deservings shall in nought digress ‭ From best fame of our race’s foremost merit.” ‭ The old king sprung for joy to hear his spirit, ‭ And said: “O lov’d Immortals, what a day ‭ Do your clear bounties to my life display! ‭ I joy, past measure, to behold my son ‭ And nephew close in such contention ‭ Of virtues martial.” Pallas, standing near, ‭ Said: “O my friend! Of all supremely dear, ‭ Seed of Arcesius, pray to Jove and Her ‭ That rules in arms, his daughter, and a dart, ‭ Spritefully brandish’d, hurl at th’ adverse part.” ‭ This said, he pray’d; and she a mighty force ‭ Inspir’d within him, who gave instant course ‭ To his brave-brandish’d lance, which struck the brass ‭ That cheek’d Eupitheus’ casque, and thrust his pass ‭ Quite through his head; who fell, and sounded falling, ‭ His arms the sound again from earth recalling. ‭ Ulysses and his son rush’d on before, ‭ And with their both-way-headed darts did gore ‭ Their enemies’ breasts so thick, that all had gone ‭ The way of slaughter, had not Pallas thrown ‭ Her voice betwixt them, charging all to stay ‭ And spare expense of blood. Her voice did fray ‭ The blood so from their faces that it left ‭ A greenish paleness; all their hands it reft ‭ Of all their weapons, falling thence to earth; ‭ And to the common mother of their birth, ‭ The city, all fled, in desire to save ‭ The lives yet left them. Then Ulysses gave ‭ A horrid shout, and like Jove’s eagle flew ‭ In fiery pursuit, till Saturnius threw ‭ His smoking lightning ’twixt them, that had fall ‭ Before Minerva, who then out did call ‭ Thus to Ulysses: “Born of Jove! Abstain ‭ From further bloodshed. Jove’s hand in the slain ‭ Hath equall’d in their pains their prides to thee. ‭ Abstain, then, lest you move the Deity.” ‭ Again then, ’twixt both parts the Seed of Jove, ‭ Athenian Pallas, of all future love ‭ A league compos’d, and for her form took choice ‭ Of Mentor’s likeness both in limb and voice. ‭ THE END OF THE TWENTY-FOURTH AND LAST BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS. ‭ “SO WROUGHT DIVINE ULYSSES”

‭ So wrought divine Ulysses through his woes, ‭ So crown’d the light with him his mother's throes, ‭ As through his great Renowner I have wrought, ‭ And my safe sail to sacred anchor brought. ‭ Nor did the Argive ship more burthen feel, ‭ That bore the care of all men in her keel, ‭ That my adventurous bark; the Colchian fleece ‭ Not half so precious as this Soul of Greece, ‭ In whose Songs I have made our shores rejoice, ‭ And Greek itself vail to our English voice. ‭ Yet this inestimable Pearl will all ‭ Our dunghill chanticleers but obvious call; ‭ Each modern scraper this Gem scratching by, ‭ His oat preferring far. Let such let lie. ‭ So scorn the stars the clouds, as true-soul'd men ‭ Despise deceivers. For, as clouds would fain ‭ Obscure the stars, yet (regions left below ‭ With all their envies) bar them but of show, ‭ For they shine ever, and will shine, when they ‭ Dissolve in sinks, make mire, and temper clay; ‭ So puff'd impostors (our muse-vapours) strive, ‭ With their self-blown additions, to deprive ‭ Men solid of their full, though infinite short ‭ They come in their compare, and false report ‭ Of levelling or touching at their light, ‭ That still retain their radiance, and clear right, ‭ And shall shine ever, when, alas! one blast ‭ Of least disgrace tears down th' impostor's mast, ‭ His tops and tacklings, his whole freight, and he ‭ Confiscate to the fishy monarchy, ‭ His trash, by foolish Fame brought now, from hence ‭ Given to serve mackarel forth, and frankincense. ‭ Such then, and any too soft-eyed to see, ‭ Through works so solid, any worth, so free ‭ Of all the learn'd professions, as is fit ‭ To praise at such price, let him think his wit ‭ Too weak to rate it, rather than oppose ‭ With his poor pow'rs Ages and Hosts of Foes. ‭ TO THE RUINS OF TROY AND GREECE

‭ Troy rac'd, Greece wrack'd, who mourns? Ye both may boast, ‭ Else th' Iliads and Odysseys had been lost! ‭ AD DEUM

‭ The Only True God (betwixt Whom and me ‭ I only bound my comfort, and agree ‭ With all my actions) only truly knows, ‭ And can judge truly, me, with all that goes ‭ To all my faculties, In Whose free Grace ‭ And Inspiration I only place ‭ All means to know (with my means, study, pray’r, ‭ In and from His Word taken) stair by stair, ‭ In all continual contentation, rising ‭ To knowledge of His Truth, and practising ‭ His Will in it, with my sole Saviour’s Aid, ‭ Guide, and Enlight’ning; nothing done, nor said, ‭ Nor thought, that good is, but acknowledg’d by ‭ His Inclination, Skill, and Faculty. ‭ By which, to find the way out to His Love ‭ Past all the worlds, the sphere is where doth move ‭ My studies, pray’rs, and pow’rs; no pleasure taken ‭ But sign’d by His, for which, my blood forsaken, ‭ My soul I cleave to, and what (in His Blood ‭ That hath redeem’d, cleans’d, taught her) fits her good. ‭ DEO OPT. MAX. GLORIA BATRACHOMYOMACHIAIA ‭ THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY ‭ TO MY EVER MOST-WORTHY-TO-BE-MOST HONOURED ‭ LORD, THE EARL OF SOMERSET, ETC.

‭ Not forc’d by fortune, but since your free mind ‭ (Made by affliction) rests in choice resign’d ‭ To calm retreat, laid quite beneath the wind ‭ Of grace and glory, I well know, my Lord, ‭ You would not be entitled to a word ‭ That might a thought remove from your repose, ‭ To thunder and spit flames, as greatness does, ‭ For all the trumps that still tell where he goes. ‭ Of which trumps Dedication being one, ‭ Methinks I see you start to hear it blown. ‭ But this is no such trump as summons lords ‭ ’Gainst Envy’s steel to draw their leaden swords, ‭ Or ’gainst hare-lipp’d Detraction, Contempt, ‭ All which from all resistance stand exempt, ‭ It being as hard to sever wrong from merit, ‭ As meat-indu’d from blood, or blood from spirit. ‭ Nor in the spirit’s chariot rides the soul ‭ In bodies chaste, with more divine control, ‭ Nor virtue shines more in a lovely face, ‭ Than true desert is stuck off with disgrace. ‭ And therefore Truth itself, that had to bless ‭ The merit of it all, Almightiness, ‭ Would not protect it from the bane and ban ‭ Of all moods most distraught and Stygian; ‭ As counting it the crown of all desert, ‭ Borne to heaven, to take of earth, no part ‭ Of false joy here, for joys-there-endless troth, ‭ Nor sell his birthright for a mess of broth. ‭ But stay and still sustain, and his bliss bring, ‭ Like to the hatching of the blackthorn’s spring, ‭ With bitter frosts, and smarting hailstorms, forth. ‭ Fates love bees’ labours; only Pain crown's Worth. ‭ This Dedication calls no greatness, then, ‭ To patron this greatness-creating pen, ‭ Nor you to add to your dead calm a breath, ‭ For those arm’d angels, that in spite of death ‭ Inspir’d those flow’rs that wrought this Poet’s wreath, ‭ Shall keep it ever, Poesy’s steepest star, ‭ As in Earth’s flaming walls, Heaven's sevenfold Car, ‭ From all the wilds of Neptune’s wat’ry sphere, ‭ For ever guards the Erymanthian bear. ‭ Since then your Lordship settles in your shade ‭ A life retir’d, and no retreat is made ‭ But to some strength, (for else ’tis no retreat, ‭ But rudely running from your battle’s heat) ‭ I give this as your strength; your strength, my Lord, ‭ In counsels and examples, that afford ‭ More guard than whole hosts of corporeal pow’r, ‭ And more deliverance teach the fatal hour. ‭ Turn not your med’cine then to your disease, ‭ By your too set and slight repulse of these, ‭ The adjuncts of your matchless Odysses; ‭ Since on that wisest mind of man relies ‭ Refuge from all life’s infelicities. ‭ Nor sing these such division from them, ‭ But that these spin the thread of the same stream ‭ From one self distaff’s stuff; for Poesy’s pen, ‭ Through all themes, is t’ inform the lives of men; ‭ All whose retreats need strengths of all degrees; ‭ Without which, had you even Herculean knees, ‭ Your foes’ fresh charges would at length prevail, ‭ To leave your noblest suff’rance no least sail. ‭ Strength then the object is of all retreats; ‭ Strength needs no friends’ trust; strength your foes defeats. ‭ Retire to strength, then, if eternal things, ‭ And y’are eternal; for our knowing springs ‭ Flow into those things that we truly know, ‭ Which being eternal, we are render’d so. ‭ And though your high-fix’d light pass infinite far ‭ Th’ adviceful guide of my still-trembling star, ‭ Yet hear what my discharg’d piece must foretel, ‭ Standing your poor and perdue sentinel. ‭ Kings may perhaps wish even your beggar’s-voice ‭ To their eternities, how scorn’d a choice ‭ Soever now it lies; and (dead) I may ‭ Extend your life to light’s extremest ray. ‭ If not, your Homer yet past doubt shall make ‭ Immortal, like himself, your bounty's stake ‭ Put in my hands, to propagate your fame; ‭ Such virtue reigns in such united name. ‭ Retire to him then for advice, and skill, ‭ To know things call’d worst, best; and best, most ill. ‭ Which known, truths best choose, and retire to still. ‭ And as our English general, (whose name [1] ‭ Shall equal interest find in th’ house of fame ‭ With all Earth's great’st commanders,) in retreat ‭ To Belgian Gant, stood all Spain’s armies’ heat ‭ By Parma led, though but one thousand strong; ‭ Three miles together thrusting through the throng ‭ Of th’ enemy's horse, still pouring on their fall ‭ ’Twixt him and home, and thunder'd through them all; ‭ The Gallic Monsieur standing on the wall, ‭ And Wond’ring at his dreadful discipline, ‭ Fir’d with a valour that spit spirit divine; ‭ In five battalions ranging all his men, ‭ Bristl'd with pikes, and flank’d with flankers ten; ‭ Gave fire still in his rear; retir’d, and wrought ‭ Down to his fix’d strength still; retir’d and fought; ‭ All the battalions of the enemy's horse ‭ Storming upon him still their fieriest force; ‭ Charge upon charge laid fresh; he, fresh as day, ‭ Repulsing all, and forcing glorious way ‭ Into the gates, that gasp’d, (as swoons for air,) ‭ And took their life in, with untouch’d repair:— ‭ So fight out, sweet Earl, your retreat in peace; ‭ No ope-war equals that where privy prease ‭ Of never-number’d odds if enemy, ‭ Arm’d all by envy, in blind ambush lie, ‭ To rush out like an opening threat’ning sky, ‭ Broke all in meteors round about your ears. ‭ ’Gainst which, though far from hence, through all your rears, ‭ Have fires prepar’d; wisdom with wisdom flank, ‭ And all your forces range in present rank; ‭ Retiring as you now fought in your strength, ‭ From all the force laid, in time's utmost length, ‭ To charge, and basely come on you behind. ‭ The doctrine of all which you here shall find, ‭ And in the true glass of a human mind. ‭ Your Odysses, the body letting see ‭ All his life past, through infelicity, ‭ And manage of it all. In which to friend, ‭ The full Muse brings you both the prime and end ‭ Of all arts ambient in the orb of man; ‭ Which never darkness most Cimmerian ‭ Can give eclipse, since, blind, he all things saw, ‭ And to all ever since liv’d lord and law. ‭ And through our mere-learn’d men; and modern wise, ‭ Taste not poor Poesy’s ingenuities, ‭ Being crusted with their covetous leprosies, ‭ But hold her pains worse than the spiders’ work, ‭ And lighter than the shadow of a cork, ‭ Yet th’ ancient learn’d, heat with celestial fire, ‭ Affirms her flames so sacred and entire, ‭ That not without God's greatest grace she can ‭ Fall in the wid’st capacity of man. ‭ If yet the vile soul of this verminous time ‭ Love more the sale-muse, and the squirrel's chime, ‭ Than this full sphere of poesy’s sweetest prime, ‭ Give them unenvied their vain vein and vent, ‭ And rest your wings in his approv’d ascent ‭ That yet was never reach’d, nor ever fell ‭ Into affections bought with things that sell, ‭ Being the sun's flow’r, and wrapt so in his sky ‭ He cannot yield to every candle’s eye.

‭Whose most worthy discoveries, to your lordship's judicial ‭perspective, in most subdue humility submitteth, ‭GEORGE CHAPMAN.

‭[1] A simile illustrating the most renowned service of General Norris ‭in his retreat before Gant, never before made sacred to memory. ‭ THE OCCASION OF THIS IMPOSED CROWNE

‭After this not only Prime of Poets, but Philosophers, had written ‭his two great poems of Iliads and Odysses; which (for their first ‭lights born before all learning) were worthily called the Sun and ‭Moon of the Earth; finding no compensation, he writ in contempt ‭of men this ridiculous poem of Vermin, giving them nobility of ‭birth, valorous elocution not inferior to his heroes. At which the ‭Gods themselves, put in amaze, called councils about their ‭assistance of either army, and the justice of their quarrels, even to ‭the mounting of Jove’s artillery against them, and discharge of his ‭three-forked flashes; and all for the drowning of a mouse. After ‭which slight and only recreative touch, he betook him seriously to ‭the honour of the Gods, in Hymns resounding all their peculiar ‭titles, jurisdictions, and dignities; which he illustrates at all parts, ‭as he had been continually conversant amongst them; and ‭whatsoever authentic Poesy he omitted in the episodes contained in ‭his Iliads and Odysses, he comprehends and concludes in his ‭Hymns and Epigrams. All his observance and honour of the Gods, ‭rather moved their envies against him, than their rewards, or ‭respects of his endeavours. And so like a man verecundi ingenii ‭(which he witnesseth of himself) he lived unhonoured and needy ‭till his death; and yet notwithstanding all men’s servile and ‭manacled miseries, to his most absolute and never-equalled merit, ‭yea even bursten profusion to imposture and impiety, hear our ‭ever-the-same intranced, and never-sleeping, Master of the Muses, ‭to his last accents, incomparably singing.

‭ BATRACHOMYOMACHIA ‭ ‭ Ent’ring the fields, first let my vows call on ‭ The Muses’ whole quire out of Helicon ‭ Into my heart, for such a poem’s sake, ‭ As lately I did in my tables take, ‭ And put into report upon my knees. ‭ A fight so fierce, as might in all degrees ‭ Fit Mars himself, and his tumultuous hand, ‭ Glorying to dart to th’ ears of every land ‭ Of all the voice-divided; [1] and to show ‭ How bravely did both Frogs and Mice bestow ‭ In glorious fight their forces, even the deeds ‭ Daring to imitate of Earth’s Giant Seeds. ‭ Thus then men talk’d; this seed the strife begat: ‭ The Mouse once dry, and ’scaped the dangerous cat, ‭ Drench’d in the neighbour lake her tender beard, ‭ To taste the sweetness of the wave it rear’d. ‭ The far-famed Fen-affecter, seeing him, said: ‭ “Ho, stranger! What are you, and whence, that tread ‭ This shore of ours? Who brought you forth? Reply ‭ What truth may witness, lest I find you lie. ‭ If worth fruition of my love and me, ‭ I’ll have thee home, and hospitality ‭ Of feast and gift, good and magnificent, ‭ Bestow on thee; for all this confluent ‭ Resounds my royalty; my name, the great ‭ In blown-up-count’nances and looks of threat, ‭ Physignathus, [2] adored of all Frogs here ‭ All their days’ durance, and the empire bear ‭ Of all their beings; mine own being begot ‭ By royal Peleus, [3] mix’d in nuptial knot ‭ With fair Hydromedusa, [4] on the bounds ‭ Near which Eridanus [5] his race resounds. ‭ And thee mine eye makes my conceit inclined ‭ To reckon powerful both in form and mind, ‭ A sceptre-bearer, and past others far ‭ Advanc’d in all the fiery fights of war. ‭ Come then, thy race to my renown commend.” ‭ The Mouse made answer: “Why inquires my friend? ‭ For what so well know men and Deities, ‭ And all the wing’d affecters of the skies? ‭ Psicharpax [6] I am call’d; Troxartes’ [7] seed, ‭ Surnamed the mighty-minded. She that freed ‭ Mine eyes from darkness was Lichomyle, [8] ‭ King Pternotroctes’ [9] daughter, showing me, ‭ Within an aged hovel, the young light, ‭ Fed me with figs and nuts, and all the height ‭ Of varied viands. But unfold the cause, ‭ Why, ’gainst similitude’s most equal laws ‭ Observed in friendship, thou mak’st me thy friend? ‭ Thy life the waters only help t’ extend; ‭ Mine, whatsoever men are used to eat, ‭ Takes part with them at shore; their purest cheat, ‭ Thrice boulted, kneaded, and subdued in paste, ‭ In clean round kymnels, cannot be so fast ‭ From my approaches kept but in I eat; ‭ Nor cheesecakes full of finest Indian wheat, ‭ That crusty-weeds [10] wear, large as ladies’ trains; ‭ Liverings, [11] white-skinn’d as ladies; nor the strains, ‭ Of press’d milk, renneted; nor collops cut ‭ Fresh from the flitch; nor junkets, such as put ‭ Palates divine in appetite; nor any ‭ Of all men’s delicates, though ne’er so many ‭ Their cooks devise them, who each dish see deckt ‭ With all the dainties all strange soils affect. [12] ‭ Yet am I not so sensual to fly ‭ Of fields embattled the most fiery cry, ‭ But rush out straight, and with the first in fight ‭ Mix in adventure. No man with affright ‭ Can daunt my forces, though his body be ‭ or never so immense a quantity, ‭ But making up, even to his bed, access, ‭ His fingers’ ends dare with my teeth compress, ‭ His feet taint likewise, and so soft seize both ‭ They shall not taste th’ impression of a tooth. ‭ Sweet sleep shall hold his own in every eye ‭ Where my tooth takes his tartest liberty. ‭ But two there are, that always, far and near, ‭ Extremely still control my force with fear, ‭ The Cat, and Night-hawk, who much scathe confer ‭ On all the outrays where for food I err. ‭ Together with the straits-still-keeping trap, [13] ‭ Where lurks deceitful and set-spleen’d mishap. ‭ But most of all the Cat constrains my fear, ‭ Being ever apt t’ assault me everywhere; ‭ For by that hole that hope says I shall ’scape, ‭ At that hole ever she commits my rape. ‭ The best is yet, I eat no pot-herb grass, ‭ Nor radishes, nor coloquintidas, ‭ Nor still-green beets, nor parsley; which you make ‭ Your dainties still, that live upon the lake.” ‭ The Frog replied: “Stranger, your boasts creep all ‭ Upon their bellies; though to our lives fall ‭ Much more miraculous meats by lake and land, ‭ Jove tend’ring our lives with a twofold hand, ‭ Enabling us to leap ashore for food, ‭ And hide us straight in our retreatful flood. ‭ Which, if you will serve, you may prove with ease. ‭ I’ll take you on my shoulders; which fast seize, ‭ If safe arrival at my house y’ intend.” ‭ He stoop’d, and thither spritely did ascend, ‭ Clasping his golden neck, that easy seat ‭ Gave to his sally; who was jocund yet, ‭ Seeing the safe harbours of the king so near, ‭ And he a swimmer so exempt from peer. ‭ But when he sunk into the purple wave, ‭ He mourn’d extremely, and did much deprave ‭ Unprofitable penitence; his hair ‭ Tore by the roots up, labour’d for the air ‭ With his feet fetch’d up to his belly close; ‭ His heart within him panted out repose, ‭ For th’ insolent plight in which his state did stand; ‭ Sigh’d bitterly, and long’d to greet the land, ‭ Forced by the dire need of his freezing fear. ‭ First, on the waters he his tail did stere, ‭ Like to a stern; then drew it like an oar, ‭ Still praying the Gods to set him safe ashore; ‭ Yet sunk he midst the red waves more and more, ‭ And laid a throat out to his utmost height; ‭ Yet in forced speech he made his peril slight, ‭ And thus his glory with his grievance strove: ‭ “Not in such choice state was the charge of love ‭ Borne by the bull, when to the Cretan shore ‭ He swum Europa through the wavy roar, ‭ As this Frog ferries me, his pallid breast ‭ Bravely advancing, and his verdant crest ‭ (Submitted to my seat) made my support, ‭ Through his white waters, to his royal court.” ‭ But on the sudden did apparance make ‭ An horrid spectacle,—a Water-snake ‭ Thrusting his freckled neck above the lake. ‭ Which seen to both, away Physignathus Diveded to his deeps, as no way conscious ‭ Of whom he left to perish in his lake, ‭ But shunn’d black fate himself, and let him take ‭ The blackest of it; who amidst the fen ‭ Swum with his breast up, hands held up in vain, ‭ Cried Peepe, and perish’d; sunk the waters oft, ‭ And often with his sprawlings came aloft, ‭ Yet no way kept down death’s relentless force, ‭ But, full of water, made an heavy corse. ‭ Before he perish’d yet, he threaten’d thus: ‭ “Thou lurk’st not yet from heaven, Physignathus, ‭ Though yet thou hid’st here, that hast cast from thee, ‭ As from a rock, the shipwrack’d life of me, ‭ Though thou thyself no better was than I, ‭ O worst of things, at any faculty, ‭ Wrastling or race. But, for thy perfidy ‭ In this my wrack, Jove bears a wreakful eye; ‭ And to the host of Mice thou pains shalt pay, ‭ Past all evasion.” This his life let say, ‭ And left him to the waters. Him beheld ‭ Lichopinax, [14] placed in the pleasing field, ‭ Who shriek’d extremely, ran and told the Mice; ‭ Who having heard his wat’ry destinies, ‭ Pernicious anger pierced the hearts of all, ‭ And then their heralds forth they sent to call ‭ A council early, at Troxartes’ house, ‭ Sad father of this fatal shipwrack’d Mouse; ‭ Whose dead corse upwards swum along the lake, ‭ Nor yet, poor wretch, could be enforced to make ‭ The shore his harbour, but the mid-main Swum. ‭ When now, all haste made, with first morn did come ‭ All to set council; in which first rais’d head ‭ Troxartes, angry for his son, and said: ‭ “O friends, though I alone may seem to bear ‭ All the infortune, yet may all met here ‭ Account it their case. But ’tis true, I am ‭ In chief unhappy, that a triple flame ‭ Of life feel put forth, in three famous sons; ‭ The first, the chief in our confusions, ‭ The Cat, made rape of, caught without his hole: ‭ The second, Man, made with a cruel soul, ‭ Brought to his ruin with a new-found sleight, ‭ And a most wooden engine of deceit, ‭ They term a Trap, mere murth’ress of our Mice. ‭ The last, that in my love held special price, ‭ And his rare mother’s, this Physignathus ‭ (With false pretext of wafting to his house) ‭ Strangled in chief deeps of his bloody stream. ‭ Come then, haste all, and issue out on them, ‭ Our bodies deck’d in our Dædalean arms.” ‭ This said, his words thrust all up in alarms, ‭ And Mars himself, that serves the cure of war, ‭ Made all in their appropriates circular. ‭ First on each leg the green shales of a bean ‭ They closed for boots, that sat exceeding clean; [15] ‭ The shales they broke ope, boothaling by night, ‭ And ate the beans; their jacks art exquisite ‭ Had shown in them, being cats’ skins, everywhere ‭ Quilted with quills; their fenceful bucklers were ‭ The middle rounds of can’sticks; but their spear ‭ A huge long needle was, that could not bear ‭ The brain of any but be Mars his own ‭ Mortal invention; their heads’ arming crown ‭ Was vessel to the kernel of a nut. ‭ And thus the Mice their powers in armour put. ‭ This the Frogs hearing, from the water all ‭ Issue to one place, and a council call ‭ Of wicked war; consulting what should be ‭ Cause to this murmur and strange mutiny. ‭ While this was question’d, near them made his stand ‭ An herald with a sceptre in his hand, ‭ Embasichytrus [16] call’d, that fetch’d his kind ‭ From Tyroglyphus [17] with the mighty mind, ‭ Denouncing ill-named war in these high terms: ‭ “O Frogs! the Mice send threats to you of arms, ‭ And bid me bid ye battle and fix’d fight; ‭ Their eyes all wounded with Psicharpax’ sight ‭ Floating your waters, whom your king hath kill’d, ‭ And therefore all prepare for force of field, ‭ You that are best born whosoever held.” ‭ This said, he sever’d: his speech firing th’ ears ‭ Of all the Mice, but freez’d the Frogs with fears, ‭ Themselves conceiting guilty; whom the king ‭ Thus answer’d, rising, “Friends! I did not bring ‭ Psicharpax to his end; he, wantoning ‭ Upon our waters, practising to swim, ‭ Aped us, [18] and drown’d without my sight of him. ‭ And yet these worst of vermin accuse me, ‭ Though no way guilty. Come, consider we ‭ How we may ruin these deceitful Mice. ‭ For my part, I give voice to this advice, ‭ As seeming fittest to direct our deeds: ‭ Our bodies decking with our arming weeds, ‭ Let all our pow’rs stand rais’d in steep’st repose ‭ Of all our shore; that, when they charge us close, ‭ We may the helms snatch off from all so deckt, ‭ Daring our onset, and them all deject ‭ Down to our waters; who, not knowing the sleight. ‭ To dive our soft deeps, may be strangled straight, ‭ And we triumphing may a trophy rear, ‭ Of all the Mice that we have slaughter’d here.” ‭ These words put all in arms; and mallow leaves ‭ They drew upon their legs, for arming greaves. [19] ‭ Their curets, broad green beets; their bucklers were ‭ Good thick-leaved cabbage, proof ’gainst any spear; ‭ Their spears sharp bulrushes, of which were all ‭ Fitted with long ones; their parts capital ‭ They hid in subtle cockleshells from blows. ‭ And thus all arm’d, the steepest shores they chose ‭ T’ encamp themselves; where lance with lance they lined, ‭ And brandish’d bravely, each Frog full of mind. ‭ Then Jove call’d all Gods in his flaming throne, ‭ And show’d all all this preparation ‭ For resolute war; these able soldiers, ‭ Many, and great, all shaking lengthful spears, ‭ In show like Centaurs, Or the Giants’ host. ‭ When, sweetly smiling, he inquired who, most ‭ Of all th’ Immortals, pleased to add their aid ‭ To Frogs or Mice; and thus to Pallas said: ‭ “O Daughter! Must not your needs aid these Mice, ‭ That, with the odours and meat sacrifice ‭ Used in your temple, endless triumphs make, ‭ And serve you for your sacred victuals’ sake?” ‭ Pallas replied: “O Father, never I ‭ Will aid the Mice in any misery. ‭ So many mischiefs by them I have found, ‭ Eating the cotton that my distaffs crown’d, [20] ‭ My lamps still haunting to devour the oil. ‭ But that which most my mind eats, is their spoil ‭ Made of a veil, that me in much did stand, ‭ On which bestowing an elaborate hand, ‭ A fine woof working of as pure a thread; ‭ Such holes therein their petulancies fed ‭ That, putting it to darning, when ’twas done, ‭ The darner a most dear pay stood upon ‭ For his so dear pains, laid down instantly; ‭ Or, to forbear, exacted usury. [21] ‭ So, borrowing from my fane the weed I wove, ‭ I can by no means th’ usurous darner move ‭ To let me have the mantle to restore. ‭ And this is it that rubs the angry sore ‭ Of my offence took at these petulant Mice. ‭ Nor will I yield the Frogs’ wants my supplies, ‭ For their infirm minds that no confines keep; ‭ For I from war retir’d, and wanting sleep, ‭ All leap’d ashore in tumult, nor would stay ‭ Till one wink seized mine eyes, and so I lay ‭ Sleepless, and pain’d with headache, till first light ‭ The cock had crow’d up. Therefore, to the fight ‭ Let no God go assistant, lest a lance ‭ Wound whosoever offers to advance, ‭ Or wishes but their aid, that scorn all foes; ‭ Should any God’s access their spirits oppose. ‭ Sit we then pleased to see from heaven their fight.” ‭ She said, and all Gods join’d in her delight. ‭ And now both hosts to one field drew the jar, ‭ Both heralds bearing the ostents of war. ‭ And then the wine-gnats, [22] that shrill trumpets sound, ‭ Terribly rung out the encounter round; ‭ Jove thund’red; all heaven sad war’s sign resounded. ‭ And first Hypsiboas [23] Lichenor [24] wounded, ‭ Standing th’ impression of the first in fight. ‭ His lance did in his liver’s midst alight, ‭ Along his belly. Down he fell; his face ‭ His fall on that part sway’d, and all the grace ‭ Of his soft hair fil’d with disgraceful dust. ‭ Then Troglodytes [25] his thick javelin thrust ‭ In Pelion’s [26] bosom, bearing him to ground, ‭ Whom sad death seiz’d; his soul flew through his wound. ‭ Seutlæus [27] next Embasichytros slew, ‭ His heart through-thrusting. Then Artophagus [28] threw ‭ His lance at Polyphon, [29] and struck him quite ‭ Through his mid-belly; down he fell upright, ‭ And from his fair limbs took his soul her flight. ‭ Limnocharis, [30] beholding Polyphon ‭ Thus done to death, did, with as round a stone ‭ As that the mill turns, Troglodytes wound, ‭ Near his mid-neck, ere he his onset found; ‭ Whose eyes sad darkness seiz’d. Lichenor [31] cast ‭ A flying dart off, and his aim so placed ‭ Upon Limnocharis; that sure he thought [32] ‭ The wound he wish’d him; nor untruly wrought ‭ The dire success, for through his liver flew ‭ The fatal lance; which when Crambophagus [33] knew, ‭ Down the deep waves near shore he, diving, fled; ‭ But fled not fate so; the stern enemy fed ‭ Death with his life in diving; never more ‭ The air he drew in; his vermilion gore ‭ Stain’d all the waters, and along the shore ‭ He laid extended; his fat entrails lay ‭ (By his small guts’ impulsion) breaking way ‭ Out at his wound. Limnisius [34] near the shore ‭ Destroy’d Tyroglyphus. Which frighted sore ‭ The soul of Calaminth, [35] seeing coming on, ‭ For wreak, Pternoglyphus; [36] who got him gone ‭ With large leaps to the lake, his target thrown ‭ Into the waters. Hydrocharis [37] slew ‭ King Pternophagus, [38] at whose throat he threw ‭ A huge stone, strook it high, and beat his brain ‭ Out at his nostrils. Earth blush’d with the stain ‭ His blood made on her bosom. For next prise, ‭ Lichopinax to death did sacrifice ‭ Borboroccetes’ [39] faultless faculties; ‭ His lance enforced it; darkness closed his eyes. ‭ On which when Prassophagus [40] cast his look, ‭ Cnissodioctes [41] by the heels he took, ‭ Dragg’d him to fen from off his native ground, ‭ Then seized his throat, and soused him till he drown’d ‭ But now Psicharpax wreaks his fellows’ deaths, ‭ And in the bosom of Pelusius [42] sheaths, ‭ In centre of his liver, his bright lance. ‭ He fell before the author of the chance; ‭ His soul to hell fled. Which Pelobates [43] ‭ Taking sad note of, wreakfully did seize ‭ His hand’s gripe full of mud, and all besmear’d ‭ His forehead with it so, that scarce appear’d ‭ The light to him. Which certainly incensed ‭ His fiery spleen; who with his wreak dispensed ‭ No point of time, but rear’d with his strong hand ‭ A stone so massy it oppress’d the land, ‭ And hurl’d it at him; when below the knee ‭ It strook his right leg so impetuously ‭ It piecemeal brake it; he the dust did seize, ‭ Upwards everted. But Craugasides [44] ‭ Revenged his death, and at his enemy ‭ Discharged a dart that did his point imply ‭ In his mid-belly. All the sharp-pil’d spear ‭ Got after in, and did before it bear ‭ His universal entrails to the earth, ‭ Soon as his swoln hand gave his jav’lin birth. ‭ Sitophagus, [45] beholding the sad sight, ‭ Set on the shore, went halting from the fight, ‭ Vex’d with his wounds extremely; and, to make ‭ Way from extreme fate, leap’d into the lake. ‭ Troxartes strook, in th’ instep’s upper part, ‭ Physignathus; who (privy to the smart ‭ His wound imparted) with his utmost haste ‭ Leap’d to the lake, and fled. Troxartes cast ‭ His eye upon the foe that fell before, ‭ And, seeing him half-liv’d, long’d again to gore ‭ His gutless bosom; and, to kill him quite, ‭ Ran fiercely at him. Which Prassseus’ [46] sight ‭ Took instant note of, and the first in fight ‭ Thrust desp’rate way through, casting his keen lance ‭ Off at Troxartes; whose shield turn’d th’ advance ‭ The sharp head made, and check’d the mortal chance. ‭ Amongst the Mice fought an egregious ‭ Young springall, and a close-encount’ring Mouse, ‭ Pure Artepibulus’s [47] dear descent; ‭ A prince that Mars himself show’d where he went. ‭ (Call’d Meridarpax, [48]) of so huge a might, ‭ That only he still domineer’d in fight ‭ Of all the Mouse-host. He advancing close ‭ Up to the lake, past all the rest arose ‭ In glorious object, and made vaunt that he ‭ Came to depopulate all the progeny ‭ Of Frogs, affected with the lance of war. ‭ And certainly he had put on as far ‭ As he advanced his vaunt, he was endu’d ‭ With so unmatch’d a force and fortitude, ‭ Had not the Father both of Gods and men ‭ Instantly known it, and the Frogs, even then ‭ Given up to ruin, rescued with remorse. ‭ Who, his head moving, thus began discourse: ‭ “No mean amaze affects me, to behold ‭ Prince Meridarpax rage so uncontroll’d, ‭ In thirst of Frog-blood, all along the lake. ‭ Come therefore still, and all addression make, ‭ Despatching Pallas, with tumultuous Mars, ‭ Down to the field, to make him leave the wars, ‭ How potently soever he be said [49] ‭ Where he attempts once to uphold his head.” ‭ Mars answer’d: “O Jove, neither She nor I, ‭ With both our aids, can keep depopulacy ‭ From off the Frogs! And therefore arm we all, ‭ Even thy lance letting brandish to his call ‭ From off the field, that from the field withdrew ‭ The Titanois, the Titanois that slew, ‭ Though most exempt from match of all earth’s Seeds, ‭ So great and so inaccessible deeds ‭ It hath proclaim’d to men; bound hand and foot ‭ The vast Enceladus; and rac’d by th’ root ‭ The race of upland Giants.” This speech past, ‭ Saturnius a smoking lightning cast ‭ Amongst the armies, thund’ring then so sore, ‭ That with a rapting circumflex he bore ‭ All huge heaven over. But the terrible ire ‭ Of his dart, sent abroad, all wrapt in fire, ‭ (Which certainly his very finger was) ‭ Amazed both Mice and Frogs. Yet soon let pass ‭ Was all this by the Mice, who much the more ‭ Burn’d in desire t’ exterminate the store ‭ Of all those lance-loved soldiers. Which had been, ‭ If from Olympus Jove’s eye had not seen ‭ The Frogs with pity, and with instant speed ‭ Sent them assistants. Who, ere any heed ‭ Was given to their approach, came crawling on ‭ With anvils on their backs, that, beat upon [50] ‭ Never so much, are never wearied yet; ‭ Crook-paw’d, and wrested on with foul cloven feet, ‭ Tongues in their mouths, [51] brick-back’d, all over bone, ‭ Broad shoulder’d, whence a ruddy yellow shone, ‭ Distorted, and small-thigh’d; had eyes that saw ‭ Out at their bosoms; twice four feet did draw ‭ About their bodies; strong-neck’d, whence did rise ‭ Two heads; nor could to any hand be prise; ‭ They call them lobsters; that ate from the Mice ‭ Their tails, their feet, and hands, and wrested all ‭ Their lances from them, so that cold appall ‭ The wretches put in rout, past all return. ‭ And now the Fount of Light forbore to burn ‭ Above the earth; when, which men’s laws commend, ‭ Our battle in one day took absolute end. ‭ THE END OF HOMER’S BATTLE OF FROGS AND MICE.

‭[1] Intending men: being divided from all other creatures by the ‭voice; μέροψ, being a periphrasis, signifying voce divisus, of ‭μείρω (μείρομαι) divido, and ὅψ, ὁπός, vox.

‭[2] Φυσίγναθος, Genas et buccas inflans.

‭[3] Πηλεύς, qui ex luto nascitur.

‭[4] ‘ϒδρομέδουνα. Aquarum regina.

‭[5] The river Po, in Italy.

‭[6] Ψιχάρπαξ. Gather-crum, or ravish-crum,

‭[7] Shear-crust.

‭[8] Lick-mill.

‭[9] Bacon-flitch-devourer, or gnawer.

‭[10] Τανύπεπλος. Extenso et prourisso peploamictus. A metaphor ‭taken from ladies’ veils, or trains, and therefore their names are ‭here added.

‭[11] ῞Ηπατα λευκοχίτωνα. Livering puddings white-skinn’d.

‭[12] Παντοδαποι̑σιν. Whose common exposition is only variis, ‭when it properly signifies ex omni solo.

‭[13] Στονόεσσαν, of στενός, angutstus.

‭[14] Lickdish.

‭[15] Ευ͒ τ᾽ ἀσκήσαντες, ab ἀσκέω, elaboratè concinno.

‭[16] Enter-pot, or search-pot.

‭[17] Cheese-miner. Qui caseum rodendo cavat.

‭[18] Μιμούμενος. Aping, or imitating us.

‭[19] Boots of war.

‭[20] Στέμματα, Lanas, eo quod colus cingant seu coronent. Which ‭our learned sect translate eating the crowns that Pallas wore.

‭[21] Τόκος. Partus, et id quod partu edidit mater. Metap. hic ‭appellatur fænus quod ex usurâ ad nos redit.

‭[22] Κώνωψ. Culex vinarius.

‭[23] Loud-mouth.

‭[24] Kitchen-vessel licker.

‭[25] Hole-dweller. Qui foramina subit.

‭[26] Mud-born.

‭[27] Beet-devourer.

‭[28] The great bread eater.

‭[29] Πολύφωνον. The great-noise-maker, shrill or big-voiced.

‭[30] The lake-lover.

‭[31] Qui lambit culinaria vasa.

‭[32] Τιτύσκομαι intentissime dirigo ut certum ictum inferam.

‭[33] The cabbage-eater.

‭[34] Paludis incola. Lake-liver.

‭[35] Qui in calaminthâ, herbâ palustri, habitat.

‭[36] Bacon-eater.

‭[37] Qui aquis delectatur.

‭[38] Collop-devourer.

‭[39] Mud-sleeper.

‭[40] Leek or scallion lover.

‭[41] Kitchen-smell haunter, or hunter.

‭[42] Fenstalk.

‭[43] Qui per lutum it.

‭[44] Vociferator.

‭[45] Eat-corn.

‭[46] Scallion-devourer.

‭[47] Bread-betrayer.

‭[48] Scrap, or broken-meat-eater.

‭[49] Κρατερός, validus seu potens in retineudo.

‭[50] Νωτάκμονες. Incudes ferentes, or anvil-backed. ῞Ακμων. ‭Incus, dicta per syncopen quasi nullis ictibus fatigetur.

‭[51] Ψαλίδοστομος. Forcipem in ore habens. ‭ HYMNS ‭ A HYMN TO APOLLO

‭ I will remember and express the praise ‭ Of heaven’s Far-darter, the fair King of days, ‭ Whom even the Gods themselves fear when he goes ‭ Through Jove's high house; and when his goodly bows ‭ He goes to bend, all from their thrones arise, ‭ And cluster near, t’ admire his faculties. ‭ Only Latona stirs not from her seat ‭ Close by the Thund’rer, till her Son’s retreat ‭ From his dread archery; but then she goes, ‭ Slackens his string, and shuts his quiver close, ‭ And (having taken to her hand his bow, ‭ From off his able shoulders) doth bestow ‭ Upon a pin of gold the glorious tiller, ‭ The pin of gold fix’d in his father’s pillar. ‭ Then doth She to his throne his state uphold, ‭ Where his great Father, in a cup of gold, ‭ Serves him with nectar, and shows all the grace ‭ Of his great son. Then th’ other Gods take place; ‭ His gracious mother glorying to bear ‭ So great an archer, and a son so clear. ‭ All hail, O blest Latona! to bring forth ‭ An issue of such all-out-shining worth, ‭ Royal Apollo, and the Queen that loves ‭ The hurls of darts. She in th’ Ortygian groves, ‭ And he in cliffy Delos, leaning on ‭ The lofty Oros, and being built upon ‭ By Cynthus’ prominent, that his head rears ‭ Close to the palm that Inops’ fluent cheers. ‭ How shall I praise thee, far being worthiest praise, ‭ O Phœbus? To whose worth the law of lays ‭ In all kinds is ascrib’d, if feeding flocks ‭ By continent or isle. All eminent’st rocks ‭ Did sing for joy, hill-tops, and floods in song ‭ Did break their billows, as they flow’d along ‭ To serve the sea; the shores, the seas, and all ‭ Did sing as soon as from the lap did fall ‭ Of blest Latona thee the joy of man. ‭ Her child-bed made the mountain Cynthian ‭ In rocky Delos, the sea-circled isle, ‭ On whose all sides the black seas brake their pile, ‭ And overflow’d for joy, so frank a gale ‭ The singing winds did on their waves exhale. ‭ Here born, all mortals live in thy commands, ‭ Whoever Crete holds, Athens, or the strands ‭ Of th’ isle Ægina, or the famous land ‭ For ships (Eubœa), or Eresia, ‭ Or Peparethus bord’ring on the sea, ‭ Ægas, or Athos that doth Thrace divide ‭ And Macedon; or Pelion, with the pride ‭ Of his high forehead; or the Samian isle, ‭ That likewise lies near Thrace; or Scyrus’ soil; ‭ Ida’s steep tops; or all that Phocis fill; ‭ Or Autocanes, with the heaven-high hill; ‭ Or populous Imber; Lemnos without ports; ‭ Or Lesbos, fit for the divine resorts; ‭ And sacred soil of blest Æolion; ‭ Or Chios that exceeds comparison ‭ For fruitfulness; with all the isles that lie ‭ Embrac’d with seas; Mimas, with rocks so high; ‭ Or lofty-crown’d Corycius; or the bright ‭ Charos; or Æsagæus’ dazzling height; ‭ Or watery Samos; Mycale, that bears ‭ Her brows even with the circles of the spheres; ‭ Miletus; Cous, that the city is ‭ Of voice-divided-choice humanities; ‭ High Cnidus; Carpathus, still strook with wind; ‭ Naxos, and Paros; and the rocky-min’d ‭ Rugged Rhenæa. Yet through all these parts ‭ Latona, great-grown with the King of darts, ‭ Travell’d; and tried if any would become ‭ To her dear birth an hospitable home. ‭ All which extremely trembled, shook with fear, ‭ Nor durst endure so high a birth to bear ‭ In their free states, though, for it, they became ‭ Never so fruitful; till the reverend Dame Ascended Delosos, and her soil did seize ‭ With these wing’d words: “O Delos! Wouldst thou please ‭ To be my son Apollo’s native seat, ‭ And build a wealthy fane to one so great, ‭ No one shall blame or question thy kind deed. ‭ Nor think I, thou dost sheep or oxen feed ‭ In any such store, or in vines exceed, ‭ Nor bring’st forth such innumerable plants, ‭ Which often make the rich inhabitants ‭ Careless of Deity. If thou then shouldst rear ‭ A fane to Phœbus, all men would confer ‭ Whole hecatombs of beeves for sacrifice, ‭ Still thronging hither; and to thee would rise ‭ Ever unmeasur’d odours, shouldst thou long ‭ Nourish thy King thus; and from foreign wrong ‭ The Gods would guard thee; which thine own address ‭ Can never compass for thy barrenness.” ‭ She said, and Delos joy’d, replying thus: ‭ “Most happy sister of Saturnius! ‭ I gladly would with all means entertain ‭ The King your son, being now despised of men, ‭ But should be honour’d with the greatest then. ‭ Yet this I fear, nor will conceal from thee: ‭ Your son, some say, will author misery ‭ In many kinds, as being to sustain ‭ A mighty empire over Gods and men, ‭ Upon the holy-gift-giver the Earth. ‭ And bitterly I fear that, when his birth ‭ Gives him the sight of my so barren soil, ‭ He will contemn, and give me up to spoil, ‭ Enforce the sea to me, that ever will ‭ Oppress my heart with many a wat’ry hill. ‭ And therefore let him choose some other land, ‭ Where he shall please, to build at his command ‭ Temple and grove, set thick with many a tree. ‭ For wretched polypuses breed in me ‭ Retiring chambers, and black sea-calves den ‭ In my poor soil, for penury of men. ‭ And yet, O Goddess, wouldst thou please to swear ‭ The Gods’ great oath to me, before thou bear ‭ Thy blessed son here, that thou wilt erect ‭ A fane to him, to render the effect ‭ Of men’s demands to them before they fall, ‭ Then will thy son’s renown be general, ‭ Men will his name in such variety call, ‭ And I shall then be glad his birth to bear.” ‭ This said, the Gods’ great oath she thus did swear: ‭ “Know this, O Earth! broad heaven’s inferior sphere, ‭ And of black Styx the most infernal lake, ‭ (Which is the gravest oath the Gods can take) ‭ That here shall ever rise to Phœbus’ name ‭ An odorous fane and altar; and thy fame ‭ Honour, past all isles else, shall see him employ’d.” ‭ Her oath thus took and ended, Delos joy’d ‭ in mighty measure that she should become ‭ To far-shot Phœbus’ birth the famous home. ‭ Latona then nine days and nights did fall ‭ In hopeless labour; at whose birth were all ‭ Heaven’s most supreme and worthy Goddesses, ‭ Dione, Rhæa, and th’ Exploratress ‭ Themis, and Amphitrite that will be ‭ Pursu’d with sighs still; every Deity, ‭ Except the snowy-wristed wife of Jove, ‭ Who held her moods aloft, and would not move; ‭ Only Lucina (to whose virtue vows ‭ Each childbirth patient) heard not of her throes, ‭ But sat, by Juno’s counsel, on the brows ‭ Of broad Olympus, wrapp’d in clouds of gold. ‭ Whom Jove’s proud wife in envy did withhold, ‭ Because bright-lock’d Latona was to bear ‭ A son so faultless and in force so clear. ‭ The rest Thaumantia sent before, to bring ‭ Lucina to release the envied king, ‭ Assuring her, that they would straight confer ‭ A carcanet, nine cubits long, on her, ‭ All woven with wires of gold. But charg’d her, then, ‭ To call apart from th’ ivory-wristed Queen ‭ The childbirth-guiding Goddess, for just fear ‭ Lest, her charge utter’d in Saturnia’s ear, ‭ She, after, might dissuade her from descent. ‭ When wind-swift-footed Iris knew th’ intent ‭ Of th’ other Goddesses, away she went, ‭ And instantly she pass’d the infinite space ‭ ’Twixt earth and heaven; when, coming to the place ‭ Where dwelt th’ Immortals, straight without the gate ‭ She gat Lucina, and did all relate ‭ The Goddesses commanded, and inclin’d ‭ To all that they demanded her dear mind. ‭ And on their way they went, like those two doves ‭ That, walking highways, every shadow moves ‭ Up from the earth, forc’d with their natural fear. ‭ When ent’ring Delos, She, that is so dear ‭ To dames in labour, made Latona straight ‭ Prone to delivery, and to wield the weight ‭ Of her dear burthen with a world of ease. ‭ When, with her fair hand, she a palm did seize, ‭ And, staying her by it, stuck her tender knees ‭ Amidst the soft mead, that did smile beneath ‭ Her sacred labour; and the child did breathe ‭ The air in th’ instant. All the Goddesses ‭ Brake in kind tears and shrieks for her quick ease, ‭ And thee, O archer Phœbus, with waves clear ‭ Wash’d sweetly over, swaddled with sincere ‭ And spotless swathbands; and made then to flow ‭ About thy breast a mantle, white as snow, ‭ Fine, and new made; and cast a veil of gold ‭ Over thy forehead. Nor yet forth did hold ‭ Thy mother for thy food her golden breast, ‭ But Themis, in supply of it, address’d ‭ Lovely Ambrosia, and drunk off to thee ‭ A bowl of nectar, interchangeably ‭ With her immortal fingers serving thine. ‭ And when, O Phœbus, that eternal wine ‭ Thy taste had relish’d, and that food divine, ‭ No golden swathband longer could contain ‭ Thy panting bosom; all that would constrain ‭ Thy soon-eas’d Godhead, every feeble chain ‭ Of earthy child-rites, flew in sunder all. ‭ And then didst thou thus to the Deities call: ‭ “Let there be given me my lov’d lute and bow, ‭ I’ll prophesy to men, and make them know ‭ Jove’s perfect counsels.” This said, up did fly ‭ From broad-way’d Earth the unshorn Deity, ‭ Far-shot Apollo. All th’ Immortals stood ‭ In steep amaze to see Latona’s brood. ‭ All Delos, looking on him, all with gold ‭ Was loaden straight, and joy’d to be extoll’d ‭ By great Latona so, that she decreed ‭ Her barrenness should bear the fruitful’st seed ‭ Of all the isles and continents of earth, ‭ And lov’d her from her heart so for her birth. ‭ For so she flourish’d, as a hill that stood ‭ Crown’d with the flow’r of an abundant wood. ‭ And thou, O Phœbus, bearing in thy hand ‭ Thy silver bow, walk’st over every land, ‭ Sometimes ascend’st the rough-hewn rocky hill ‭ Of desolate Cynthus, and sometimes tak’st will ‭ To visit islands, and the plumps of men. ‭ And many a temple, all ways, men ordain ‭ To thy bright Godhead; groves, made dark with trees, ‭ And never shorn, to hide the Deities, ‭ All high-lov’d prospects, all the steepest brows ‭ Of far-seen hills, and every flood that flows ‭ Forth to the sea, are dedicate to thee. ‭ But most of all thy mind’s alacrity ‭ Is rais’d with Delos; since, to fill thy fane, ‭ There flocks so many an Ionian, ‭ With ample gowns that flow down to their feet, ‭ With all their children, and the reverend sweet ‭ Of all their pious wives. And these are they ‭ That (mindful of thee) even thy Deity ‭ Render more spritely with their champion fight, ‭ Dances, and songs, perform’d to glorious sight, ‭ Once having publish’d, and proclaim’d their strife. ‭ And these are acted with such exquisite life ‭ That one would say, “Now, the Ionian strains ‭ Are turn’d Immortals, nor know what age means.” ‭ His mind would take such pleasure from his eye, ‭ To see them serv’d by all mortality, ‭ Their men so human, women so well grac’d, ‭ Their ships so swift, their riches so increas’d, ‭ Since thy observance, who, being all before ‭ Thy opposites, were all despis’d and poor. ‭ And to all these this absolute wonder add, ‭ Whose praise shall render all posterities glad: ‭ The Delian virgins are thy handmaids all, ‭ And, since they serv’d Apollo, jointly fall ‭ Before Latona, and Diana too, ‭ In sacred service, and do therefore know ‭ How to make mention of the ancient trims ‭ Of men and women, in their well-made hymns, ‭ And soften barbarous nations with their songs, ‭ Being able all to speak the several tongues ‭ Of foreign nations, and to imitate ‭ Their musics there, with art so fortunate ‭ That one would say, there everyone did speak, ‭ And all their tunes in natural accents break, ‭ Their songs so well compos’d are, and their art ‭ To answer all sounds is of such desert. ‭ But come, Latona, and thou King of flames, ‭ With Phœbe, rect’ress of chaste thoughts in dames ‭ Let me salute ye, and your graces call ‭ Hereafter to my just memorial. ‭ And you, O Delian virgins, do me grace, ‭ When any stranger of our earthy race, ‭ Whose restless life affliction hath in chace, ‭ Shall hither come and question you, who is, ‭ To your chaste ears, of choicest faculties ‭ In sacred poesy, and with most right ‭ Is author of your absolut’st delight, ‭ Ye shall yourselves do all the right ye can ‭ To answer for our name:—“The sightless man ‭ Of stony Chios. All whose poems shall ‭ In all last ages stand for capital.” ‭ This for your own sakes I desire, for I ‭ Will propagate mine own precedency ‭ As far as earth shall well-built cities bear, ‭ Or human conversation is held dear, ‭ Not with my praise direct, but praises due, ‭ And men shall credit it, because ’tis true. ‭ However, I’ll not cease the praise I vow ‭ To far-shot Phœbus with the silver bow, ‭ Whom lovely-hair’d Latona gave the light. ‭ O King! both Lycia is in rule thy right, ‭ Fair Mœony, and the maritimal ‭ Miletus, wish’d to be the seat of all. ‭ But chiefly Delos, girt with billows round, ‭ Thy most respected empire doth resound. ‭ Where thou to Pythus went’st, to answer there, ‭ As soon as thou wert born, the burning ear ‭ Of many a far-come, to hear future deeds, ‭ Clad in divine and odoriferous weeds, ‭ And with thy golden fescue play’dst upon ‭ Thy hollow harp, that sounds to heaven set gone. ‭ Then to Olympus swift as thought he flew, ‭ To Jove’s high house, and had a retinue ‭ Of Gods t’ attend him; and then straight did fall ‭ To study of the harp, and harpsical, ‭ All th’ Immortals. To whom every Muse ‭ With ravishing voices did their answers use, ‭ Singing th’ eternal deeds of Deity, ‭ And from their hands what hells of misery ‭ Poor humans suffer, living desperate quite, ‭ And not an art they have, wit, or deceit, ‭ Can make them manage any act aright, ‭ Nor find, with all the soul they can engage, ‭ A salve for death, or remedy for age. ‭ But here the fair-hair’d Graces, the wise Hours, ‭ Harmonia, Hebe, and sweet Venus’ pow’rs, ‭ Danc’d, and each other’s palm to palm did cling. ‭ And with these danc’d not a deformed thing, ‭ No forespoke dwarf, nor downward witherling, ‭ But all with wond’rous goodly forms were deckt, ‭ And mov’d with beauties of unpriz’d aspect. ‭ Dart-dear Diana, even with Phœbus bred, ‭ Danc’d likewise there; and Mars a march did tread ‭ With that brave bevy. In whose consort fell ‭ Argicides, th’ ingenious sentinel. ‭ Phœbus-Apollo touch’d his lute to them ‭ Sweetly and softly, a most glorious beam ‭ Casting about him, as he danc’d and play’d, ‭ And even his feet were all with rays array’d; ‭ His weed and all of a most curious trim ‭ With no less lustre grac’d and circled him. ‭ By these Latona, with a hair that shin’d ‭ Like burnish’d gold, and, with the mighty mind; ‭ Heaven’s counsellor, Jove, sat with delightsome eyes; ‭ To see their son new rank’d with Deities. ‭ How shall I praise thee, then, that art all praise? ‭ Amongst the brides shall I thy Deity raise? ‭ Or being in love, when sad thou went’st to woo ‭ The virgin Aza, and didst overthrow ‭ The even-with-Gods, Elation’s mighty seed, ‭ That had of goodly horse so brave a breed, ‭ And Phorbas, son of sovereign Triopus, ‭ Valiant Leucippus, and Ereutheus, ‭ And Triopus himself with equal fall, ‭ Thou but on foot, and they on horseback all? ‭ Or shall I sing thee, as thou first didst grace ‭ Earth with thy foot, to find thee forth a place ‭ Fit to pronounce thy oracles to men? ‭ First from Olympus thou alightedst then ‭ Into Pieria, passing all the land ‭ Of fruitless Lesbos, chok’d with drifts of sand, ‭ The Magnets likewise, and the Perrhæbes; ‭ And to Iolcus variedst thy access, ‭ Cenæus’ tops ascending, that their base ‭ Make bright Eubœa, being of ships the grace, ‭ And fix’d thy fair stand in Lelantus’ field, ‭ That did not yet thy mind’s contentment yield ‭ To raise a fane on, and a sacred grove. ‭ Passing Euripus then, thou mad’st remove ‭ Up to earth’s ever-green and holiest hill. ‭ Yet swiftly thence, too, thou transcendedst still ‭ To Mycalessus, and didst touch upon ‭ Teumessus, apt to make green couches on, ‭ And flowery field-beds. Then thy progress found ‭ Thebes out, whose soil with only woods was crown’d, ‭ For yet was sacred Thebes no human seat, ‭ And therefore were no paths nor highways beat ‭ On her free bosom, that flows now with wheat, ‭ But then she only wore on it a wood. ‭ From hence (even loth to part, because it stood ‭ Fit for thy service) thou putt’st on remove ‭ To green Onchestus, Neptune’s glorious grove, ‭ Where new-tam’d horse, bred, nourish nerves so rare ‭ That still they frolic, though they travell’d are ‭ Never so sore, and hurry after them ‭ Most heavy coaches, but are so extreme ‭ (In usual travel) fiery and free, ‭ That though their coachman ne’er so masterly ‭ Governs their courages, he sometimes must ‭ Forsake his seat, and give their spirits their lust, ‭ When after them their empty coach they draw, ‭ Foaming, and neighing, quite exempt from awe. ‭ And if their coachman guide through any grove ‭ Unshorn, and vow’d to any Deity’s love, ‭ The lords encoach’d leap out, and all their care ‭ Use to allay their fires, with speaking fair ‭ Stroking and trimming them, and in some queach, ‭ Or strength of shade, within their nearest reach, ‭ Reining them up, invoke the deified King ‭ Of that unshorn and everlasting spring, ‭ And leave them then to her preserving hands, ‭ Who is the Fate that there the God commands. ‭ And this was first the sacred fashion there. ‭ From hence thou went’st, O thou in shafts past peer, ‭ And found’st Cephissus with thy all-seeing beams, ‭ Whose flood affects so many silver streams, ‭ And from Lilæus pours so bright a wave. ‭ Yet forth thy foot flew, and thy fair eyes gave ‭ The view of Ocale the rich in tow’rs; ‭ Then to Amartus that abounds in flow’rs, ‭ Then to Delphusa putt’st thy progress on, ‭ Whose blessed soil nought harmful breeds upon; ‭ And there thy pleasure would a fane adorn, ‭ And nourish woods whose shades should ne’er be shorn. ‭ Where this thou told’st her, standing to her close: ‭ “Delphusa, here I entertain suppose ‭ To build a far-fam’d temple, and ordain ‭ An oracle t’ inform the minds of men, ‭ Who shall for ever offer to my love ‭ Whole hecatombs; even all the men that move ‭ In rich Peloponnesus, and all those ‭ Of Europe, and the isles the seas enclose, ‭ Whom future search of acts and beings brings. ‭ To whom I’ll prophesy the truths of things ‭ In that rich temple where my oracle sings.” ‭ This said, the All-bounds-reacher, with his bow, ‭ The fane’s divine foundations did foreshow; ‭ Ample they were, and did huge length impart, ‭ With a continuate tenour, full of art. ‭ But when Delphusa look’d into his end, ‭ Her heart grew angry, and did thus extend ‭ Itself to Phœbus: “Phœbus, since thy mind ‭ A far-fam’d fane hath in itself design’d ‭ To bear an oracle to men in me, ‭ That hecatombs may put in fire to thee, ‭ This let me tell thee, and impose for stay ‭ Upon thy purpose: Th’ inarticulate neigh ‭ Of fire-hov’d horse will ever disobey ‭ Thy numerous ear, and mules will for their drink ‭ Trouble my sacred springs, and I should think ‭ That any of the human race had rather ‭ See here the hurries of rich coaches gather, ‭ And hear the haughty neighs of swift-hov’d horse, ‭ Than in his pleasure’s place convert recourse ‭ T’a mighty temple; and his wealth bestow ‭ On pieties, where his sports may freely flow, ‭ Or see huge wealth that he shall never owe. ‭ And, therefore, wouldst thou hear my free advice,— ‭ Though mightier far thou art, and much more wise, ‭ O king, than I, thy pow’r being great’st of all ‭ In Crissa, underneath the bosom’s fall ‭ Of steep Parnassus,—let thy mind be given ‭ To set thee up a fane, where never driven ‭ Shall glorious coaches be, nor horses’ neighs ‭ Storm near thy well-built altars, but thy praise ‭ Let the fair race of pious humans bring ‭ Into thy fane, that Io-pæans sing. ‭ And those gifts only let thy deified mind ‭ Be circularly pleas’d with, being the kind ‭ And fair burnt-offerings that true Deities bind.” ‭ With this his mind she altered, though she spake ‭ Not for his good, but her own glory’s sake. ‭ From hence, O Phœbus, first thou mad’st retreat, ‭ And of the Phlegians reached the walled seat, ‭ Inhabited with contumelious men, ‭ Who, slighting Jove, took up their dwellings then ‭ Within a large cave, near Cephissus’ lake. ‭ Hence, swiftly moving, thou all speed didst make ‭ Up to the tops intended, and the ground ‭ Of Crissa, under the-with-snow-still-crown’d ‭ Parnassus, reach’d, whose face affects the West; ‭ Above which hangs a rock, that still seems prest ‭ To fall upon it, through whose breast doth run ‭ A rocky cave, near which the King the Sun Castst to contrive a temple to his mind, ‭ And said, “Now here stands my conceit inclin’d ‭ To build a famous fane, where still shall be ‭ An oracle to men, that still to me ‭ Shall offer absolute hecatombs, as well ‭ Those that in rich Peloponnesus dwell ‭ As those of Europe, and the isles that lie ‭ Wall’d with the sea, that all their pains apply ‭ T’ employ my counsels. To all which will I ‭ True secrets tell, by way of prophecy, ‭ In my rich temple, that shall ever be ‭ An oracle to all posterity.” ‭ This said, the fane’s form he did straight present, ‭ Ample, and of a length of great extent; ‭ In which Trophonius and Agamede, ‭ Who of Erginus were the famous seed, ‭ Impos’d the stony entry, and the heart ‭ Of every God had for their excellent art. ‭ About the temple dwelt of human name ‭ Unnumber’d nations, it acquired such fame, ‭ Being all of stone, built for eternal date. ‭ And near it did a fountain propagate ‭ A fair stream far away; when Jove’s bright seed, ‭ The King Apollo, with an arrow, freed ‭ From his strong string, destroy’d the Dragoness ‭ That wonder nourish’d, being of such excess ‭ In size, and horridness of monstrous shape, ‭ That on the forc’d earth she wrought many a rape, ‭ Many a spoil made on it, many an ill ‭ On crook-haunch’d herds brought, being impurpled still ‭ With blood of all sorts; having undergone ‭ The charge of Juno, with the golden throne, ‭ To nourish Typhon, the abhorr’d affright ‭ And bane of mortals, whom into the light ‭ Saturnia brought forth, being incensed with Jove, ‭ Because the most renown’d fruit of his love ‭ (Pallas) he got, and shook out of his brain. ‭ For which majestic Juno did complain ‭ In this kind to the Bless’d Court of the skies: ‭ “Know all ye sex-distinguish’d Deities, ‭ That Jove, assembler of the cloudy throng, ‭ Begins with me first, and affects with wrong ‭ My right in him, made by himself his wife, ‭ That knows and does the honour’d marriage life ‭ All honest offices; and yet hath he ‭ Unduly got, without my company, ‭ Blue-eyed Minerva, who of all the sky ‭ Of blest Immortals is the absolute grace; ‭ Where I have brought into the Heavenly Race ‭ A son, both taken in his feet and head, ‭ So ugly, and so far from worth my bed, ‭ That, ravish’d into hand, I took and threw ‭ Down to the vast sea his detested view; ‭ Where Nereus’ daughter, Thetis, who her way ‭ With silver feet makes, and the fair array ‭ Of her bright sisters, saved, and took to guard. ‭ But, would to heaven, another yet were spared ‭ The like grace of his godhead! Crafty mate, ‭ What other scape canst thou excogitate? ‭ How could thy heart sustain to get alone ‭ The grey-eyed Goddess? Her conception ‭ Nor bringing forth had any hand of mine, ‭ And yet, know all the Gods, I go for thine ‭ To such kind uses. But I’ll now employ ‭ My brain to procreate a masculine joy, ‭ That ’mongst th’ Immortals may as eminent shine, ‭ With shame affecting nor my bed nor thine. ‭ Nor will I ever touch at thine again, ‭ But far fly it and thee; and yet will reign ‭ Amongst th’ Immortals ever.” This spleen spent ‭ (Still yet left angry) far away she went ‭ From all the Deathless, and yet pray’d to all, ‭ Advanced her hand, and, ere she let it fall, ‭ Used these excitements: “Hear me now, O Earth! ‭ Broad Heaven above it, and beneath, your birth, ‭ The deified Titanois, that dwell about ‭ Vast Tartarus, from whence sprung all the rout ‭ Of Men and Deities! Hear me all, I say, ‭ With all your forces, and give instant way ‭ T’ a son of mine without Jove, who yet may ‭ Nothing inferior prove in force to him, ‭ But past him spring as far in able limb ‭ As he past Saturn.” This pronounced, she strook ‭ Life-bearing Earth so strongly, that she shook ‭ Beneath her numb’d hand. Which when she beheld, ‭ Her bosom with abundant comforts swell’d, ‭ In hope all should to her desire extend. ‭ From hence the year, that all such proofs gives end, ‭ Grew round; yet all that time the bed of Jove ‭ She never touch’d at, never was her love ‭ Enflam’d to sit near his Dædalian throne, ‭ As she accustomed, to consult upon ‭ Counsels kept dark with many a secret skill, ‭ But kept her vow-frequented temple still, ‭ Pleas’d with her sacrifice; till now, the nights ‭ And days accomplish’d, and the year’s whole rights ‭ In all her revolutions being expired, ‭ The hours and all run out that were required ‭ To vent a birth-right, she brought forth a son, ‭ Like Gods or men in no condition, ‭ But a most dreadful and pernicious thing, ‭ Call’d Typhon, who on all the human spring ‭ Conferr’d confusion. Which received to hand ‭ By Juno, instantly she gave command ‭ (Ill to ill adding) that the Dragoness ‭ Should bring it up; who took, and did oppress ‭ With many a misery (to maintain th’ excess ‭ Of that inhuman monster) all the race ‭ Of men that were of all the world the grace, ‭ Till the far-working Phœbus at her sent ‭ A fiery arrow, that invoked event ‭ Of death gave to her execrable life. ‭ Before which yet she lay in bitter strife, ‭ With dying pains, grovelling on earth, and drew ‭ Extreme short respirations; for which flew ‭ A shout about the air, whence no man knew, ‭ But came by power divine. And then she lay ‭ Tumbling her trunk, and winding every way ‭ About her nasty nest, quite leaving then ‭ Her murderous life, embrued with deaths of men. ‭ Then Phœbus gloried, saying: “Thyself now lie ‭ On men-sustaining earth, and putrefy, ‭ Who first of putrefaction was inform’d. ‭ Now on thy life have death’s cold vapours storm’d, ‭ That storm’dst on men the earth-fed so much death, ‭ In envy of the offspring they made breathe ‭ Their lives out on my altars. Now from thee ‭ Not Typhon shall enforce the misery ‭ Of merited death, nor She, whose name implies ‭ Such scathe (Chimæra), but black earth make prise ‭ To putrefaction thy immanities, ‭ And bright Hyperion, that light all eyes shows, ‭ Thine with a night of rottenness shall close.” ‭ Thus spake he glorying. And then seiz’d upon ‭ Her horrid heap, with putrefaction, ‭ Hyperion’s lovely pow’rs; from whence her name ‭ Took sound of Python, and heaven’s Sovereign Flame ‭ Was surnam’d Pythius, since the sharp-eyed Sun ‭ Affected so with putrefaction ‭ The hellish monster. And now Phœbus’ mind ‭ Gave him to know that falsehood had strook blind ‭ Even his bright eye, because it could not find ‭ The subtle Fountain’s fraud; to whom he flew, ‭ Enflamed with anger, and in th’ instant drew ‭ Close to Delphusa, using this short vow: ‭ “Delphusa! You must look no longer now ‭ To vent your frauds on me; for well I know ‭ Your situation to be lovely, worth ‭ A temple’s imposition, it pours forth ‭ So delicate a stream. But your renown ‭ Shall now no longer shine here, but mine own.” ‭ This said, he thrust her promontory down, ‭ And damm’d her fountain up with mighty stones, ‭ A temple giving consecrations ‭ In woods adjoining. And in this fane all ‭ On him, by surname of Delphusius, call, ‭ Because Delphusa’s sacred flood and fame ‭ His wrath affected so, and hid in shame. ‭ And then thought Phœbus what descent of men ‭ To be his ministers he should retain, ‭ To do in stony Pythos sacrifice. ‭ To which his mind contending, his quick eyes ‭ He cast upon the blue sea, and beheld ‭ A ship, on whose masts sails that wing’d it swell’d, ‭ In which were men transferr’d, many and good, ‭ That in Minoian Cnossus ate their food, ‭ And were Cretensians; who now are those ‭ That all the sacrificing dues dispose, ‭ And all the laws deliver to a word ‭ Of Day’s great King, that wears the golden sword, ‭ And oracles (out of his Delphian tree ‭ That shrouds her fair arms in the cavity ‭ Beneath Parnassus’ mount) pronounce to men. ‭ These now his priests, that lived as merchants then, ‭ In traffics and pecuniary rates, ‭ For sandy Pylos and the Pylian states. ‭ Were under sail. But now encounter’d them ‭ Phœbus-Apollo, who into the stream ‭ Cast himself headlong, and the strange disguise ‭ Took of a dolphin of a goodly size. ‭ Like which he leap’d into their ship, and lay ‭ As an ostent of infinite dismay. ‭ For none with any strife of mind could look ‭ Into the omen, all the ship-masts shook, ‭ And silent all sat with the fear they took, ‭ Arm’d not, nor strook they sail, but as before ‭ Went on with full trim, and a foreright blore, ‭ Stiff, and from forth the south, the ship made fly. ‭ When first they stripp’d the Malean promont’ry, ‭ Touch’d at Laconia’s soil, in which a town ‭ Their ship arriv’d at, that the sea doth crown, ‭ Called Tenarus, a place of much delight ‭ To men that serve Heaven’s Comforter of sight. ‭ In which are fed the famous flocks that bear ‭ The wealthy fleeces, on a delicate lair ‭ Being fed and seated. Where the merchants fain ‭ Would have put in, that they might out again ‭ To tell the miracle that chanced to them, ‭ And try if it would take the sacred stream, ‭ Rushing far forth, that he again might bear ‭ Those other fishes that abounded there ‭ Delightsome company, or still would stay ‭ Aboard their dry ship. But it fail’d t’ obey, ‭ And for the rich Peloponnesian shore ‭ Steer’d her free sail; Apollo made the blore ‭ Directly guide it. That obeying still ‭ Reach’d dry Arena, and (what wish doth fill) ‭ Fair Argyphæa, and the populous height ‭ Of Thryus, whose stream, siding her, doth wait ‭ With safe pass on Alphæus, Pylos’ sands, ‭ And Pylian dwellers; keeping by the strands ‭ On which th’ inhabitants of Crunius dwell, ‭ And Helida set opposite to hell; ‭ Chalcis and Dymes reach’d, and happily ‭ Made sail by Pheras; all being overjoy’d ‭ With that frank gale that Jove himself employ’d. ‭ And then amongst the clouds they might descry ‭ The hill, that far-seen Ithaca calls her Eye, ‭ Dulichius, Samos, and, with timber graced, ‭ Shady Zacynthus. But when now they past ‭ Peloponnesus all, and then when show’d ‭ The infinite vale of Crissa, that doth shroud ‭ All rich Morea with her liberal breast, ‭ So frank a gale there flew out of the West ‭ As all the sky discover’d; ’twas so great, ‭ And blew so from the very council seat ‭ Of Jove himself, that quickly it might send ‭ The ship through full seas to her journey’s end. ‭ From thence they sail’d, quite opposite, to the East, ‭ And to the region where Light leaves his rest, ‭ The Light himself being sacred pilot there, ‭ And made the sea-trod ship arrive them near ‭ The grapeful Crissa, where he rest doth take ‭ Close to her port and sands. And then forth brake ‭ The far-shot King, like to a star that strows ‭ His glorious forehead where the mid-day glows, ‭ That all in sparkles did his state attire, ‭ Whose lustre leap’d up to the sphere of fire. ‭ He trod where no way oped, and pierced the place ‭ That of his sacred tripods held the grace, ‭ In which he lighted such a fluent flame ‭ As gilt all Crissa; in which every dame, ‭ And dame’s fair daughter, cast out vehement cries ‭ At those fell fires of Phœbus’ prodigies, ‭ That shaking fears through all their fancies threw. ‭ Then, like the mind’s swift light, again he flew ‭ Back to the ship, shaped like a youth in height ‭ Of all his graces, shoulders broad and straight, ‭ And all his hair in golden curls enwrapp’d; ‭ And to the merchants thus his speech he shap’d: ‭ “Ho! Strangers! What are you? And from what seat ‭ Sail ye these ways that salt and water sweat? ‭ To traffic justly? Or use vagrant scapes ‭ Void of all rule, conferring wrongs and rapes, ‭ Like pirates, on the men ye never saw, ‭ With minds project exempt from list or law? ‭ Why sit ye here so stupefied, nor take ‭ Land while ye may, nor deposition make ‭ Of naval arms, when this the fashion is ‭ Of men industrious, who (their faculties ‭ Wearied at sea) leave ship, and use the land ‭ For food, that with their healths and stomachs stand?” ‭ This said, with bold minds he their breast supplied, ‭ And thus made answer the Cretensian guide: ‭ “Stranger! Because you seem to us no seed ‭ Of any mortal, but celestial breed ‭ For parts and person, joy your steps ensue, ‭ And Gods make good the bliss we think your due. ‭ Vouchsafe us true relation, on what land ‭ We here arrive, and what men here command. ‭ We were for well-known parts bound, and from Crete ‭ (Our vaunted country) to the Pylian seat ‭ Vow’d our whole voyage; yet arrive we here, ‭ Quite cross to those wills that our motions steer, ‭ Wishing to make return some other way, ‭ Some other course desirous to assay, ‭ To pay our lost pains. But some God hath fill’d ‭ Our frustrate sails, defeating what we will’d.” ‭ Apollo answer’d: “Strangers! Though before ‭ Ye dwelt in woody Cnossus, yet no more ‭ Ye must be made your own reciprocals ‭ To your loved city and fair severals ‭ Of wives and houses, but ye shall have here ‭ My wealthy temple, honour’d far and near ‭ Of many a nation; for myself am son ‭ To Jove himself, and of Apollo won ‭ The glorious title, who thus safely through ‭ The sea’s vast billows still have held your plough, ‭ No ill intending, that will yet ye make ‭ My temple here your own, and honours take ‭ Upon yourselves, all that to me are given. ‭ And more, the counsels of the King of Heaven ‭ Yourselves shall know, and with his will receive ‭ Ever the honours that all men shall give. ‭ Do as I say then instantly, strike sail, ‭ Take down your tackling, and your vessel hale ‭ Up into land; your goods bring forth, and all ‭ The instruments that into sailing fall; ‭ Make on this shore an altar, fire enflame, ‭ And barley white cakes offer to my name; ‭ And then, environing the altar, pray, ‭ And call me (as ye saw me in the day ‭ When from the windy seas I brake swift way ‭ Into your ship) Delphinius, since I took ‭ A dolphin’s form then. And to every look ‭ That there shall seek it, that my altar shall ‭ Be made a Delphian memorial ‭ From thence for ever. After this, ascend ‭ Your swift black ship and sup, and then intend ‭ Ingenuous offerings to the equal Gods ‭ That in celestial seats make blest abodes. ‭ When, having stay’d your healthful hunger’s sting, ‭ Come all with me, and Io-pæans sing ‭ All the way’s length, till you attain the state ‭ Where I your opulent fane have consecrate.” ‭ To this they gave him passing diligent ear, ‭ And vow’d to his obedience all they were. ‭ First, striking sail, their tacklings then they losed, ‭ And (with their gables stoop’d) their mast imposed ‭ Into the mast-room. Forth themselves then went, ‭ And from the sea into the continent ‭ Drew up their ship; which far up from the sand ‭ They rais’d with ample rafters. Then in hand ‭ They took the altar; and inform’d it on ‭ The sea’s near shore, imposing thereupon ‭ White cakes of barley, fire made, and did stand ‭ About it round, as Phœbus gave command, ‭ Submitting invocations to his will. ‭ Then sacrific’d to all the heavenly hill ‭ Of pow’rful Godheads. After which they eat ‭ Aboard their ship, till with fit food replete ‭ They rose, nor to their temple used delay. ‭ Whom Phœbus usher’d, and touch’d all the way ‭ His heavenly lute with art above admired, ‭ Gracefully leading them. When all were fired ‭ With zeal to him, and follow’d wond’ring all ‭ To Pythos; and upon his name did call ‭ With Io-pæans, such as Cretans use. ‭ And in their bosoms did the deified Muse ‭ Voices of honey-harmony infuse. ‭ With never-weary feet their way they went, ‭ And made with all alacrity ascent ‭ Up to Parnassus, and that long’d-for place ‭ Where they should live, and be of men the grace. ‭ When, all the way, Apollo show’d them still ‭ Their far-stretch’d valleys, and their two-topp’d hill, ‭ Their famous fane, and all that all could raise ‭ To a supreme height of their joy and praise. ‭ And then the Cretan captain thus inquired ‭ Of King Apollo: “Since you have retired, ‭ O sovereign, our sad lives so far from friends ‭ And native soil (because so far extends ‭ Your dear mind’s pleasure) tell us how we shall ‭ Live in your service? To which question call ‭ Our provident minds, because we see not crown’d ‭ This soil with store of vines, nor doth abound ‭ In wealthy meadows, on which we may live, ‭ As well as on men our attendance give.” ‭ He smiled, and said: “O men that nothing know, ‭ And so are follow’d with a world of woe, ‭ That needs will succour care and curious moan, ‭ And pour out sighs without cessation, ‭ Were all the riches of the earth your own! ‭ Without much business, I will render known ‭ To your simplicities an easy way ‭ To wealth enough, Let every man purvey ‭ A skeane, or slaught’ring steel, and his right hand, ‭ Bravely bestowing, evermore see mann’d ‭ With killing sheep, that to my fane will flow ‭ From all far nations. On all which bestow ‭ Good observation, and all else they give ‭ To me make you your own all, and so live. ‭ For all which watch before my temple well, ‭ And all my counsels, above all, conceal. ‭ If any give vain language, or to deeds, ‭ Yea or as far as injury, proceeds, ‭ Know that, at losers’ hands, for those that gain, ‭ It is the law of mortals to sustain. ‭ Besides, ye shall have princes to obey, ‭ Which still ye must, and (so ye gain) ye may. ‭ All now is said; give all thy memory’s stay.” ‭ And thus to thee, Jove and Latona’s son, ‭ Be given all grace of salutation! ‭ Both thee and others of th’ Immortal State ‭ My song shall memorize to endless date. ‭ THE END OF THE HYMN TO APOLLO. ‭ A HYMN TO HERMES

‭ Hermes, the son of Jove and Maia, sing, ‭ O Muse, th’ Arcadian and Cyllenian king, ‭ They rich in flocks, he heaven enriching still ‭ In messages return’d with all his will. ‭ Whom glorious Maia, the nymph rich in hair, ‭ Mixing with Jove in amorous affair, ‭ Brought forth to him, sustaining a retreat ‭ From all th’ Immortals of the blessed seat, ‭ And living in the same dark cave, where Jove ‭ Inform’d at midnight the effect of love, ‭ Unknown to either man or Deity, ‭ Sweet sleep once having seized the jealous eye ‭ Of Juno deck’d with wrists of ivory. ‭ But when great Jove’s high mind was consummate, ‭ The tenth month had in heaven confined the date ‭ Of Maia’s labour, and into the sight ‭ She brought in one birth labours infinite; ‭ For then she bore a son, that all tried ways ‭ Could turn and wind to wish’d events assays, ‭ A fair-tongu’d, but false-hearted, counsellor, ‭ Rector of ox-stealers, and for all stealths bore ‭ A varied finger; speeder of night’s spies, ‭ And guide of all her dreams’ obscurities; ‭ Guard of door-guardians; and was born to be, ‭ Amongst th’ Immortals, that wing’d Deity ‭ That in an instant should do acts would ask ‭ The powers of others an eternal task. ‭ Born in the morn, he form’d his lute at noon, ‭ At night stole all the oxen of the Sun; ‭ And all this in his birth’s first day was done, ‭ Which was the fourth of the increasing moon. ‭ Because celestial limbs sustain’d his strains, ‭ His sacred swath-bands must not be his chains, ‭ So, starting up, to Phœbus’ herd he stept, ‭ Found straight the high-roof’d cave where they were kept, ‭ And th’ entry passing, he th’ invention found ‭ Of making lutes; and did in wealth abound ‭ By that invention, since he first of all ‭ Was author of that engine musical, ‭ By this means moved to the ingenious work: ‭ Near the cave’s inmost overture did lurk ‭ A tortoise, tasting th’ odoriferous grass, ‭ Leisurely moving; and this object was ‭ The motive to Jove’s son (who could convert ‭ To profitable uses all desert ‭ That nature had in any work convey’d) ‭ To form the lute; when, smiling, thus he said: ‭ “Thou mov’st in me a note of excellent use, ‭ Which thy ill form shall never so seduce ‭ T’ avert the good to be inform’d by it, ‭ In pliant force, of my form-forging wit.” ‭ Then the slow tortoise, wrought on by his mind, ‭ He thus saluted: “All joy to the kind ‭ Instinct of nature in thee, born to be ‭ The spiriter of dances, company ‭ For feasts, and following banquets, graced and blest ‭ For bearing light to all the interest ‭ Claim’d in this instrument! From whence shall spring ‭ Play fair and sweet, to which may Graces sing. ‭ A pretty painted coat thou putt’st on here, ‭ O Tortoise, while thy ill-bred vital sphere ‭ Confines thy fashion; but, surprised by me, ‭ I’ll bear thee home, where thou shalt ever be ‭ A profit to me; and yet nothing more ‭ Will I contemn thee in my merited store. ‭ Goods with good parts got worth and honour gave, ‭ Left goods and honours every fool may have, ‭ And since thou first shall give me means to live, ‭ I’ll love thee ever. Virtuous qualities give ‭ To live at home with them enough content, ‭ Where those that want such inward ornament ‭ Fly out for outward, their life made their load. ‭ Tis best to be at home, harm lurks abroad. ‭ And certainly thy virtue shall be known, ‭ ’Gainst great-ill-causing incantation ‭ To serve as for a lance or amulet. ‭ And where, in comfort of thy vital heat, ‭ Thou now breath’st but a sound confus’d for song, ‭ Expos’d by nature, after death, more strong ‭ Thou shalt in sounds of art be, and command ‭ Song infinite sweeter.” Thus with either hand ‭ He took it up, and instantly took flight ‭ Back to his cave with that his home delight. ‭ Where (giving to the mountain tortoise vents ‭ Of life and motion) with fit instruments ‭ Forged of bright steel he straight inform’d a lute, ‭ Put neck and frets to it, of which a suit ‭ He made of splitted quills, in equal space ‭ Impos’d upon the neck, and did embrace ‭ Both back and bosom. At whose height (as gins ‭ T’ extend and ease the string) he put in pins. ‭ Seven strings of several tunes he then applied, ‭ Made of the entrails of a sheep well-dried, ‭ And throughly twisted. Next he did provide ‭ A case for all, made of an ox’s hide, ‭ Out of his counsels to preserve as well ‭ As to create. And all this action fell ‭ Into an instant consequence. His word ‭ And work had individual accord, ‭ All being as swiftly to perfection brought ‭ As any worldly man’s most ravish’d thought, ‭ Whose mind care cuts in an infinity ‭ Of varied parts or passions instantly, ‭ Or as the frequent twinklings of an eye. ‭ And thus his house-delight given absolute end, ‭ He touch’d it, and did every string extend ‭ (With an exploratory spirit assay’d) ‭ To all the parts that could on it be play’d. ‭ It sounded dreadfully; to which he sung, ‭ As if from thence the first and true force sprung ‭ That fashions virtue. God in him did sing. ‭ His play was likewise an unspeakable thing, ‭ Yet, but as an extemporal assay, ‭ Of what show it would make being the first way, ‭ It tried his hand; or a tumultuous noise, ‭ Such as at feasts the first-flower’d spirits of boys ‭ Pour out in mutual contumelies still, ‭ As little squaring with his curious will, ‭ Or was as wanton and untaught a store. ‭ Of Jove, and Maia that rich shoes still wore, ‭ He sung; who suffer’d ill reports before, ‭ And foul stains under her fair titles bore. ‭ But Hermes sung her nation, and her name ‭ Did iterate ever; all her high-flown fame ‭ Of being Jove’s mistress; celebrating all ‭ Her train of servants, and collateral ‭ Sumpture of houses; all her tripods there, ‭ And caldrons huge, increasing every year. ‭ All which she knew, yet felt her knowledge stung ‭ With her fame’s loss, which (found) she more wish’d sung. ‭ But now he in his sacred cradle laid ‭ His lute so absolute, and straight convey’d ‭ Himself up to a watch-tow’r forth his house, ‭ Rich, and divinely odoriferous, ‭ A lofty wile at work in his conceit, ‭ Thirsting the practice of his empire’s height. ‭ And where impostors rule (since sable night ‭ Must serve their deeds) he did his deeds their right. ‭ For now the never-resting Sun was turn’d ‭ For th’ under earth, and in the ocean burn’d ‭ His coach and coursers; when th’ ingenious spy ‭ Pieria’s shady hill had in his eye, ‭ Where the immortal oxen of the Gods ‭ In air’s flood solaced their select abodes, ‭ And earth’s sweet green flow’r, that was never shorn, ‭ Fed ever down. And these the witty-born, ‭ Argicides, set serious spy upon, ‭ Severing from all the rest, and setting gone ‭ Full fifty of the violent bellowers. ‭ Which driving through the sands, he did reverse ‭ (His birth’s-craft straight rememb’ring) all their hoves, ‭ And them transpos’d in opposite removes, ‭ The fore behind set, the behind before, ‭ T’ employ the eyes of such as should explore. ‭ And he himself, as sly-pac’d, cast away ‭ His sandals on the sea sands; past display ‭ And unexcogitable thoughts in act ‭ Putting, to shun of his stol’n steps the tract, ‭ Mixing both tamrisk and like-tamrisk sprays ‭ In a most rare confusion, to raise ‭ His footsteps up from earth. Of which sprays he ‭ (His armful gathering fresh from off the tree) ‭ Made for his sandals ties, both leaves and ties ‭ Holding together; and then fear’d no eyes ‭ That could affect his feet’s discoveries. ‭ The tamrisk boughs he gather’d, making way ‭ Back from Pieria, but as to convey ‭ Provision in them for his journey fit, ‭ It being long and, therefore, needing it. ‭ An old man, now at labour near the field ‭ Of green Onchestus, knew the verdant yield ‭ Of his fair armful; whom th’ ingenious son ‭ Of Maia, therefore, salutation ‭ Did thus begin to: “Ho, old man! that now ‭ Art crooked grown with making plants to grow, ‭ Thy nerves will far be spent, when these boughs shall ‭ To these their leaves confer me fruit and all. ‭ But see not thou whatever thou dost see, ‭ Nor hear though hear, but all as touching me ‭ Conceal, since nought it can endamage thee.” ‭ This, and no more, he said, and on drave still ‭ His broad-brow’d oxen. Many a shady hill, ‭ And many an echoing valley, many a field ‭ Pleasant and wishful, did his passage yield ‭ Their safe transcension. But now the divine ‭ And black-brow’d Night, his mistress, did decline ‭ Exceeding swiftly; Day’s most early light ‭ Fast hasting to her first point, to excite ‭ Worldlings to work; and in her watch-tow’r shone ‭ King Pallas-Megamedes’ seed (the Moon); ‭ When through th’ Alphæan flood Jove’s powerful son ‭ Phœbus-Apollo’s ample-foreheaded herd ‭ (Whose necks the lab’ring yoke had never sphered) ‭ Drave swiftly on; and then into a stall ‭ (Hilly, yet pass’d to through an humble vale ‭ And hollow dells, in a most lovely mead) ‭ He gather’d all, and them divinely fed ‭ With odorous cypress, and the ravishing tree ‭ That makes his eaters lose the memory ‭ Of name and country. Then he brought withal ‭ Much wood, whose sight into his search let fall ‭ The art of making fire; which thus he tried: ‭ He took a branch of laurel, amplified ‭ Past others both in beauty and in size, ‭ Yet lay next hand, rubb’d it, and straight did rise ‭ A warm fume from it; steel being that did raise ‭ (As agent) the attenuated bays ‭ To that hot vapour. So that Hermes found ‭ Both fire first, and of it the seed close bound ‭ In other substances; and then the seed ‭ He multiplied, of sere-wood making feed ‭ The apt heat of it, in a pile combined ‭ Laid in a low pit, that in flames straight shined, ‭ And cast a sparkling crack up to the sky, ‭ All the dry parts so fervent were, and high ‭ In their combustion. And how long the force ‭ Of glorious Vulcan kept the fire in course, ‭ So long was he in dragging from their stall ‭ Two of the crook-haunch’d herd, that roar’d withal, ‭ And raged for fear, t’ approach the sacred fire, ‭ To which did all his dreadful pow’rs aspire. ‭ When, blust’ring forth their breath, he on the soil ‭ Cast both at length, though with a world of toil, ‭ For long he was in getting them to ground ‭ After their through-thrust and most mortal wound. ‭ But work to work he join’d, the flesh and cut, ‭ Cover’d with fat, and, on treen broches put, ‭ In pieces roasted; but in th’ intestines ‭ The black blood, and the honorary chines, ‭ Together with the carcases, lay there, ‭ Cast on the cold earth, as no Deities’ cheer; ‭ The hides upon a rugged rock he spread. ‭ And thus were these now all in pieces shred, ‭ And undistinguish’d from earth’s common herd, ‭ Though born for long date, and to heaven endear’d, ‭ And now must ever live in dead event. ‭ But Hermes, here hence having his content, ‭ Cared for no more, but drew to places even ‭ The fat-works, that, of force, must have for heaven ‭ Their capital ends, though stol’n, and therefore were ‭ In twelve parts cut, for twelve choice Deities’ cheer, ‭ By this devotion. To all which he gave ‭ Their several honours, and did wish to have ‭ His equal part thereof, as free and well ‭ As th’ other Deities; but the fatty smell ‭ Afflicted him, though he Immortal were, ‭ Playing mortal parts, and being like mortals here ‭ Yet his proud mind nothing the more obey’d ‭ For being a God himself, and his own aid ‭ Having to cause his due, and though in heart ‭ He highly wish’d it; but the weaker part ‭ Subdued the stronger, and went on in ill. ‭ Even heavenly pow’r had rather have his will ‭ Than have his right; and will’s the worst of all, ‭ When but in least sort it is criminal, ‭ One taint being author of a number still. ‭ And thus, resolved to leave his hallow’d hill, ‭ First both the fat parts and the fleshy all ‭ Taking away, at the steep-entried stall ‭ He laid all, all the feet and heads entire, ‭ And all the sere-wood, making clear with fire. ‭ And now, he leaving there then all things done, ‭ And finish’d in their fit perfection, ‭ The coals put out, and their black ashes thrown ‭ From all discovery by the lovely light ‭ The cheerful moon cast, shining all the night, ‭ He straight assumed a novel voice’s note, ‭ And in the whirl-pit-eating flood afloat ‭ He set his sandals. When now, once again ‭ The that-morn-born Cyllenius did attain ‭ His home’s divine height; all the far-stretch’d way ‭ No one bless’d God encount’ring his assay, ‭ Nor mortal man; nor any dog durst spend ‭ His born-to-bark mouth at him; till in th’ end ‭ He reach’d his cave, and at the gate went in ‭ Crooked, and wrapt into a fold so thin ‭ That no eye could discover his repair, ‭ But as a darkness of th’ autumnal air. ‭ When, going on fore-right, he straight arrived ‭ At his rich fane; his soft feet quite deprived ‭ Of all least noise of one that trod the earth, ‭ They trod so swift to reach his room of birth. ‭ Where, in his swath-bands he his shoulders wrapt, ‭ And (like an infant, newly having scap’t ‭ The teeming straits) as in the palms he lay ‭ Of his loved nurse. Yet instantly would play ‭ (Freeing his right hand) with his bearing cloth ‭ About his knees wrapt, and straight (loosing both ‭ His right and left hand) with his left he caught ‭ His much-loved lute. His mother yet was taught ‭ His wanton wiles, nor could a God’s wit lie ‭ Hid from a Goddess, who did therefore try ‭ His answer thus: “Why, thou made-all-of-sleight, ‭ And whence arriv’st thou in this rest of night? ‭ Improvident impudent! In my conceit ‭ Thou rather shouldst be getting forth thy gate, ‭ With all flight fit for thy endanger’d state, ‭ (In merit of th’ inevitable bands ‭ To be impos’d by vex’d Latona’s hands, ‭ Justly incens’d for her Apollo’s harms) ‭ Than lie thus wrapt, as ready for her arms, ‭ To take thee up and kiss thee. Would to heaven, ‭ In cross of that high grace, thou hadst been given ‭ Up to perdition, ere poor mortals bear ‭ Those black banes, that thy Father Thunderer ‭ Hath planted thee of purpose to confer ‭ On them and Deities!” He returned reply: ‭ “As master of the feats of policy, ‭ Mother, why aim you thus amiss at me, ‭ As if I were a son that infancy ‭ Could keep from all the skill that age can teach, ‭ Or had in cheating but a childish reach, ‭ And of a mother’s mandates fear’d the breach? ‭ I mount that art at first, that will be best ‭ When all times consummate their cunningest, ‭ Able to counsel now myself and thee, ‭ In all things best, to all eternity. ‭ We cannot live like Gods here without gifts, ‭ No, nor without corruption and shifts, ‭ And, much less, without eating; as we must ‭ In keeping thy rules, and in being just, ‭ Of which we cannot undergo the loads. ‭ ’Tis better here to imitate the Gods, ‭ And wine or wench out all time’s periods, ‭ To that end growing rich in ready heaps, ‭ Stored with revenues, being in corn-field reaps ‭ Of infinite acres, than to live enclosed ‭ In caves, to all earth’s sweetest air exposed. ‭ I as much honour hold as Phœbus does; ‭ And if my Father please not to dispose ‭ Possessions to me, I myself will see ‭ If I can force them in; for I can be ‭ Prince of all thieves. And, if Latona’s son ‭ Make after my stealth indignation, ‭ I’ll have a scape as well as he a search, ‭ And overtake him with a greater lurch; ‭ For I can post to Pythos, and break through ‭ His huge house there, where harbours wealth enough, ‭ Most precious tripods, caldrons, steel, and gold, ‭ Garments rich wrought, and full of liberal fold. ‭ All which will I at pleasure own, and thou ‭ Shalt see all, wilt thou but thy sight bestow.” ‭ Thus changed great words the Goat-hide-wearer’s son, ‭ And Maia of majestic fashion. ‭ And now the air-begot Aurora rose ‭ From out the Ocean great-in-ebbs-and-flows, ‭ When, at the never-shorn pure-and-fair grove ‭ (Onchestus) consecrated to the love ‭ Of round-and-long-neck’d Neptune, Phœbus found ‭ A man whom heavy years had press’d half round, ‭ And yet at work in plashing of a fence ‭ About a vineyard, that had residence ‭ Hard by the highway; whom Latona’s son ‭ Made it not strange, but first did question, ‭ And first saluted: “Ho you! aged sire, ‭ That here are hewing from the vine the briar, ‭ For certain oxen I come here t’ inquire ‭ Out of Pieria; females all, and rear’d ‭ All with horns wreath’d, unlike the common herd; ‭ A coal-black bull fed by them all alone; ‭ And all observ’d, for preservation, ‭ Through all their foody and delicious fen ‭ With four fierce mastiffs, like one-minded men. ‭ These left their dogs and bull (which I admire) ‭ And, when was near set day’s eternal fire, ‭ From their fierce guardians, from their delicate fare, ‭ Made clear departure. To me then declare, ‭ O old man, long since born, if thy grave ray ‭ Hath any man seen making steathful way ‭ With all those oxen.” Th’ old man made reply: ‭ “’Tis hard, O friend, to render readily ‭ Account of all that may invade mine eye, ‭ For many a traveller this highway treads, ‭ Some in much ills search, some in noble threads, ‭ Leading their lives out; but I this young day, ‭ Even from her first point, have made good display ‭ Of all men passing this abundant hill ‭ Planted with vines, and no such stealthful ill ‭ Her light hath shown me; but last evening, late, ‭ I saw a thing that show’d of childish state ‭ To my old lights, and seem’d as he pursued ‭ A herd of oxen with brave heads endued, ‭ Yet but an infant, and retain’d a rod; ‭ Who wearily both this and that way trod, ‭ His head still backwards turn’d.” This th’ old man spake; ‭ Which he well thought upon, and swiftly brake ‭ Into his pursuit with abundant wing, ‭ That strook but one plain, ere he knew the thing ‭ That was the thief to be th’ impostor born; ‭ Whom Jove yet with his son’s name did adorn. ‭ In study and with ardour then the King ‭ (Jove’s dazzling son) placed his exploring wing ‭ On sacred Pylos, for his forced herd, ‭ His ample shoulders in a cloud enspher’d ‭ Of fiery crimson. Straight the steps he found ‭ Of his stol’n herd, and said: “Strange sights confound ‭ My apprehensive powers, for here I see ‭ The tracks of oxen, but aversively ‭ Converted towards the Pierian hills, ‭ As treading to their mead of daffodils: ‭ But nor mine eye men’s feet nor women’s draws, ‭ Nor hoary wolves’, nor bears’, nor lions’, paws, ‭ Nor thick-neck’d bulls, they show. But he that does ‭ These monstrous deeds, with never so swift shoes ‭ Hath pass’d from that hour hither, but from hence ‭ His foul course may meet fouler consequence.” ‭ With this took Phœbus wing; and Hermes still, ‭ For all his threats, secure lay in his hill ‭ Wall’d with a wood; and more, a rock, beside, ‭ Where a retreat ran, deeply multiplied ‭ In blinding shadows, and where th’ endless Bride ‭ Bore to Saturnius his ingenious son; ‭ An odour, worth a heart’s desire, being thrown ‭ Along the heaven-sweet hill, on whose herb fed ‭ Rich flocks of sheep, that bow not where they tread ‭ Their horny pasterns. There the Light of men ‭ (Jove’s son, Apollo) straight descended then ‭ The marble pavement, in that gloomy den. ‭ On whom when Jove and Maia’s son set eye, ‭ Wroth for his oxen, on then, instantly, ‭ His odorous swath-bands flew; in which as close ‭ Th’ impostor lay, as in the cool repose ‭ Of cast-on ashes hearths of burning coals ‭ Lie in the woods hid, under the controls ‭ Of skilful colliers; even so close did lie ‭ Inscrutable Hermes in Apollo’s eye, ‭ Contracting his great Godhead to a small ‭ And infant likeness, feet, hands, head, and all. ‭ And as a hunter hath been often view’d, ‭ From chase retired, with both his hands embrued ‭ In his game’s blood, that doth for water call ‭ To cleanse his hands, and to provoke withal ‭ Delightsome sleep, new-wash’d and laid to rest; ‭ So now lay Hermes in the close-compress’d ‭ Chace of his oxen, his new-found-out lute ‭ Beneath his arm held, as if no pursuit ‭ But that prise, and the virtue of his play, ‭ His heart affected. But to Phœbus lay ‭ His close heart open; and he likewise knew ‭ The brave hill-nymph there, and her dear son, new- ‭ Born, and as well wrapt in his wiles as weeds. ‭ All the close shrouds too, for his rapinous deeds, ‭ In all the cave he knew; and with his key ‭ He open’d three of them, in which there lay ‭ Silver and gold-heaps, nectar infinite store, ‭ And dear ambrosia; and of weeds she wore, ‭ Pure white and purple, a rich wardrobe shined. ‭ Fit for the bless’d states of Pow’rs so divined. ‭ All which discover’d, thus to Mercury ‭ He offer’d conference: “Infant! You that lie ‭ Wrapt so in swath-bands, instantly unfold ‭ In what conceal’d retreats of yours you hold ‭ My oxen stol’n by you; or straight we shall ‭ Jar, as beseems not Pow’rs Celestial. ‭ For I will take and hurl thee to the deeps ‭ Of dismal Tartarus, where ill Death keeps ‭ His gloomy and inextricable fates, ‭ And to no eye that light illuminates ‭ Mother nor Father shall return thee free, ‭ But under earth shall sorrow fetter thee, ‭ And few repute thee their superior.” ‭ On him replied craft’s subtlest Counsellor: ‭ “What cruel speech hath past Latona’s care! ‭ Seeks he his stol‘n wild-cows where Deities are? ‭ I have nor seen nor heard, nor can report ‭ From others’ mouths one word of their resort ‭ To any stranger. Nor will I, to gain ‭ A base reward, a false relation feign. ‭ Nor would I, could I tell. Resemble I ‭ An ox-thief, or a man? Especially ‭ A man of such a courage, such a force ‭ As to that labour goes, that violent course? ‭ No infant’s work is that. My pow’rs aspire ‭ To sleep, and quenching of my hunger’s fire ‭ With mother’s milk, and, ’gainst cold shades, to arm ‭ With cradle-cloths my shoulders, and baths warm, ‭ That no man may conceive the war you threat ‭ Can spring in cause from my so peaceful heat. ‭ And, even amongst th’ Immortals it would bear ‭ Event of absolute miracle, to hear ‭ A new-born infant’s forces should transcend ‭ The limits of his doors; much less contend ‭ With untam’d oxen. This speech nothing seems ‭ To savour the decorum of the beams ‭ Cast round about the air Apollo breaks, ‭ Where his divine mind her intention speaks. ‭ I brake but yesterday the blessed womb, ‭ My feet are tender, and the common tomb ‭ Of men (the Earth) lies sharp beneath their tread. ‭ But, if you please, even by my Father’s head ‭ I’ll take the great oath, that nor I protest ‭ Myself to author on your interest ‭ Any such usurpation, nor have I ‭ Seen any other that feloniously ‭ Hath forced your oxen. Strange thing! What are those ‭ Oxen of yours? Or what are oxen? Knows ‭ My rude mind, think you? My ears only touch ‭ At their renown, and hear that there are such.” ‭ This speech he pass’d; and, ever as he spake, ‭ Beams from the hair about his eyelids brake, ‭ His eyebrows up and down cast, and his eye ‭ Every way look’d askance and carelessly, ‭ And he into a lofty whistling fell, ‭ As if he idle thought Apollo’s spell. ‭ Apollo, gently smiling, made reply: ‭ “O thou impostor, whose thoughts ever lie ‭ In labour with deceit! For certain, I ‭ Retain opinion, that thou (even thus soon) ‭ Hast ransack’d many a house, and not in one ‭ Night’s-work alone, nor in one country neither, ‭ Hast been besieging house and man together, ‭ Rigging and rifling all ways, and no noise ‭ Made with thy soft feet, where it all destroys. ‭ Soft, therefore, well, and tender, thou may’st call ‭ The feet that thy stealths go and fly withal, ‭ For many a field-bred herdsman (unheard still) ‭ Hast thou made drown the caverns of the hill, ‭ Where his retreats lie, with his helpless tears, ‭ When any flesh-stealth thy desire endears, ‭ And thou encount’rest either flocks of sheep, ‭ Or herds of oxen! Up then! Do not sleep ‭ Thy last nap in thy cradle, but come down, ‭ Companion of black night, and, for this crown ‭ Of thy young rapines, bear from all the state ‭ And style of Prince Thief, into endless date.” ‭ This said, he took the infant in his arms, ‭ And with him the remembrance of his harms, ‭ This presage utt’ring, lifting him aloft: ‭ “Be evermore the miserably-soft ‭ Slave of the belly, pursuivant of all, ‭ And author of all mischiefs capital.” ‭ He scorn’d his prophecy so he sneezed in’s face ‭ Most forcibly; which hearing, his embrace ‭ He loathed and hurl’d him ’gainst the ground; yet still ‭ Took seat before him, though, with all the ill ‭ He bore by him, he would have left full fain ‭ That hewer of his heart so into twain. ‭ Yet salv’d all thus: “Come, you so-swaddled thing! ‭ Issue of Maia, and the Thunder’s King! ‭ Be confident, I shall hereafter find ‭ My broad-brow’d oxen, my prophetic mind ‭ So far from blaming this thy course, that I ‭ Foresee thee in it to posterity ‭ The guide of all men, always, to their ends.” ‭ This spoken, Hermes from the earth ascends, ‭ Starting aloft, and as in study went, ‭ Wrapping himself in his integument, ‭ And thus ask’d Phœbus: “Whither force you me, ‭ Far-shot, and far most powerful Deity? ‭ I know, for all your feigning, you’re still wroth ‭ About your oxen, and suspect my troth. ‭ O Jupiter! I wish the general race ‭ Of all earth’s oxen rooted from her face. ‭ I steal your oxen! I again profess ‭ That neither I have stol’n them, nor can guess ‭ Who else should steal them. What strange beasts are these ‭ Your so-loved oxen? I must say, to please ‭ Your humour thus far, that even my few hours ‭ Have heard their fame. But be the sentence yours ‭ Of the debate betwixt us, or to Jove ‭ (For more indifferency) the cause remove.” ‭ Thus when the solitude-affecting God, ‭ And the Latonian seed, had laid abroad ‭ All things betwixt them; though not yet agreed, ‭ Yet, might I speak, Apollo did proceed ‭ Nothing unjustly, to charge Mercury ‭ With stealing of the cows he does deny. ‭ But his profession was, with filed speech, ‭ And craft’s fair compliments, to overreach ‭ All, and even Phœbus. Who because he knew ‭ His trade of subtlety, he still at view ‭ Hunted his foe through all the sandy way ‭ Up to Olympus. Nor would let him stray ‭ From out his sight, but kept behind him still. ‭ And now they reach’d the odorif’rous hill ‭ Of high Olympus, to their Father Jove, ‭ To arbitrate the cause in which they strove. ‭ Where, before both, talents of justice were ‭ Propos’d for him whom Jove should sentence clear, ‭ In cause of their contention. And now ‭ About Olympus, ever crown’d with snow, ‭ The rumour of their controversy flew. ‭ All the Incorruptible, to their view, ‭ On Heaven’s steep mountain made return’d repair. ‭ Hermes, and He that light hurls through the air, ‭ Before the Thund’rer’s knees stood; who begun ‭ To question thus far his illustrious Son: ‭ “Phœbus! To what end bring’st thou captive here ‭ Him in whom my mind puts delights so dear? ‭ This new-born infant, that the place supplies ‭ Of Herald yet to all the Deities? ‭ This serious business, you may witness, draws ‭ The Deities’ whole Court to discuss the cause.” ‭ Phœbus replied: “And not unworthy is ‭ The cause of all the Court of Deities, ‭ For, you shall hear, it comprehends the weight ‭ Of devastation, and the very height ‭ Of spoil and rapine, even of Deities’ rights. ‭ Yet you, as if myself loved such delights, ‭ Use words that wound my heart. I bring you here ‭ An infant, that, even now, admits no peer ‭ In rapes and robb’ries. Finding out his place, ‭ After my measure of an infinite space, ‭ In the Cyllenian mountain, such a one ‭ In all the art of opprobration, ‭ As not in all the Deities I have seen, ‭ Nor in th’ oblivion-mark’d whole race of men. ‭ In night he drave my oxen from their leas, ‭ Along the lofty roar-resounding seas, ‭ From out the road-way quite; the steps of them ‭ So quite transpos’d, as would amaze the beam ‭ Of any mind’s eye, being so infinite much ‭ Involv’d in doubt, as show’d a deified touch ‭ Went to the work’s performance; all the way, ‭ Through which my cross-hoved cows he did convey, ‭ Had dust so darkly-hard to search, and he ‭ So past all measure wrapt in subtilty. ‭ For, nor with feet, nor hands, he form’d his steps, ‭ In passing through the dry way’s sandy heaps, ‭ But used another counsel to keep hid ‭ His monstrous tracts, that show’d as one had slid ‭ On oak or other boughs, that swept out still ‭ The footsteps of his oxen, and did fill ‭ Their prints up ever, to the daffodill ‭ (Or dainty-feeding meadow) as they trod, ‭ Driven by this cautelous and infant God. ‭ A mortal man, yet, saw him driving on ‭ His prey to Pylos. Which when he had done, ‭ And got his pass sign’d, with a sacred fire, ‭ In peace, and freely (though to his desire, ‭ Not to the Gods, he offer’d part of these ‭ My ravish’d oxen) he retires, and lies, ‭ Like to the gloomy night, in his dim den, ‭ All hid in darkness; and in clouts again ‭ Wrapp’d him so closely, that the sharp-seen eye ‭ Of your own eagle could not see him lie. ‭ For with his hands the air he rarified ‭ (This way, and that moved) till bright gleams did glide ‭ About his being, that, if any eye ‭ Should dare the darkness, light appos’d so nigh ‭ Might blind it quite with her antipathy. ‭ Which wile he wove, in curious care t’ illude ‭ Th’ extreme of any eye that could intrude. ‭ On which relying, he outrageously ‭ (When I accus’d him) trebled his reply: ‭ ‘I did not see, I did not hear, nor I ‭ Will tell at all, that any other stole ‭ Your broad-brow’d beeves. Which an impostor’s soul ‭ Would soon have done, and any author fain ‭ Of purpose only a reward to gain.’ ‭ And thus he colour’d truth in every lie.” ‭ This said, Apollo sat; and Mercury ‭ The Gods’ Commander pleased with this reply: ‭ “Father! I’ll tell thee truth (for I am true, ‭ And far from art to lie): He did pursue ‭ Even to my cave his oxen this self day, ‭ The sun new-raising his illustrious ray; ‭ But brought with him none of the Bliss-endued, ‭ Nor any ocular witness, to conclude ‭ His bare assertion; but his own command ‭ Laid on with strong and necessary hand, ‭ To show his oxen; using threats to cast ‭ My poor and infant powers into the vast ‭ Of ghastly Tartarus; because he bears ‭ Of strength-sustaining youth the flaming years, ‭ And I but yesterday produced to light. ‭ By which it fell into his own free sight, ‭ That I in no similitude appear’d ‭ Of power to be the forcer of a herd. ‭ And credit me, O Father, since the grace ‭ Of that name, in your style, you please to place, ‭ I drave not home his oxen, no, nor prest ‭ Past mine own threshold; for ’tis manifest, ‭ I reverence with my soul the Sun, and all ‭ The knowing dwellers in this heavenly Hall, ‭ Love you, observe the least; and ’tis most clear ‭ In your own knowledge, that my merits bear ‭ No least guilt of his blame. To all which I ‭ Dare add heaven’s great oath, boldly swearing by ‭ All these so well-built entries of the Blest. ‭ And therefore when I saw myself so prest ‭ With his reproaches, I confess I burn’d ‭ In my pure gall, and harsh reply return’d. ‭ Add your aid to your younger then, and free ‭ The scruple fixt in Phœbus’ jealousy.” ‭ This said he wink’d upon his Sire; and still ‭ His swathbands held beneath his arm; no will ‭ Discern’d in him to hide, but have them shown. ‭ Jove laugh’d aloud at his ingenious Son, ‭ Quitting himself with art, so likely wrought, ‭ As show’d in his heart not a rapinous thought; ‭ Commanding both to bear atoned minds ‭ And seek out th’ oxen; in which search he binds ‭ Hermes to play the guide, and show the Sun ‭ (All grudge exil’d) the shrowd to which he won ‭ His fair-eyed oxen; then his forehead bow’d ‭ For sign it must be so; and Hermes show’d ‭ His free obedience; so soon he inclined ‭ To his persuasion and command his mind. ‭ Now, then, Jove’s jarring Sons no longer stood, ‭ But sandy Pylos and th’ Alphæan flood ‭ Reach’d instantly, and made as quick a fall ‭ On those rich-feeding fields and lofty stall ‭ Where Phœbus’ oxen Hermes safely kept, ‭ Driven in by night. When suddenly he stept ‭ Up to the stony cave, and into light ‭ Drave forth the oxen. Phœbus at first sight ‭ Knew them the same, and saw apart dispread ‭ Upon a high-rais’d rock the hides new flead ‭ Of th’ oxen sacrific’d. Then Phœbus said: ‭ “O thou in crafty counsels undisplaid! ‭ How couldst thou cut the throats, and cast to earth, ‭ Two such huge oxen, being so young a birth, ‭ And a mere infant? I admire thy force, ‭ And will, behind thy back. But this swift course ‭ Of growing into strength thou hadst not need ‭ Continue any long date, O thou Seed ‭ Of honour’d Maia!” Hermes (to show how ‭ He did those deeds) did forthwith cut and bow ‭ Strong osiers in soft folds, and strappled straight ‭ One of his hugest oxen, all his weight ‭ Lay’ng prostrate on the earth at Phœbus’ feet, ‭ All his four cloven hoves eas’ly made to greet ‭ Each other upwards, all together brought. ‭ In all which bands yet all the beast’s powers wrought, ‭ To rise, and stand; when all the herd about ‭ The mighty Hermes rush’d in, to help out ‭ Their fellow from his fetters. Phœbus’ view ‭ Of all this up to admiration drew ‭ Even his high forces; and stern looks he threw ‭ At Hermes for his herd’s wrong, and the place ‭ To which he had retir’d them, being in grace ‭ And fruitful riches of it so entire; ‭ All which set all his force on envious fire. ‭ All whose heat flew out of his eyes in flames, ‭ Which fain he would have hid, to hide the shames, ‭ Of his ill-govern’d passions. But with ease ‭ Hermes could calm them, and his humours please. ‭ Still at his pleasure, were he ne’er so great ‭ In force and fortitude, and high in heat, ‭ In all which he his lute took, and assay’d ‭ A song upon him, and so strangely play’d, ‭ That from his hand a ravishing horror flew. ‭ Which Phœbus into laughter turn’d, and grew ‭ Pleasant past measure; tunes so artful clear ‭ Strook even his heart-strings, and his mind made hear. ‭ His lute so powerful was in forcing love, ‭ As his hand rul’d it, that from him it drove ‭ All fear of Phœbus; yet he gave him still ‭ The upper hand; and, to advance his skill ‭ To utmost miracle, he play’d sometimes ‭ Single awhile; in which, when all the climes ‭ Of rapture he had reach’d, to make the Sun ‭ Admire enough, O then his voice would run ‭ Such points upon his play, and did so move, ‭ They took Apollo prisoner to his love. ‭ And now the deathless Gods and deathful Earth ‭ He sung, beginning at their either’s birth ‭ To full extent of all their empery. ‭ And, first, the honour to Mnemosyne, ‭ The Muses’ mother, of all Goddess states ‭ He gave; even forced to’t by the equal fates. ‭ And then (as it did in priority fall ‭ Of age and birth) he celebrated all. ‭ And with such elegance and order sung ‭ (His lute still touch’d, to stick more off his tongue) ‭ That Phœbus’ heart with infinite love he eat. ‭ Who, therefore, thus did his deserts entreat: ‭ “Master of sacrifice! Chief soul of feast! ‭ Patient of all pains! Artizan so blest, ‭ That all things thou canst do in anyone! ‭ Worth fifty oxen is th’ invention ‭ Of this one lute. We both shall now, I hope, ‭ In firm peace work to all our wishes’ scope. ‭ Inform me (thou that every way canst wind, ‭ And turn to act, all wishes of thy mind) ‭ Together with thy birth came all thy skill? ‭ Or did some God, or God-like man, instill ‭ This heavenly song to thee? Methink I hear ‭ A new voice, such as never yet came near ‭ The breast of any, either man or God, ‭ Till in thee it had prime and period. ‭ What art, what Muse that med’cine can produce ‭ For cares most cureless, what inveterate use ‭ Or practice of a virtue so profuse ‭ (Which three do all the contribution keep ‭ That Joy or Love confers, or pleasing Sleep.) ‭ Taught thee the sovereign facture of them all? ‭ I of the Muses am the capital ‭ Consort, or follower; and to these belong ‭ The grace of dance, all worthy ways of song, ‭ And ever-flourishing verse, the delicate set ‭ And sound of instruments. But never yet ‭ Did anything so much affect my mind ‭ With joy and care to compass, as this kind ‭ Of song and play, that for the spritely feast ‭ Of flourishing assemblies are the best ‭ And aptest works that ever worth gave act. ‭ My powers with admiration stand distract, ‭ To hear with what a hand to make in love ‭ Thou rul’st thy lute. And (though thy yong’st hours move ‭ At full art in old councils) here I vow ‭ (Even by this cornel dart I use to throw) ‭ To thee, and to thy mother, I’ll make thee ‭ Amongst the Gods of glorious degree, ‭ Guide of men’s ways and theirs; and will impart ‭ To thee the mighty imperatory art, ‭ Bestow rich gifts on thee, and in the end ‭ Never deceive thee.” Hermes (as a friend ‭ That wrought on all advantage, and made gain ‭ His capital object) thus did entertain ‭ Phœbus Apollo: “Do thy dignities, ‭ Far-working God and circularly wise, ‭ Demand my virtues? Without envy I ‭ Will teach thee to ascend my faculty. ‭ And this day thou shalt reach it; finding me, ‭ In acts and counsels, all ways kind to thee, ‭ As one that all things knows, and first tak’st seat ‭ Amongst th’ Immortals, being good and great, ‭ And therefore to Jove’s love mak’st free access, ‭ Even out of his accomplisht holiness. ‭ Great gifts he likewise gives thee; who, fame says, ‭ Hast won thy greatness by his will, his ways, ‭ By him know’st all the powers prophetical, ‭ O thou far-worker, and the fates of all! ‭ Yea, and I know thee rich, yet apt to learn, ‭ And even thy wish dost but discern and earn. ‭ And since thy soul so burns to know the way ‭ So play and sing as I do, sing, and play; ‭ Play, and perfection in thy play employ; ‭ And be thy care, to learn things good, thy joy. ‭ Take thou my lute (my love) and give thou me ‭ The glory of so great a faculty. ‭ This sweet-tuned consort, held but in thy hand, ‭ Sing, and perfection in thy song command. ‭ For thou already hast the way to speak ‭ Fairly and elegantly, and to break ‭ All eloquence into thy utter’d mind. ‭ One gift from heaven found may another find. ‭ Use then securely this thy gift, and go ‭ To feasts and dances that enamour so, ‭ And to that covetous sport of getting glory, ‭ That day nor night will suffer to be sory. ‭ Whoever does but say in verse, sings still; ‭ Which he that can of any other skill ‭ Is capable, so he be taught by art ‭ And wisdom, and can speak at every part ‭ Things pleasing to an understanding mind; ‭ And such a one that seeks this lute shall find. ‭ Him still it teaches eas’ly, though he plays ‭ Soft voluntaries only, and assays ‭ As wanton as the sports of children are, ‭ And (even when he aspires to singular ‭ In all the mast’ries he shall play or sing) ‭ Finds the whole work but an unhappy thing, ‭ He, I say, sure shall of this lute be king. ‭ But he, whoever rudely sets upon ‭ Of this lute’s skill th’ inquest or question ‭ Never so ardently and angrily, ‭ Without the aptness and ability ‭ Of art, and nature fitting, never shall ‭ Aspire to this, but utter trivial ‭ And idle accents, though sung ne’er so loud, ‭ And never so commended of the crowd. ‭ But thee I know, O eminent Son of Jove, ‭ The fiery learner of whatever Love ‭ Hath sharpen’d thy affections to achieve, ‭ And thee I give this lute. Let us now live ‭ Feeding upon the hill and horse-fed earth ‭ Our never-handled oxen; whose dear birth ‭ Their females, fellow’d with their males, let flow ‭ In store enough hereafter; nor must you ‭ (However cunning-hearted your wits are) ‭ Boil in your gall a grudge too circular.” ‭ Thus gave he him his lute, which he embrac’d, ‭ And gave again a goad, whose bright head cast ‭ Beams like the light forth; leaving to his care ‭ His oxen’s keeping. Which, with joyful fare, ‭ He took on him. The lute Apollo took ‭ Into his left hand, and aloft he shook ‭ Delightsome sounds up, to which God did sing. ‭ Then were the oxen to their endless spring ‭ Turn’d; and Jove’s two illustrous Offsprings flew ‭ Up to Olympus where it ever snew, ‭ Delighted with their lute’s sound all the way. ‭ Whom Jove much joy’d to see, and endless stay ‭ Gave to their knot of friendship. From which date ‭ Hermes gave Phœbus an eternal state ‭ In his affection, whose sure pledge and sign ‭ His lute was, and the doctrine so divine ‭ Jointly conferr’d on him; which well might be ‭ True symbol of his love’s simplicity. ‭ On th’ other part, Apollo in his friend ‭ Form’d th’ art of wisdom, to the binding end ‭ Of his vow’d friendship; and (for further meed) ‭ Gave him the far-heard fistulary reed. ‭ For all these forms of friendship, Phœbus yet ‭ Fear’d that both form and substance were not met ‭ In Mercury’s intentions; and, in plain, ‭ Said (since he saw him born to craft and gain, ‭ And that Jove’s will had him the honour done ‭ To change at his will the possession ‭ Of others’ goods) he fear’d his breach of vows ‭ In stealing both his lute and cunning bows, ‭ And therefore wish’d that what the Gods affect ‭ Himself would witness, and to his request ‭ His head bow, swearing by th’ impetuous flood ‭ Of Styx that of his whole possessions not a good ‭ He would diminish, but therein maintain ‭ The full content in which his mind did reign. ‭ And then did Maia’s son his forehead bow, ‭ Making, by all that he desired, his vow ‭ Never to prey more upon anything ‭ In just possession of the far-shot King, ‭ Nor ever to come near a house of his. ‭ Latonian Phœbus bow’d his brow to this, ‭ With his like promise, saying: “Not anyone ‭ Of all the Gods, nor any man, that son ‭ Is to Saturnius, is more dear to me, ‭ More trusted, nor more honour’d is than thee. ‭ Which yet with greater gifts of Deity ‭ In future I’ll confirm, and give thy state ‭ A rod that riches shall accumulate, ‭ Nor leave the bearer thrall to death, or fate, ‭ Or any sickness. All of gold it is, ‭ Three-leaved, and full of all felicities. ‭ And, this shall be thy guardian, this shall give ‭ The Gods to thee in all the truth they live, ‭ And, finally, shall this the tut’ress be ‭ Of all the words and works informing me ‭ From Jove’s high counsels, making known to thee ‭ All my instructions. But to prophesy, ‭ Of best of Jove’s beloved, and that high skill ‭ Which to obtain lies burning in thy will, ‭ Nor thee, nor any God, will Fate let learn. ‭ Only Jove’s mind hath insight to discern ‭ What that importeth; yet am I allow’d ‭ (My known faith trusted, and my forehead bow’d, ‭ Our great oath taken, to resolve to none ‭ Of all th’ Immortals the restriction ‭ Of that deep knowledge) of it all the mind. ‭ Since then it sits in such fast bounds confin’d, ‭ O brother, when the golden rod is held ‭ In thy strong hand, seek not to have reveal’d ‭ Any sure fate that Jove will have conceal’d. ‭ For no man shall, by know’ng, prevent his fate; ‭ And therefore will I hold in my free state ‭ The pow’r to hurt and help what man I will, ‭ Of all the greatest, or least touch’d with ill, ‭ That walk within the circle of mine eye, ‭ In all the tribes and sexes it shall try. ‭ Yet, truly, any man shall have his will ‭ To reap the fruits of my prophetic skill, ‭ Whoever seeks it by the voice or wing ‭ Of birds, born truly such events to sing. ‭ Nor will I falsely, nor with fallacies, ‭ Infringe the truth on which his faith relies, ‭ But he that truths in chattering plumes would find, ‭ Quite opposite to them that prompt my mind, ‭ And learn by natural forgers of vain lies ‭ The more-than-ever-certain Deities, ‭ That man shall sea-ways tread that leave no tracts, ‭ And false or no guide find for all his facts. ‭ And yet will I his gifts accept as well ‭ As his to whom the simple truth I tell. ‭ One other thing to thee I’ll yet make known, ‭ Maia’s exceedingly renowned son, ‭ And Jove’s, and of the Gods’ whole session ‭ The most ingenious genius: There dwell ‭ Within a crooked cranny, in a dell ‭ Beneath Parnassus, certain Sisters born, ‭ Call’d Parcæ, whom extreme swift wings adorn, ‭ Their number three, that have upon their heads ‭ White barley-flour still sprinkled, and are maids; ‭ And these are schoolmistresses of things to come, ‭ Without the gift of prophecy. Of whom ‭ (Being but a boy, and keeping oxen near) ‭ I learn’d their skill, though my great Father were ‭ Careless of it, or them. These flying from home ‭ To others’ roofs, and fed with honeycomb, ‭ Command all skill, and (being enraged then) ‭ Will freely tell the truths of things to men. ‭ But if they give them not that Gods’ sweet meat, ‭ They then are apt to utter their deceit, ‭ And lead men from their way. And these will I ‭ Give thee hereafter, when their scrutiny ‭ And truth thou hast both made and learn’d; and then ‭ Please thyself with them, and the race of men ‭ (Wilt thou know any) with thy skill endear, ‭ Who will, be sure, afford it greedy ear, ‭ And hear it often if it prove sincere. ‭ Take these, O Maia’s son, and in thy care ‭ Be horse and oxen, all such men as are ‭ Patient of labour, lions, white-tooth’d boars, ‭ Mastiffs, and flocks that feed the flow’ry shores, ‭ And every four-foot beast; all which shall stand ‭ In awe of thy high imperatory hand. ‭ Be thou to Dis, too, sole Ambassador, ‭ Who, though all gifts and bounties he abhor, ‭ On thee he will bestow a wealthy one.” ‭ Thus king Apollo honour’d Maia’s son ‭ With all the rites of friendship; all whose love ‭ Had imposition from the will of Jove. ‭ And thus with Gods and mortals Hermes lived, ‭ Who truly help’d but few, but all deceived ‭ With an undifferencing respect, and made ‭ Vain words and false persuasions his trade. ‭ His deeds were all associates of the night, ‭ In which his close wrongs cared for no man’s right. ‭ So all salutes to Hermes that are due, ‭ Of whom, and all Gods, shall my Muse sing true. ‭ THE END OF THE HYMN TO HERMES. ‭ A HYMN TO VENUS

‭ The force, O Muse, and functions now unfold ‭ Of Cyprian Venus, grac’d with mines of gold; ‭ Who even in Deities lights love’s sweet desire, ‭ And all Death’s kinds of men makes kiss her fire, ‭ All air’s wing’d nation, all the belluine, ‭ That or the earth feeds, or the seas confine. ‭ To all which appertain the love and care ‭ Of well-crown’d Venus’ works. Yet three there are ‭ Whose minds She neither can deceive nor move; ‭ Pallas, the Seed of Ægis-bearing Jove, ‭ Who still lives indevirginate, her eyes ‭ Being blue, and sparkling like the freezing skies, ‭ Whom all the gold of Venus never can ‭ Tempt to affect her facts with God or man. ‭ She, loving strife, and Mars’s working banes, ‭ Pitch’d fields and fights, and famous artizans, ‭ Taught earthy men first all the arts that are, ‭ Chariots, and all the frames vehicular, ‭ Chiefly with brass arm’d, and adorn’d for war. ‭ Where Venus only soft-skinn’d wenches fills ‭ With wanton house-works, and suggests those skills ‭ Still to their studies. Whom Diana neither, ‭ That bears the golden distaff, and together ‭ Calls horns, and hollows, and the cries of hounds, ‭ And owns the epithet of loving sounds ‭ For their sakes, springing from such spritely sports, ‭ Can catch with her kind lures; but hill resorts ‭ To wild-beasts, slaughters, accents far-off heard ‭ Of harps and dances, and of woods unshear’d ‭ The sacred shades she loves, yet likes as well ‭ Cities where good men and their offspring dwell. ‭ The third, whom her kind passions nothing please, ‭ Is virgin Vesta; whom Saturnides ‭ Made reverend with his counsels, when his Sire, ‭ That adverse counsels agitates, life’s fire ‭ Had kindled in her, being his last-begot. ‭ Whom Neptune woo’d to knit with him the knot ‭ Of honour’d nuptials, and Apollo too; ‭ Which with much vehemence she refused to do, ‭ And stern repulses put upon them both, ‭ Adding to all her vows the Gods’ great oath, ‭ And touching Jove’s chin, which must consummate ‭ All vows so bound, that she would hold her state, ‭ And be th’ invincible Maid of Deities ‭ Through all her days’ dates. For Saturnides ‭ Gave her a fair gift in her nuptials’ stead, ‭ To sit in midst of his house, and be fed ‭ With all the free and richest feast of heaven, ‭ In all the temples of the Gods being given ‭ The prize of honour. Not a mortal man, ‭ (That either, of the Pow’rs Olympian ‭ His half-birth having, may be said to be ‭ A mortal of the Gods, or else that he, ‭ Deities’ wills doing, is of Deity) ‭ But gives her honour of the amplest kind. ‭ Of all these three can Venus not a mind ‭ Deceive, or set on forces to reflect. ‭ Of all Pow’rs else yet, not a sex, nor sect, ‭ Flies Venus; either of the blessed Gods, ‭ Or men confin’d in mortal periods. ‭ But even the mind of Jove she doth seduce, ‭ That chides with thunder so her lawless use ‭ In human creatures, and by lot is given ‭ Of all most honour, both in earth and heaven. ‭ And yet even his all-wise and mighty mind ‭ She, when she lists, can forge affects to blind, ‭ And mix with mortal dames his Deity, ‭ Conceal’d at all parts from the jealous eye ‭ Of Juno, who was both his sister born, ‭ And made his wife; whom beauty did adorn ‭ Past all the bevy of Immortal Dames, ‭ And whose so chiefly-glorified flames ‭ Cross-counsell’d Saturn got, and Rhæa bore, ‭ And Jove’s pure counsels (being conqueror) ‭ His wife made of his sister. Ay, and more, ‭ Cast such an amorous fire into her mind ‭ As made her (like him) with the mortal kind ‭ Meet in unmeet bed; using utmost haste, ‭ Lest she should know that he lived so unchaste, ‭ Before herself felt that fault in her heart, ‭ And gave her tongue too just edge of desert ‭ To tax his lightness. With this end, beside, ‭ Lest laughter-studying Venus should deride ‭ The Gods more than the Goddesses, and say ‭ That she the Gods commix’d in amorous play ‭ With mortal dames, begetting mortal seed ‭ T’ immortal sires, and not make Goddesses breed ‭ The like with mortal fathers. But, t’ acquite ‭ Both Gods and Goddesses of her despite, ‭ Jove took (even in herself) on him her pow’r, ‭ And made her with a mortal paramour ‭ Use as deform’d a mixture as the rest; ‭ Kindling a kind affection in her breast ‭ To God-like-limb’d Anchises, as he kept, ‭ On Ida’s top-on-top-to-heaven’s-pole-heapt, [1] ‭ Amongst the many fountains there, his herd. ‭ For, after his brave person had appear’d ‭ To her bright eye, her heart flew all on fire, ‭ And to amaze she burn’d in his desire, ‭ Flew straight to Cyprus, to her odorous fane ‭ And altars, that the people Paphian ‭ Advanced to her. Where, soon as enter’d, she ‭ The shining gates shut; and the Graces three ‭ Wash’d, and with oils of everlasting scent ‭ Bathed, as became, her deathless lineament. ‭ Then her ambrosian mantle she assum’d, ‭ With rich and odoriferous airs perfum’d. ‭ Which being put on, and all her trims beside ‭ Fair, and with all allurements amplified, ‭ The all-of-gold-made laughter-loving Dame ‭ Left odorous Cyprus, and for Troy became ‭ A swift contendress, her pass cutting all ‭ Along the clouds, and made her instant fall ‭ On fountful Ida, that her mother-breasts ‭ Gives to the preyful brood of savage beasts. ‭ And through the hill she went the ready way ‭ T’ Anchises’ oxstall, where did fawn and play ‭ About her blessed feet wolves grisly-gray, ‭ Terrible lions, many a mankind bear, ‭ And lybberds swift, insatiate of red deer. ‭ Whose sight so pleas’d, that, ever as she past, ‭ Through every beast a kindly love she cast, ‭ That, in their dens obscured with shadows deep, ‭ Made all, distinguish’d in kind couples, sleep. ‭ And now she reach’d the rich pavilion ‭ Of the heroë, in whom heavens had shown ‭ A fair and goodly composition, ‭ And whom she in his oxstall found, alone, ‭ His oxen feeding in fat pastures by, ‭ He walking up and down, sounds clear and high ‭ From his harp striking. Then before him she ‭ Stood like a virgin, that invincibly ‭ Had borne her beauties; yet alluringly ‭ Bearing her person, lest his ravish’d eye ‭ Should chance t’ affect him with a stupid fear. ‭ Anchises seeing her, all his senses were ‭ With wonder stricken, and high-taken heeds ‭ Both of her form, brave stature, and rich weeds. ‭ For, for a veil, she shin’d in an attire ‭ That cast a radiance past the ray of fire. ‭ Beneath which wore she, girt to her, a gown ‭ Wrought all with growing-rose-buds, reaching down ‭ T’ her slender smalls, which buskins did divine, ‭ Such as taught Thetis’ silver feet to shine. ‭ Her soft white neck rich carquenets embraced, ‭ Bright, and with gold in all variety graced, ‭ That to her breasts let down lay there and shone, ‭ As, at her joyful full, the rising Moon. ‭ Her sight show’d miracles. Anchises’ heart ‭ Love took into his hand, and made him part ‭ With these high salutations; “Joy, O Queen! ‭ Whoever of the Blest thy beauties been ‭ That light these entries; or the Deity ‭ That darts affecteth; or that gave the Eye ‭ Of heaven his heat and lustre; or that moves ‭ The hearts of all with all-commanding loves; ‭ Or generous Themis; or the blue-eyed Maid; ‭ Or of the Graces any that are laid ‭ With all the Gods in comparable scales, ‭ And whom fame up to immortality calls; ‭ Or any of the Nymphs, that unshorn groves, ‭ Or that this fair hill-habitation, loves, ‭ Or valleys flowing with earth’s fattest goods, ‭ Or fountains pouring forth eternal floods! ‭ Say, which of all thou art, that in some place ‭ Of circular prospect, for thine eyes’ dear grace, ‭ I may an altar build, and to thy pow’rs ‭ Make sacred all the year’s devoted hours, ‭ With consecrations sweet and opulent. ‭ Assur’d whereof, be thy benign mind bent ‭ To these wish’d blessings of me: Give me parts ‭ Of chief attraction in Trojan hearts; ‭ And, after, give me the refulgency ‭ Of most renown’d and rich posterity; ‭ Long, and free life, and heaven’s sweet light as long; ‭ The people’s blessings, and a health so strong ‭ That no disease it let my life engage, ‭ Till th’ utmost limit of a human age.” ‭ To this Jove’s Seed this answer gave again; ‭ “Anchises! Happiest of the human strain! ‭ I am no Goddess! Why, a thrall to death ‭ Think’st thou like those that immortality breathe? ‭ A woman brought me forth; my father’s name ‭ Was Otreüs, if ever his high fame ‭ Thine ears have witness’d, for he govern’d all ‭ The Phrygian state, whose every town a wall ‭ Impregnable embrac’d. Your tongue, you hear, ‭ I speak so well, that in my natural sphere ‭ (As I pretend) it must have taken prime. ‭ A woman, likewise, of the Trojan clime ‭ Took of me, in her house, the nurse’s care ‭ From my dear mother’s bosom; and thus are ‭ My words of equal accent with your own. ‭ How here I come, to make the reason known, ‭ Argicides, that bears the golden rod, ‭ Transferr’d me forcibly from my abode ‭ Made with the maiden train of Her that joys ‭ In golden shafts, and loves so well the noise ‭ Of hounds and hunters (heaven’s pure-living Pow’r) ‭ Where many a nymph and maid of mighty dow’r ‭ Chaste sports employ’d, all circled with a crown ‭ Of infinite multitude, to see so shown ‭ Our maiden pastimes. Yet, from all the fair ‭ Of this so forceful concourse, up in air ‭ The golden-rod-sustaining Argus'-Guide ‭ Rapt me in sight of all, and made me ride ‭ Along the clouds with him, enforcing me ‭ Through many a labour of mortality, ‭ Through many an unbuilt region, and a rude, ‭ Where savage beasts devour’d preys warm and crude, ‭ And would not let my fears take one foot’s tread ‭ On Her by whom are all lives comforted, ‭ But said my maiden state must grace the bed ‭ Of king Anchises, and bring forth to thee ‭ Issue as fair as of divine degree. ‭ Which said, and showing me thy moving grace, ‭ Away flew he up to th’ Immortal Race, ‭ And thus came I to thee; Necessity, ‭ With her steel stings, compelling me t’ apply ‭ To her high pow’r my will. But you must I ‭ Implore by Jove, and all the reverence due ‭ To your dear parents, who, in bearing you, ‭ Can bear no mean sail, lead me home to them ‭ An untouch’d maid, being brought up in th’ extreme ‭ Of much too cold simplicity to know ‭ The fiery cunnings that in Venus glow. ‭ Show me to them then, and thy brothers born, ‭ I shall appear none that parts disadorn, ‭ But such as well may serve a brother’s wife, ‭ And show them now, even to my future life, ‭ If such or no my present will extend. ‭ To horse-breed-vary’ng Phrygia likewise send, ‭ T’ inform my sire and mother of my state, ‭ That live for me extreme disconsolate; ‭ Who gold enough, and well-woven weeds, will give. ‭ All whose rich gifts in my amends receive. ‭ All this perform’d, and celebration then ‭ Of honour’d nuptials, that by God and men ‭ Are held in reverence.” All this while she said, ‭ Into his bosom jointly she convey’d ‭ The fires of love; when, all-enamour’d, he ‭ In these terms answer’d: “If mortality ‭ Confine thy fortunes, and a woman were ‭ Mother to those attractions that appear ‭ In thy admir’d form, thy great father given ‭ High name of Otreüs; and the Spy of heaven ‭ (Immortal Mercury) th’ enforceful cause ‭ That made thee lose the prize of that applause ‭ That modesty immaculate virgins gives, ‭ My wife thou shalt be call’d through both our lives. ‭ Nor shall the pow’rs of men nor Gods withhold ‭ My fiery resolution to enfold ‭ Thy bosom in mine arms; which here I vow ‭ To firm performance, past delay, and now. ‭ Nor, should Apollo with his silver bow ‭ Shoot me to instant death, would I forbear ‭ To do a deed so full of cause so dear. ‭ For with a heaven-sweet woman I will lie, ‭ Though straight I stoop the house of Dis, and die.” ‭ This said, he took her hand, and she took way ‭ With him, her bright eyes casting round; whose stay ‭ She stuck upon a bed, that was before ‭ Made for the king, and wealthy coverings wore. ‭ On which bears’ hides and big-voic’d lions’ lay, ‭ Whose preyful lives the king had made his prey, ‭ Hunting th’ Idalian hills. This bed when they ‭ Had both ascended, first he took from her ‭ The fiery weed, that was her utmost wear; ‭ Unbutton’d her next rosy robe; and loos’d ‭ The girdle that her slender waist enclos’d; ‭ Unlac’d her buskins; all her jewelry ‭ Took from her neck and breasts, and all laid by ‭ Upon a golden-studded chair of state. ‭ Th’ amaze of all which being remov’d, even Fate ‭ And council of the equal Gods gave way ‭ To this, that with a deathless Goddess lay ‭ A deathful man; since, what his love assum’d, ‭ Not with his conscious knowledge was presum’d. ‭ Now when the shepherds and the herdsmen, all, ‭ Turn’d from their flow’ry pasture to their stall, ‭ With all their oxen, fat and frolic sheep, ‭ Venus into Anchises cast a sleep, ‭ Sweet and profound; while with her own hands now ‭ With her rich weeds she did herself endow; ‭ But so distinguish’d, that he clear might know ‭ His happy glories; then (to her desire ‭ Her heavenly person put in trims entire) ‭ She by the bed stood of the well-built stall, ‭ Advanc’d her head to state celestial, ‭ And in her cheeks arose the radiant hue ‭ Of rich-crown’d Venus to apparent view. ‭ And then she rous’d him from his rest, and said: ‭ “Up, my Dardanides, forsake thy bed. ‭ What pleasure, late employ’d, lets humour steep ‭ Thy lids in this inexcitable sleep? ‭ Wake, and now say, if I appear to thee ‭ Like her that first thine eyes conceited me.” ‭ This started him from sleep, though deep and dear, ‭ And passing promptly he enjoy’d his ear. ‭ But when his eye saw Venus’ neck and eyes, ‭ Whose beauties could not bear the counterprise ‭ Of any other, down his own eyes fell, ‭ Which pallid fear did from her view repell, ‭ And made him, with a main respect beside, ‭ Turn his whole person from her state, and hide ‭ (With his rich weed appos’d) his royal face, ‭ These wing’d words using: “When, at first, thy grace ‭ Mine eyes gave entertainment, well I knew ‭ Thy state was deified; but thou told’st not true; ‭ And therefore let me pray thee (by thy love ‭ Borne to thy father, Ægis-bearing Jove) ‭ That thou wilt never let me live to be ‭ An abject, after so divine degree ‭ Taken in fortune, but take ruth on me, ‭ For any man that with a Goddess lies, ‭ Of interest in immortalities, ‭ Is never long-liv’d.” She replied: “Forbear, ‭ O happiest of mortal men, this fear, ‭ And rest assured, that (not for me, at least) ‭ Thy least ills fear fits; no, nor for the rest ‭ Of all the Blessed, for thou art their friend; ‭ And so far from sustaining instant end, ‭ That to thy long-enlarg’d life there shall spring ‭ Amongst the Trojans a dear son, and king, ‭ To whom shall many a son, and son’s son, rise ‭ In everlasting great posterities; ‭ His name Æneas; therein keeping life, ‭ For ever, in my much-conceited grief, ‭ That I, immortal, fell into the bed ‭ Of one whose blood mortality must shed. ‭ But rest thou comforted, and all the race ‭ That Troy shall propagate, in this high grace: ‭ That, past all races else, the Gods stand near ‭ Your glorious nation, for the forms ye bear, ‭ And natures so ingenuous and sincere. ‭ For which, the great-in-counsels (Jupiter) ‭ Your gold-lock’d Ganymedes did transfer ‭ (In rapture far from men’s depressed fates) ‭ To make him consort with our Deified States, ‭ And scale the tops of the Saturnian skies, ‭ He was so mere a marvel in their eyes. ‭ And therefore from a bowl of gold he fills ‭ Red nectar, that the rude distension kills ‭ Of winds that in your human stomachs breed. ‭ But then did languor on the liver feed ‭ Of Tros, his father, that was king of Troy, ‭ And ever did his memory employ [2] ‭ With loss of his dear beauty so bereaven, ‭ Though with a sacred whirlwind rapt to heaven. ‭ But Jove, in pity of him, saw him given ‭ Good compensation, sending by Heaven’s Spy ‭ White-swift-hov’d horse, that Immortality ‭ Had made firm-spirited; and had, beside, ‭ Hermes to see his ambassy supplied ‭ With this vow’d bounty (using all at large ‭ That his unalter’d counsels gave in charge) ‭ That he himself should immortality breathe, ‭ Expert of age and woe as well as death. ‭ “This ambassy express’d, he mourn’d no more, ‭ But up with all his inmost mind he bore, ‭ Joying that he, upon his swift-hov’d horse, ‭ Should be sustain’d in an eternal course.” ‭ “So did the golden-throned Aurora raise, ‭ Into her lap, another that the praise ‭ Of an immortal fashion had in fame, ‭ And of your nation bore the noble name, ‭ (His title Tithon) who, not pleased with her, ‭ As she his lovely person did transfer, ‭ To satisfy him, she bade ask of Jove ‭ The gift of an Immortal for her love. ‭ Jove gave, and bound it with his bowed brow, ‭ Performing to the utmost point his vow. ‭ Fool that she was, that would her love engage, ‭ And not as long ask from the bane of age ‭ The sweet exemption, and youth’s endless flow’r! ‭ Of which as long as both the grace and pow’r ‭ His person entertain’d, she loved the man, ‭ And (at the fluents of the ocean ‭ Near Earth’s extreme bounds) dwelt with him; but when ‭ According to the course of aged men) ‭ On his fair head, and honourable beard, ‭ His first grey hairs to her light eyes appear’d, ‭ She left his bed, yet gave him still for food ‭ The Gods’ ambrosia, and attire as good. ‭ Till even the hate of age came on so fast ‭ That not a lineament of his was grac’d ‭ With pow’r of motion, nor did still sustain, ‭ Much less, the vigour had t’ advance a vein, ‭ The virtue lost in each exhausted limb, ‭ That at his wish before would answer him; ‭ All pow’rs so quite decay’d, that when he spake ‭ His voice no perceptible accent brake. ‭ Her counsel then thought best to strive no more, ‭ But lay him in his bed and lock his door. ‭ Such an Immortal would not I wish thee, ‭ T’ extend all days so to eternity. ‭ But if, as now, thou couldst perform thy course ‭ In grace of form, and all corporeal force, ‭ To an eternal date, thou then shouldst bear ‭ My husband’s worthy name, and not a tear ‭ Should I need rain, for thy deserts declin’d, ‭ From my all-clouded bitterness of mind. ‭ But now the stern storm of relentless age ‭ Will quickly circle thee, that waits t’ engage ‭ All men alike, even loathsomeness, and bane ‭ Attending with it, every human wane, ‭ Which even the Gods hate. Such a penance lies ‭ Impos’d on flesh and blood’s infirmities! ‭ Which I myself must taste in great degree, ‭ And date as endless, for consorting thee. ‭ All the Immortals with my opprobry ‭ Are full by this time; on their hearts so lie, ‭ (Even to the sting of fear) my cunnings us’d, ‭ And wiving conversations infus’d ‭ Into the bosoms of the best of them ‭ With women, that the frail and mortal stream ‭ Doth daily ravish. All this long since done. ‭ Which now no more, but with effusion ‭ Of tears, I must in heaven so much as name, ‭ I have so forfeited in this my fame, ‭ And am impos’d pain of so great a kind ‭ For so much erring from a Goddess’ mind. ‭ For I have put beneath my girdle here ‭ A son, whose sire the human mortal sphere ‭ Gives circumscription. But, when first the light ‭ His eyes shall comfort, Nymphs that haunt the height ‭ Of hills, and breasts have of most deep receipt; ‭ Shall be his nurses; who inhabit now ‭ A hill of so vast and divine a brow, ‭ As man nor God can come at their retreats; ‭ Who live long lives, and eat immortal meats, ‭ And with Immortals in the exercise ‭ Of comely dances dare contend, and rise ‭ Into high question which deserves the prize. ‭ The light Sileni mix in love with these, ‭ And, of all Spies the Prince, Argicides; ‭ In well-trimm’d caves their secret meetings made. ‭ And with the lives of these doth life invade ‭ Or odorous fir-trees, or high-foreheaded oaks, ‭ Together taking their begetting strokes, ‭ And have their lives and deaths of equal dates, ‭ Trees bearing lovely and delightsome states, ‭ Whom Earth first feeds, that men initiates. ‭ On her high hills she doth their states sustain, ‭ And they their own heights raise as high again. ‭ Their growths together made, Nymphs call their groves ‭ Vow’d to th’ Immortals services and loves; ‭ Which men’s steels therefore touch not, but let grow. ‭ But when wise Fates times for their fadings know, ‭ The fair trees still before the fair Nymphs die, ‭ The bark about them grown corrupt and dry, ‭ And all their boughs fall’n yield to Earth her right; ‭ And then the Nymphs’ lives leave the lovely night, ‭ “And these Nymphs in their caves shall nurse my son, ‭ Whom (when in him youth’s first grace is begun) ‭ The Nymphs, his nurses, shall present to thee; ‭ And show thee what a birth thou hast by me. ‭ And, sure as now I tell thee all these things, ‭ When Earth hath cloth’d her plants in five fair springs, ‭ Myself will make return to this retreat, ‭ And bring that flow’r of thy enamour’d heat; ‭ Whom when thou then seest, joy shall fire thine eyes; ‭ He shall so well present the Deities. ‭ And then into thine own care take thy son ‭ From his calm seat to windy Ilion, ‭ Where, if strict question be upon the past, ‭ Asking what mother bore beneath her waist ‭ So dear a son, answer, as I afford ‭ Fit admonition, nor forget a word: ‭ They say a Nymph, call’d Calucopides, ‭ That is with others an inhabitress ‭ On this thy wood-crown’d hill, acknowledges ‭ That she his life gave. But, if thou declare ‭ The secret’s truth, and art so mad to dare ‭ (In glory of thy fortunes) to approve ‭ That rich-crown’d Venus mix’d with thee in love, ‭ Jove, fired with my aspersion so dispread, ‭ Will with a wreakful lightning dart thee dead. ‭ “All now is told thee, comprehend it all. ‭ Be master of thyself, and do not call ‭ My name in question; but with reverence vow ‭ To Deities’ angers all the awe ye owe.” ‭ This said, She reach’d heaven, where airs ever flow. ‭ And so, O Goddess, ever honour’d be, ‭ In thy so odorous Cyprian empery! ‭ My Muse, affecting first thy fame to raise, ‭ Shall make transcension now to others’ praise. ‭ THE END OF THE FIRST HYMN TO VENUS

‭[1] ᾿Ακροπόλος. Altissimum habens verticem, cujus summitas ‭ipsum polum attingit.

‭[2] ἄληστος. Cujus memoria erit perpetua. ‭ TO THE SAME

‭ The reverend, rich-crown’d, and fair Queen I sing, ‭ Venus, that owes ill fate the fortressing ‭ Of all maritimal Cyprus; where the force ‭ Of gentle-breathing Zephyr steer’d her course ‭ Along the waves of the resounding sea, ‭ While, yet unborn, in that soft foam she lay ‭ That brought her forth; whom those fair Hours that bear ‭ The golden bridles joyfully stood near, ‭ Took up into their arms, and put on her ‭ Weeds of a never-corruptible wear. ‭ On her immortal head a crown they plac’d, ‭ Elaborate, and with all the beauties grac’d ‭ That gold could give it; of a weight so great, ‭ That, to impose and take off, it had set ‭ Three handles on it, made, for endless hold, ‭ Of shining brass, and all adorn’d with gold. ‭ Her soft neck all with carquenets was grac’d, ‭ That stoop’d, and both her silver breasts embrac’d, ‭ Which even the Hours themselves wear in resort ‭ To Deities’ dances, and her Father’s court. ‭ Grac’d at all parts, they brought to heaven her graces; ‭ Whose first sight seen, all fell into embraces, ‭ Hugg’d her white hands, saluted, wishing all ‭ To wear her maiden flow’r in festival ‭ Of sacred Hymen, and to lead her home; ‭ All, to all admiration, overcome ‭ With Cytherea with the violet crown. ‭ So to the Black-brow’d Sweet-spoke all renown! ‭ Prepare my song, and give me, in the end, ‭ The victory to whose palm all contend! ‭ So shall my Muse for ever honour thee, ‭ And, for thy sake, thy fair posterity. ‭ BACCHUS, OR THE PIRATES

‭ Of Dionysus, noble Semele’s Son, ‭ I now intend to render mention, ‭ As on a prominent shore his person shone, ‭ Like to a youth whose flow’r was newly blown, ‭ Bright azure tresses play’d about his head, ‭ And on his bright broad shoulders was dispread ‭ A purple mantle. Strait he was descried ‭ By certain manly pirates, that applied ‭ Their utmost speed to prise him, being aboard ‭ A well-built bark, about whose broad sides roar’d ‭ The wine-black Tyrrhene billows; death as black ‭ Brought them upon him in their future wrack. ‭ For, soon as they had purchas’d but his view, ‭ Mutual signs past them, and ashore they flew, ‭ Took him, and brought him instantly aboard, ‭ Soothing their hopes to have obtain’d a hoard ‭ Of riches with him; and a Jove-kept king ‭ To such a flow’r must needs be natural spring. ‭ And therefore straight strong fetters they must fetch, ‭ To make him sure. But no such strength would stretch ‭ To his constrain’d pow’rs. Far flew all their bands ‭ From any least force done his feet or hands. ‭ But he sat casting smiles from his black eyes ‭ At all their worst. At which discoveries ‭ Made by the master, he did thus dehort ‭ All his associates: “Wretches! Of what sort ‭ Hold ye the person ye assay to bind? ‭ Nay, which of all the Pow’r fully-divin’d ‭ Esteem ye him, whose worth yields so much weight ‭ That not our well-built bark will bear his freight? ‭ Or Jove himself he is, or He that bears ‭ The silver bow, or Neptune. Nor appears ‭ In him the least resemblance of a man, ‭ But of a strain at least Olympian. ‭ Come! Make we quick dismission of his state, ‭ And on the black-soil’d earth exonerate ‭ Our sinking vessel of his deified load, ‭ Nor dare the touch of an intangible God, ‭ Lest winds outrageous, and of wrackful scathe, ‭ And smoking tempests, blow his fiery wrath.” ‭ This well-spoke master the tall captain gave ‭ Hateful and horrible language; call’d him slave, ‭ And bade him mark the prosp’rous gale that blew, ‭ And how their vessel with her mainsail flew; ‭ Bade all take arms, and said, their works requir’d ‭ The cares of men, and not of an inspir’d ‭ Pure zealous master; his firm hopes being fir’d ‭ With this opinion, that they should arrive ‭ In Ægypt straight, or Cyprus, or where live ‭ Men whose brave breaths above the north wind blow; ‭ Yea, and perhaps beyond their region too. ‭ And that he made no doubt but in the end ‭ To make his prisoner tell him every friend ‭ Of all his offspring, brothers, wealth, and all; ‭ Since that prise, certain, must some God let fall. ‭ This said, the mast and mainsail up he drew, ‭ And in the mainsail’s midst a frank gale blew; ‭ When all his ship took arms to brave their prise. ‭ But straight strange works appear’d to all their eyes: ‭ First, sweet wine through their swift-black bark did flow, ‭ Of which the odours did a little blow ‭ Their fiery spirits, making th’ air so fine ‭ That they in flood were there as well as wine. ‭ A mere immortal-making savour rose, ‭ Which on the air the Deity did impose. ‭ The seamen see’ng all, admiration seiz’d; ‭ Yet instantly their wonders were increas’d, ‭ For on the topsail there ran, here and there, ‭ A vine that grapes did in abundance bear, ‭ And in an instant was the ship’s mainmast ‭ With an obscure-green ivy’s arms embrac’d, ‭ That flourish’d straight, and were with berries grac’d; ‭ Of which did garlands circle every brow ‭ Of all the pirates, and no one knew how. ‭ Which when they saw, they made the master steer ‭ Out to the shore; whom Bacchus made forbear, ‭ With showing more wonders. On the hatches He ‭ Appear’d a terrible lion, horribly ‭ Roaring; and in the mid-deck a male bear, ‭ Made with a huge mane; making all, for fear, ‭ Crowd to the stern, about the master there, ‭ Whose mind he still kept dauntless and sincere, ‭ But on the captain rush’d and ramp’d, with force ‭ So rude and sudden, that his main recourse ‭ Was to the main-sea straight: and after him ‭ Leapt all his mates, as trusting to their swim ‭ To fly foul death; but so found what they fled, ‭ Being all to dolphins metamorphosed. ‭ The master he took ruth of, sav’d, and made ‭ The blessed’st man that ever tried his trade, ‭ These few words giving him: “Be confident, ‭ Thou God-inspired pilot, in the bent ‭ Of my affection, ready to requite ‭ Thy late-to-me-intended benefit. ‭ I am the roaring God of spritely wine, ‭ Whom Semele (that did even Jove incline ‭ To amorous mixture, and was Cadmus’ care) ‭ Made issue to the mighty Thunderer.” ‭ And thus, all excellence of grace to thee, ‭ Son of sweet-count’nance-carry’ng Semele. ‭ I must not thee forget in least degree, ‭ But pray thy spirit to render so my song ‭ Sweet, and all ways in order’d fury strong. ‭ TO MARS

‭ Mars, most-strong, gold-helm’d, making chariots crack; ‭ Never without a shield cast on thy back; ‭ Mind-master, town-guard, with darts never driven; ‭ Strong-handed, all arms, fort, and fence of heaven; ‭ Father of victory with fair strokes given; ‭ Joint surrogate of justice, lest she fall ‭ In unjust strifes a tyrant; general ‭ Only of just men justly; that dost bear ‭ Fortitude’s sceptre, to heaven’s fiery sphere ‭ Giver of circular motion, between ‭ That and the Pleiads that still wand’ring been, ‭ Where thy still-vehemently-flaming horse ‭ About the third heaven make their fiery course; ‭ Helper of mortals; hear!—As thy fires give ‭ The fair and present boldnesses that strive ‭ In youth for honour, being the sweet-beam’d light ‭ That darts into their lives, from all their height, ‭ The fortitudes and fortunes found in fight; ‭ So would I likewise wish to have the pow’r ‭ To keep off from my head thy bitter hour, ‭ And that false fire, cast from my soul’s low kind, ‭ Stoop to the fit rule of my highest mind, ‭ Controlling that so eager sting of wrath ‭ That stirs me on still to that horrid scathe ‭ Of war, that God still sends to wreak his spleen ‭ (Even by whole tribes) of proud injurious men. ‭ But O thou Ever-Blessed! give me still ‭ Presence of mind to put in act my will, ‭ Varied, as fits, to all occasion; ‭ And to live free, unforc’d, unwrought upon, ‭ Beneath those laws of peace that never are ‭ Affected with pollutions popular ‭ Of unjust hurt, or loss to anyone; ‭ And to bear safe the burthen undergone ‭ Of foes inflexive, and inhuman hates, ‭ Secure from violent and harmful fates. ‭ TO DIANA

‭ Diana praise, Muse, that in darts delights, ‭ Lives still a maid, and had nutritial rights ‭ With her born-brother, the far-shooting Sun. ‭ That doth her all-of-gold-made chariot run ‭ In chase of game, from Meles that abounds ‭ In black-brow’d bulrushes, and, where her hounds ‭ She first uncouples, joining there her horse, ‭ Through Smyrna carried in most fiery course ‭ To grape-rich Claros; where (ill his rich home, ‭ And constant expectation She will come) ‭ Sits Phœbus, that the silver bow doth bear, ‭ To meet with Phœbe, that doth darts transfer ‭ As far as He his shafts. As far then be ‭ Thy chaste fame shot, O Queen of archery! ‭ Sacring my song to every Deity. ‭ TO VENUS

‭ To Cyprian Venus still my verses vow, ‭ Who gifts as sweet as honey doth bestow ‭ On all mortality; that ever smiles, ‭ And rules a face that all foes reconciles; ‭ Ever sustaining in her hand a flow’r ‭ That all desire keeps ever in her pow’r.

‭ Hail, then, O Queen of well-built Salamine, ‭ And all the state that Cyprus doth confine, ‭ Inform my song with that celestial fire ‭ That in thy beauties kindles all desire. ‭ So shall my Muse for ever honour thee, ‭ And any other thou commend’st to me. ‭ TO PALLAS

‭ Pallas Minerva only I begin ‭ To give my song; that makes war’s terrible din, ‭ Is patroness of cities, and with Mars ‭ Marshall’d in all the care and cure of wars, ‭ And in everted cities, fights, and cries. ‭ But never doth herself set down or rise ‭ Before a city, but at both times She ‭ All injur’d people sets on foot and free. ‭ Give, with thy war’s force, fortune then to me, ‭ And, with thy wisdom’s force, felicity. ‭ TO JUNO

‭ Saturnia, and her throne of gold, I sing, ‭ That was of Rhea the eternal spring, ‭ And empress of a beauty never yet ‭ Equall’d in height of tincture. Of the great ‭ Saturnius (breaking air in awful noise) ‭ The far-fam’d wife and sister; whom in joys ‭ Of high Olympus all the Blessed love, ‭ And honour equal with unequall’d Jove. ‭ TO CERES

‭ The rich-hair’d Ceres I assay to sing; ‭ A Goddess, in whose grace the natural spring ‭ Of serious majesty itself is seen; ‭ And of the wedded, yet in grace still green, ‭ Proserpina, her daughter, that displays ‭ A beauty casting every way her rays. ‭ All honour to thee, Goddess! Keep this town; ‭ And take thou chief charge of my song’s renown! ‭ TO THE MOTHER OF THE GODS

‭ Mother of all, both Gods and men, commend, ‭ O Muse, whose fair form did from Jove descend; ‭ That doth with cymbal sounds delight her life, ‭ And tremulous divisions of the fife; ‭ Love’s dreadful lions’ roars, and wolves’ hoarse howls, ‭ Sylvan retreats, and hills, whose hollow knolls ‭ Raise repercussive sounds about her ears. ‭ And so may honour ever crown thy years ‭ With all-else Goddesses, and ever be ‭ Exalted in the Muses’ harmony! ‭ TO LION-HEARTED HERCULES

‭ Alcides, forcefullest of all the brood ‭ Of men enforc’d with need of earthy food, ‭ My Muse shall memorise; the son of Jove, ‭ Whom, in fair-seated Thebes (commix’d in love ‭ With great heaven’s sable-cloud-assembling State) ‭ Alcmena bore to him; and who, in date ‭ Of days forepast, through all the sea was sent, ‭ And Earth’s inenarrable continent, ‭ To acts that king Eurystheus had decreed; ‭ Did many a petulant and imperious deed ‭ Himself, and therefore suffer’d many a toil; ‭ Yet now inhabits the illustrious soil ‭ Of white Olympus, and delights his life ‭ With still-young Hebe, his well-ankled wife. ‭ Hail, King, and Son of Jove! Vouchsafe me ‭ Virtue, and, her effect, felicity! ‭ TO ÆSCULAPIUS

‭ With Æsculapius, the physician, ‭ That cur’d all sickness, and was Phœbus’ son, ‭ My Muse makes entry; to whose life gave yield ‭ Divine Coronis in the Dotian field, ‭ (King Phlegius’ daughter) who much joy on men ‭ Conferr’d, in dear ease of their irksome pain. ‭ For which, my salutation, worthy king, ‭ And vows to thee paid, ever when I sing! ‭ TO CASTOR AND POLLUX

‭ Castor and Pollux, the Tyndarides, ‭ Sweet Muse illustrate; that their essences ‭ Fetch from the high forms of Olympian Jove, ‭ And were the fair fruits of bright Leda’s love, ‭ Which she produc’d beneath the sacred shade ‭ Of steep Taygetus, being subdu’d, and made ‭ To serve th’ affections of the Thunderer. ‭ And so all grace to you, whom all aver ‭ (For skill in horses, and their manage given) ‭ To be the bravest horsemen under heaven! ‭ TO MERCURY

‭ Hermes I honour, the Cyllenian Spy, ‭ King of Cyllenia, and of Arcady ‭ With flocks abounding; and the Messenger ‭ Of all th’ Immortals, that doth still infer ‭ Profits of infinite value to their store; ‭ Whom to Saturnius bashful Maia bore, ‭ Daughter of Atlas, and did therefore fly ‭ Of all th’ Immortals the society, ‭ To that dark cave, where, in the dead of night, ‭ Jove join’d with her in love’s divine delight, ‭ When golden sleep shut Juno’s jealous eye, ‭ Whose arms had wrists as white as ivory, ‭ From whom, and all, both men and Gods beside, ‭ The fair-hair’d nymph had scape kept undescried. ‭ Joy to the Jove-got then, and Maia’s care, ‭ ’Twixt men and Gods the general Messenger, ‭ Giver of good grace, gladness, and the flood ‭ Of all that men or Gods account their good! ‭ TO PAN

‭ Sing, Muse, this chief of Hermes’ love-got joys, ‭ Goat-footed, two-horn’d, amorous of noise, ‭ That through the fair greens, all adorn’d with trees, ‭ Together goes with Nymphs, whose nimble knees ‭ Can every dance foot, that affect to scale ‭ The most inaccessible tops of all ‭ Uprightest rocks, and ever use to call ‭ On Pan, the bright-hair’d God of pastoral; ‭ Who yet is lean and loveless, and doth owe ‭ By lot all loftiest mountains crown’d with snow; ‭ All tops of hills, and cliffy highnesses, ‭ All sylvan copses, and the fortresses ‭ Of thorniest queaches, here and there doth rove, ‭ And sometimes, by allurement of his love, ‭ Will wade the wat’ry softnesses. Sometimes ‭ (In quite oppos’d capriccios) he climbs ‭ The hardest rocks, and highest, every way ‭ Running their ridges. Often will convey ‭ Himself up to a watch-tow’r’s top, where sheep ‭ Have their observance. Oft through hills as steep ‭ His goats he runs upon, and never rests. ‭ Then turns he head, and flies on savage beasts, ‭ Mad of their slaughters; so most sharp an eye ‭ Setting upon them, as his beams let fly ‭ Through all their thickest tapistries. And then ‭ (When Hesp’rus calls to fold the flocks of men) ‭ From the green clossets of his loftiest reeds ‭ He rushes forth, and joy with song he feeds. ‭ When, under shadow of their motions set, ‭ He plays a verse forth so profoundly sweet, ‭ As not the bird that in the flow’ry spring, ‭ Amidst the leaves set, makes the thickets ring ‭ Of her sour sorrows, sweeten’d with her song, ‭ Runs her divisions varied so and strong. ‭ And then the sweet-voic’d Nymphs that crown his mountains ‭ (Flock’d round about the deep-black-water’d fountains) ‭ Fall in with their contention of song. ‭ To which the echoes all the hills along ‭ Their repercussions add. Then here and there ‭ (Plac’d in the midst) the God the guide doth bear ‭ Of all their dances, winding in and out, ‭ A lynce’s hide, besprinkled round about ‭ With blood, cast on his shoulders. And thus He, ‭ With well-made songs, maintains th’ alacrity ‭ Of his free mind, in silken meadows crown’d ‭ With hyacinths and saffrons, that abound ‭ In sweet-breath’d odours, that th’ unnumber’d grass ‭ (Besides their scents) give as through all they pass. ‭ And these, in all their pleasures, ever raise ‭ The blessed Gods’ and long Olympus’ praise: ‭ Like zealous Hermes, who of all I said ‭ Most profits up to all the Gods convey’d. ‭ Who, likewise, came into th’ Arcadian state, ‭ (That’s rich in fountains, and all celebrate ‭ For nurse of flocks,) where He had vow’d a grove ‭ (Surnam’d Cyllenius) to his Godhead’s love. ‭ Yet even himself (although a God he were) ‭ Clad in a squalid sheepskin, govern’d there ‭ A mortal’s sheep. For soft love ent’ring him ‭ Conform’d his state to his conceited trim, ‭ And made him long, in an extreme degree, ‭ T’ enjoy the fair-hair’d virgin Dryope. ‭ Which ere he could, she made consummate ‭ The flourishing rite of Hymen’s honour’d state; ‭ And brought him such a piece of progeny ‭ As show’d, at first sight, monstrous to the eye, ‭ Goat-footed, two-horn’d, full of noise even then, ‭ And (opposite quite to other childeren) ‭ Told, in sweet laughter, he ought death no tear. ‭ Yet straight his mother start, and fled, in fear, ‭ The sight of so unsatisfying a thing, ‭ In whose face put forth such a bristled spring. ‭ Yet the most useful Mercury embrac’d, ‭ And took into his arms, his homely-fac’d, ‭ Beyond all measure joyful with his sight; ‭ And up to heaven with him made instant flight, ‭ Wrapp’d in the warm skin of a mountain hare, ‭ Set him by Jove, and made most merry fare ‭ To all the Deities else with his son’s sight; ‭ Which most of all fill’d Bacchus with delight; ‭ And Pan they call’d him, since he brought to all ‭ Of mirth so rare and full a festival. ‭ And thus all honour to the shepherds’ King, ‭ For sacrifice to thee my Muse shall sing! ‭ TO VULCAN

‭ Praise Vulcan, now Muse; whom fame gives the prize ‭ For depth and fracture of all forge-devise; ‭ Who, with the sky-ey’d Pallas, first did give ‭ Men rules of buildings, that before did live ‭ In caves and dens, and hills, like savage beasts; ‭ But now, by art-fam’d Vulcan’s interests ‭ In all their civil industries, ways clear ‭ Through th’ all-things-bringing-to-their-ends (the year) ‭ They work out to their ages’ ends, at ease ‭ Lodg’d in safe roofs from Winter’s utmost prease. ‭ But, Vulcan, stand propitious to me, ‭ Virtue safe granting, and felicity! ‭ TO PHŒBUS

‭ O Phœbus! Even the swan from forth her wings, ‭ Jumping her proyning-bank, thee sweetly sings, ‭ By bright Peneus’ whirl-pit-making streams. ‭ Thee, that thy lute mak’st sound so to thy beams, ‭ Thee, first and last, the sweet-voic’d singer still ‭ Sings, for thy song’s all-songs-transcending skill. ‭ Thy pleasure, then, shall my song still supply, ‭ And so salutes thee King of Poesy. ‭ TO NEPTUNE

‭ Neptune, the mighty marine God, I sing, ‭ Earth’s mover, and the fruitless ocean’s King, ‭ That Helicon and th’ Ægean deeps dost hold. ‭ O thou Earth-shaker! Thy command two-fold ‭ The Gods have sorted; making thee of horses ‭ The awful tamer, and of naval forces ‭ The Sure preserver. Hail, O Saturn’s birth! ‭ Whose graceful green hair circles all the earth. ‭ Bear a benign mind; and thy helpful hand ‭ Lend all submitted to thy dread command. ‭ TO JOVE

‭ Jove now I sing, the greatest and the best ‭ Of all these Pow’rs that are with Deity blest, ‭ That far-off doth his dreadful voice diffuse, ‭ And, being King of all, doth all conduce ‭ To all their ends. Who (shut from all Gods else ‭ With Themis, that the laws of all things tells) ‭ Their fit composures to their times doth call, ‭ Weds them together, and preserves this all. ‭ Grace then, O far-heard Jove, the grace thou’st given, ‭ Most Glorious, and most Great of Earth and Heaven! ‭ TO VESTA

‭ Vesta, that as a servant oversees ‭ King Phœbus’ hallow’d house, in all degrees ‭ Of guide about it, on the sacred shore ‭ Of heavenly Pythos, and hast evermore ‭ Rich balms distilling from thy odorous hair, ‭ Grace this house with thy housewifely repair! ‭ Enter, and bring a mind that most may move, ‭ Conferring even, the great in counsels, Jove; ‭ And let my verse taste of your either’s love. ‭ TO THE MUSES AND APOLLO

‭ The Muses, Jove, and Phœbus, now I sing; ‭ For from the far-off-shooting Phœbus spring ‭ All poets and musicians, and from Jove ‭ Th’ ascents of kings. The man the Muses love, ‭ Felicity blesses; elocution’s choice ‭ In syrup lay’ng of sweetest breath his voice. ‭ Hail, Seed of Jove, my song your honours give, ‭ And so in mine shall yours and others’ live. ‭ TO BACCHUS

‭ Ivy-crown’d Bacchus iterate in thy praises, ‭ O Muse; whose voice all loftiest echoes raises, ‭ And he with all th’ illustrious Seed of Jove ‭ Is join’d in honour, being the fruit of love ‭ To him, and Semele the-great-in-graces; ‭ And from the King his father’s kind embraces ‭ By fair-hair’d Nymphs was taken to the dales ‭ Of Nyssa, and with curious festivals. ‭ Given his fair grought, far from his father’s view, ‭ In caves from whence eternal odours flew, ‭ And in high number of the Deities plac’d. ‭ Yet when the many-hymn-given God had past ‭ His Nurses’ cares, in ivies and in bays ‭ All over thicketed, his varied ways ‭ To sylvan coverts evermore He took, ‭ With all his Nurses, whose shrill voices shook ‭ Thickets, in which could no foot’s entry fall, ‭ And he himself made captain of them all. ‭ And so, O grape-abounding Bacchus, be ‭ Ever saluted by my Muse and me! ‭ Give us to spend with spirit our hours out here, ‭ And every hour extend to many a year. ‭ TO DIANA

‭ Diana, that the golden spindle moves, ‭ And lofty sounds as well as Bacchus loves, ‭ A bashful virgin, and of fearful hearts ‭ The death-affecter with delighted darts, ‭ By sire and mother Phœbus’ sister born, ‭ Whose thigh the golden falchion doth adorn, ‭ I sing; who likewise over hills of shade ‭ And promontories that vast winds invade, ‭ Amorous of hunting, bends her all-gold bow, ‭ And sigh-begetting arrows doth bestow ‭ In fates so dreadful that the hill-tops quake, ‭ And bristled woods their leafy foreheads shake, ‭ Horrors invade earth, and [the] fishy seas ‭ Impassion’d furies; nothing can appease ‭ The dying brays of beasts. And her delight ‭ In so much death affects so with affright ‭ Even all inanimate natures; for, while she ‭ Her sports applies, their general progeny ‭ She all ways turns upon to all their banes. ‭ Yet when her fiery pleasures find their wanes, ‭ Her yielding bow unbent, to th’ ample house, ‭ Seated in Delphos, rich and populous, ‭ Of her dear brother, her retreats advance. ‭ Where th’ instauration of delightsome dance ‭ Amongst the Muses and the Graces she ‭ Gives form; in which herself the regency ‭ (Her unbent bow hung up, and casting on ‭ A gracious robe) assumes, and first sets gone ‭ The dances’ entry; to which all send forth ‭ Their heavenly voices, and advance the worth ‭ Of her fair-ankled mother, since to light ‭ She children brought the far most exquisite ‭ In counsels and performances of all ‭ The Goddesses that grace the heavenly hall. ‭ Hail then, Latona’s fair-hair’d Seed, and Jove’s! ‭ My song shall ever call to mind your loves. ‭ TO PALLAS

‭ Pallas-Minerva’s deity, the renown’d, ‭ My Muse in her variety must resound; ‭ Mighty in councils; whose illustrous eyes ‭ In all resemblance represent the skies. ‭ A reverend maid of an inflexible mind; ‭ In spirit and person strong; of triple kind; ‭ Fautress of cities that just laws maintain; ‭ Of Jove, the-great-in-councils, very brain ‭ Took prime existence, his unbounded brows ‭ Could not contain her, such impetuous throes ‭ Her birth gave way to, that abroad she flew, ‭ And stood, in gold arm’d, in her Father’s view, ‭ Shaking her sharp lance. All Olympus shook ‭ So terribly beneath her, that it took ‭ Up in amazes all the Deities there. ‭ All earth resounded with vociferous fear. ‭ The sea was put up all in purple waves, ‭ And settled suddenly her rudest raves. ‭ Hyperion’s radiant son his swift-hov’d steeds ‭ A mighty time stay’d, till her arming weeds, ‭ As glorious as the Gods’, the blue-ey’d Maid ‭ Took from her deathless shoulders; but then stay’d ‭ All these distempers, and heaven’s counsellor, Jove, ‭ Rejoic’d that all things else his stay could move. ‭ So I salute thee still; and still in praise ‭ Thy fame, and others’, shall my memory raise. ‭ TO VESTA AND MERCURY

‭ Vesta I sing, who, in bequest of fate, ‭ Art sorted out an everlasting state ‭ In all th’ Immortals’ high-built roofs, and all ‭ Those of earth-dwelling men, as general ‭ And ancient honours given thee for thy gift ‭ Of free-liv’d chastity, and precious thrift. ‭ Nor can there amongst mortals banquets be, ‭ In which, both first and last, they give not thee ‭ Their endless gratitudes in pour’d-out wine, ‭ As gracious sacrifice to thy divine ‭ And useful virtues; being invok’d by all, ‭ Before the least taste of their festival ‭ In wine or food affect their appetites. ‭ And Thou, that of th’ adorn’d-with-all-delights ‭ Art the most useful angel, born a God ‭ Of Jove and Maia, of heaven’s golden rod ‭ The sole sustainer, and hast pow’r to bless ‭ With all good all men, great Argicides, ‭ Inhabit all good houses, see’ng no wants ‭ Of mutual minds’ love in th’ inhabitants, ‭ Join in kind blessing with the bashful maid ‭ And all-lov’d virgin, Vesta; either’s aid ‭ Combin’d in every hospitable house; ‭ Both being best seen in all the gracious ‭ House-works of mortals. Jointly follow then, ‭ Even from their youths, the minds of dames and men. ‭ Hail then, old Daughter of the oldest God, ‭ And thou Great Bearer of Heaven’s golden rod! ‭ Yet not to you alone my vows belong, ‭ Others as well claim th’ homage of my song. ‭ TO EARTH, THE MOTHER OF ALL

‭ Mother of all things, the well-founded Earth, ‭ My Muse shall memorize; who all the birth ‭ Gives food that all her upper regions breed, ‭ All that in her divine diffusions feed ‭ In under continents, all those that live ‭ In all the seas, and all the air doth give ‭ Wing’d expeditions, of thy bounties eat; ‭ Fair children, and fair fruits, thy labour’s sweat, ‭ O great in reverence; and referr’d to thee, ‭ For life and death is all the pedigree ‭ Of mortal humans. Happy then is he ‭ Whom the innate propensions of thy mind ‭ Stand bent to honour. He shall all things find ‭ In all abundance; all his pastures yield ‭ Herds in all plenties; all his roofs are fill’d ‭ With rich possessions; he, in all the sway ‭ Of laws best order’d, cuts out his own way ‭ In cities shining with delicious dames, ‭ And takes his choice of all those striving flames; ‭ High happiness and riches, like his train, ‭ Follow his fortunes, with delights that reign ‭ In all their princes; glory invests his sons; ‭ His daughters, with their crown’d selections ‭ Of all the city, frolic through the meads, ‭ And everyone her call’d-for dances treads ‭ Along the soft-flow’r of the claver-grass. ‭ All this, with all those, ever comes to pass, ‭ That thy love blesses, Goddess full of grace, ‭ And treasurous Angel t’ all the human race. ‭ Hail, then, Great Mother of the Deified Kind, ‭ Wife to the cope of stars! Sustain a mind ‭ Propitious to me for my praise, and give ‭ (Answering my mind) my vows fit means to live. ‭ TO THE SUN

‭ The radiant Sun’s divine renown diffuse, ‭ Jove’s daughter, great Calliope, my Muse; ‭ Whom ox-ey’d Euryphaëssa gave birth ‭ To the bright Seed of starry Heaven and Earth. ‭ For the far-fam’d Hyperion took to wife ‭ His sister Euryphaëssa, that life ‭ Of his high race gave to these lovely three: ‭ Aurora, with the rosy-wrists; and She ‭ That owns th’ enamouring tresses, the bright Moon; ‭ Together with the never-wearied Sun, ‭ Who (his horse mounting) gives both mortals light ‭ And all th’ Immortals. Even to horror, bright ‭ A blaze burns from his golden burgonet, ‭ Which to behold exceeds the sharpest set ‭ Of any eye’s intention, beams so clear ‭ It all ways pours abroad. The glorious cheer ‭ Of his far-shining face up to his crown ‭ Casts circular radiance, that comes streaming down ‭ About his temples, his bright cheeks, and all, ‭ Retaining the refulgence of their fall. ‭ About his bosom flows so fine a weed ‭ As doth the thinness of the wind exceed ‭ In rich context; beneath whose deep folds fly ‭ His masculine horses round about the sky, ‭ Till in this hemisphere he renders stay ‭ T’ his gold-yok’d coach and coursers; and his way, ‭ Let down by heaven, the heavenly coachman makes ‭ Down to the ocean, where his rest he takes. ‭ My salutations then, fair King, receive, ‭ And in propitious returns relieve ‭ My life with mind-fit means; and then from thee, ‭ And all the race of complete Deity, ‭ My song shall celebrate those half-god States, ‭ That yet sad death’s condition circulates, ‭ And whose brave acts the Gods show men that they ‭ As brave may aim at, since they can but die. ‭ TO THE MOON

‭ The Moon, now, Muses, teach me to resound, ‭ Whose wide wings measure such a world of ground; ‭ Jove’s daughter, deck’d with the mellifluous tongue, ‭ And seen in all the sacred art of song. ‭ Whose deathless brows when she from heaven displays, ‭ All earth she wraps up in her orient rays. ‭ A heaven of ornament in earth is rais’d ‭ When her beams rise. The subtle air is sais’d ‭ Of delicate splendour from her crown of gold. ‭ And when her silver bosom is extoll’d, ‭ Wash’d in the ocean, in day’s equall’d noon ‭ Is midnight seated; but when she puts on ‭ Her far-off-sprinkling-lustre evening weeds, ‭ (The month is two cut; her high-breasted steeds ‭ Man’d all with curl’d flames, put in coach and all, ‭ Her huge orb fill’d,) her whole trims then exhale ‭ Unspeakable splendours from the glorious sky. ‭ And out of that state mortal men imply ‭ Many predictions. And with her then, ‭ In love mix’d, lay the King of Gods and men; ‭ By whom made fruitful, she Pandea bore, ‭ And added her state to th’ Immortal Store. ‭ Hail, Queen, and Goddess, th’ ivory-wristed Moon ‭ Divine, prompt, fair-hair’d! With thy grace begun, ‭ My Muse shall forth, and celebrate the praise ‭ Of men whose states the Deities did raise ‭ To semi-deities; whose deeds t’ endless date ‭ Muse-lov’d and sweet-sung poets celebrate. ‭ TO CASTOR AND POLLUX

‭ Jove’s fair Sons, father’d by th’ Oebalian king, ‭ Muses well-worth-all men’s beholdings, sing! ‭ The dear birth that bright-ankl’d Leda bore; ‭ Horse-taming Castor, and, the conqueror ‭ Of tooth-tongu’d Momus, Pollux; whom beneath ‭ Steep-brow’d Taygetus she gave half-god breath, ‭ In love mix’d with the black-clouds King of Heaven; ‭ Who, both of men and ships, being tempest driven, ‭ When Winter’s wrathful empire is in force ‭ Upon th’ implacable seas, preserve the course. ‭ For when the gusts begin, if near the shore, ‭ The seamen leave their ship, and, evermore ‭ Bearing two milk-white lambs aboard, they now ‭ Kill them ashore, and to Jove’s issue vow, ‭ When though their ship, in height of all the roar ‭ The winds and waves confound, can live no more ‭ In all their hopes, then suddenly appear ‭ Jove’s saving Sons, who both their bodies bear ‭ ’Twixt yellow wings down from the sparkling pole, ‭ Who straight the rage of those rude winds control, ‭ And all the high-waves couch into the breast ‭ Of th’ hoary seas. All which sweet signs of rest ‭ To seamen’s labours their glad souls conceive, ‭ And end to all their irksome grievance give. ‭ So, once more, to the swift-horse-riding race ‭ Of royal Tyndarus, eternal grace! ‭ TO MEN OF HOSPITALITY

‭ Reverence a man with use propitious ‭ That hospitable rites wants; and a house ‭ (You of this city with the seat of state ‭ To ox-ey’d Juno vow’d) yet situate ‭ Near Pluto’s region. At the extreme base ‭ Of whose so high-hair’d city, from the race ‭ Of blue-wav’d Hebrus lovely fluent, grac’d ‭ With Jove’s begetting, you divine cups taste. ‭ EPIGRAMS ‭ TO CUMA

‭ Lend hospitable rites and house-respect, ‭ You that the virgin with the fair eyes deckt ‭ Make fautress of your stately-seated town, ‭ At foot of Sardes, with the high-hair’d crown, ‭ Inhabiting rich Cuma; where ye taste ‭ Of Hermus’ heavenly fluent, all embrac’d ‭ By curl’d-head whirl pits; and whose waters move ‭ From the divine seed of immortal Jove. ‭ IN HIS RETURN TO CUMA

‭ Swiftly my feet sustain me to the town, ‭ Where men inhabit whom due honours crown, ‭ Whose minds with free-given faculties are mov’d, ‭ And whose grave counsels best of best approv’d. ‭ UPON THE SEPULCHRE OF MIDUS ‭ CUT IN BRASS, IN THE FIGURE OF A VIRGIN

‭ A maid of brass I am, infixed here ‭ T’ eternize honest Midus’ sepulchre; ‭ And while the stream her fluent seed receives, ‭ And steep trees curl their verdant brows with leaves, ‭ While Phœbus rais’d above the earth gives sight, ‭ And th’ humorous Moon takes lustre from his light, ‭ While floods bear waves, and seas shall wash the shore, ‭ At this his sepulchre, whom all deplore, ‭ I’ll constantly abide; all passers by ‭ Informing, “Here doth honest Midus lie.” ‭ CUMA ‭ REFUSING HIS OFFER TO ETERNIZE THEIR STATE, ‭ THOUGH BROUGHT THITHER BY THE MUSES

‭ O to what fate hath Father Jove given o’er ‭ My friendless life, born ever to be poor! ‭ While in my infant state he pleas’d to save me, ‭ Milk on my reverend mother’s knees he gave me, ‭ In delicate and curious nursery; ‭ Æolian Smyrna, seated near the sea, ‭ (Of glorious empire, and whose bright sides ‭ Sacred Meletus’ silver current glides,) ‭ Being native seat to me. Which, in the force ‭ Of far-past time, the breakers of wild horse, ‭ Phriconia’s noble nation, girt with tow’rs; ‭ Whose youth in fight put on with fiery pow’rs, ‭ From hence, the Muse-maids, Jove’s illustrous Seed, ‭ Impelling me, I made impetuous speed, ‭ And went with them to Cuma, with intent ‭ T’ eternize all the sacred continent ‭ And state of Cuma. They, in proud ascent ‭ From off their bench, refus’d with usage fierce ‭ The sacred voice which I aver is verse. ‭ Their follies, yet, and madness borne by me, ‭ Shall by some pow’r be thought on futurely, ‭ To wreak of him whoever, whose tongue sought ‭ With false impair my fall. What fate God brought ‭ Upon my birth I’ll bear with any pain, ‭ But undeserv’d defame unfelt sustain. ‭ Nor feels my person (dear to me though poor) ‭ Any great lust to linger any more ‭ In Cuma’s holy highways; but my mind ‭ (No thought impair’d, for cares of any kind ‭ Borne in my body) rather vows to try ‭ The influence of any other sky, ‭ And spirits of people bred in any land ‭ Of ne’er so slender and obscure command. ‭ AN ASSAY OF HIS BEGUN ILIADS

‭ Ilion, and all the brave-horse-breeding soil, ‭ Dardania, I sing; that many a toil ‭ Impos’d upon the mighty Grecian pow’rs, ‭ Who were of Mars the manly servitours.

‭ TO THESTOR’S SON [1] ‭ INQUISITIVE OF HOMER ABOUT THE CAUSES OF THINGS ‭ Thestorides! of all the skills unknown ‭ To errant mortals, there remains not one ‭ Of more inscrutable affair to find ‭ Than is the true state of a human mind.

‭[1] Homer intimated, in this his answer to Thestorides, a will to have ‭him learn the knowledge of himself, before he inquired so ‭curiously the causes of other things. And from hence had the great ‭peripatetic, Themistius, his most grave epiphoneme, Anima quæ ‭seipsam ignorat, quid sciret ipsa de aliis? And, therefore, ‭according to Aristotle, advises all philosophical students to begin ‭with that study. ‭ TO NEPTUNE

‭ Hear, pow’rful Neptune, that shak’st earth in ire, ‭ King of the great green, where dance all the quire ‭ Of fair-hair’d Helicon; give prosperous gales; ‭ And good pass, to these guiders of our sails, ‭ Their voyage rend’ring happily directed, ‭ And their return with no ill fate affected. ‭ Grant likewise at rough Mimas’ lowest roots, ‭ Whose strength up to her tops prærupt rocks shoots, ‭ My passage safe arrival; and that I ‭ My bashful disposition may apply ‭ To pious men, and wreak myself upon ‭ The man whose verbal circumvention ‭ In me did wrong t’ hospitious Jove’s whole state, ‭ And th’ hospitable table violate. ‭ TO THE CITY ERYTHRÆA

‭ Worshipful Earth, Giver of all things good! ‭ Giver of even felicity; whose flood ‭ The mind all-over steeps in honeydew; ‭ That to some men dost infinite kindness shew, ‭ To others that despise thee art a shrew, ‭ And giv’st them gamester’s galls; who, once their main ‭ Lost with an ill chance, fare like abjects slain. ‭ TO MARINERS

‭ Ye wave-trod watermen, as ill as she ‭ That all the earth in infelicity ‭ Of rapine plunges; who upon your fare ‭ As sterv’d-like-ravenous as cormorants are; ‭ The lives ye lead, but in the worst degree, ‭ Not to be envied more than misery; ‭ Take shame, and fear the indignation ‭ Of Him that thunders from the highest throne, ‭ Hospitious Jove, who, at the back, prepares ‭ Pains of abhorr’d effect of him that dares ‭ The pieties break of his hospitious squares. ‭ THE PINE

‭ Any tree else bears better fruit than thee, ‭ That Ida’s tops sustain, where every tree ‭ Bears up in air such perspirable heights, ‭ And in which caves and sinuous receipts ‭ Creep in such great abundance. For about ‭ Thy foots, that ever all thy fruits put out, ‭ As nourish’d by them, equal with thy fruits, ‭ Pour Mars’s iron-mines their accurs’d pursuits. ‭ So that when any earth-encroaching man, ‭ Of all the martial brood Cebrenian, ‭ Plead need of iron, they are certain still ‭ About thy roots to satiate every will. ‭ TO GLAUCUS ‭ WHO WAS SO MISERABLY SPARING THAT HE FEARED ‭ ALL MEN’S ACCESS TO HIM

‭ Glaucus! though wise enough, yet one word more ‭ Let my advice add to thy wisdom’s store, ‭ For ’twill be better so: Before thy door ‭ Give still thy mastiffs meat, that will be sure ‭ To lie there, therefore, still, and not endure ‭ (With waylaid ears) the softest foot can fall, ‭ But men and beasts make fly thee and thy stall.

‭ AGAINST THE SAMIAN MINISTRESS, OR NUN ‭ ‭ Hear me, O Goddess, that invoke thine ear, ‭ Thou that dost feed and form the youthful year, ‭ And grant that this dame may the loves refuse, ‭ And beds, of young men, and affect to use ‭ Humans whose temples hoary hairs distain, ‭ Whose pow’rs are passing coy, whose wills would fain. ‭ WRITTEN ON THE COUNCIL CHAMBER

‭ Of men, sons are the crowns of cities’ tow’rs; ‭ Of pastures, horse are the most beauteous flow’rs; ‭ Of seas, ships are the grace; and money still ‭ With trains and titles doth the family fill. ‭ But royal counsellors, in council set, ‭ Are ornaments past all, as clearly great ‭ As houses are that shining fires enfold, ‭ Superior far to houses nak’d and cold. ‭ THE FURNACE CALLED IN TO SING BY POTTERS

‭ If ye deal freely, O my fiery friends, ‭ As ye assure, I’ll sing, and serve your ends. ‭ Pallas, vouchsafe thou here invok’d access, I ‭ Impose thy hand upon this Forge, and bless ‭ All cups these artists earn so, that they may ‭ Look black still with their depth, and every way ‭ Give all their vessels a most sacred sale. ‭ Make all well-burn’d; and estimation call ‭ Up to their prices. Let them market well, ‭ And in all highways in abundance sell, ‭ Till riches to their utmost wish arise, ‭ And, as thou mak’st them rich, so make me wise. ‭ But if ye now turn all to impudence, ‭ And think to pay with lies my patience, ‭ Then will I summon ’gainst your Furnace all ‭ Hell’s harmfull’st spirits; Maragus I’ll call, ‭ Sabactes, Asbett, and Omadamus, ‭ Who ills against your art innumerous ‭ Excogitates, supplies, and multiplies. ‭ Come, Pallas, then, and all command to rise, ‭ Infesting forge and house with fire, till all ‭ Tumble together, and to ashes fall, ‭ These potters selves dissolv’d in tears as small. ‭ And as a horse-cheek chides his foaming bit, ‭ So let this Forge murmur in fire and flit, ‭ And all this stuff to ashy ruins run. ‭ And thou, O Circe, daughter of the Sun, ‭ Great-many-poison-mixer, come, and pour ‭ Thy cruell’st poisons on this Potters’ floor, ‭ Shivering their vessels; and themselves affect ‭ With all the mischiefs possible to direct ‭ ’Gainst all their beings, urg’d by all thy fiends. ‭ Let Chiron likewise come; and all those friends ‭ (The Centaurs) that Alcides’ fingers fled, ‭ And all the rest too that his hand strook dead, ‭ (Their ghosts excited) come, and macerate ‭ These earthen men; and yet with further fate ‭ Affect their Furnace; all their tear-burst eyes ‭ Seeing and mourning for their miseries, ‭ While I look on, and laugh their blasted art ‭ And them to ruin. Lastly, if apart ‭ Any lies lurking, and sees yet, his face ‭ Into a coal let th’ angry fire embrace, ‭ That all may learn by them, in all their lust, ‭ To dare deeds great, to see them great and just. ‭ EIRESIONE, OR, THE OLIVE BRANCH

‭ The turrets of a man of infinite might, ‭ Of infinite action, substance infinite, ‭ We make access to; whose whole being rebounds ‭ From earth to heaven, and nought but bliss resounds. ‭ Give entry then, ye doors; more riches yet ‭ Shall enter with me; all the Graces met ‭ In joy of their fruition, perfect peace ‭ Confirming all; all crown’d with such increase, ‭ That every empty vessel in your house ‭ May stand replete with all things precious; ‭ Elaborate Ceres may your larders fill ‭ With all dear delicates, and serve in still; ‭ May for your son a wife make wish’d approach ‭ Into your tow’rs, and rapt in in her coach ‭ With strong-kneed mules; may yet her state prove staid, ‭ With honour’d housewiferies; her fair hand laid ‭ To artful loomworks; and her nak’d feet tread ‭ The gum of amber to a golden bead. ‭ But I’ll return; return, and yet not press ‭ Your bounties now assay’d with oft access, ‭ Once a year only, as the swallow prates ‭ Before the wealthy Spring’s wide open gates. ‭ Meantime I stand at yours, nor purpose stay ‭ More time t’ entreat. Give, or not give, away ‭ My feet shall bear me, that did never come ‭ With any thought to make your house my home. ‭ TO CERTAIN FISHER BOYS ‭ PLEASING HIM WITH INGENIOUS RIDDLES

‭ Yet from the bloods even of your self-like sires ‭ Are you descended, that could make ye heirs ‭ To no huge hoards of coin, nor leave ye able ‭ To feed flocks of innumerable rabble. ‭ THE END OF ALL THE ENDLESS WORKS OF HOMER. ‭ THE TRANSLATOR’S EPILOGUE

‭ The work that I was born to do is done! ‭ Glory to Him that the conclusion ‭ Makes the beginning of my life; and never ‭ Let me be said to live, till I live ever. ‭ Where’s the outliving of my fortunes then, ‭ Ye errant vapours of Fame’s Lernean fen, ‭ That, like possess’d storms, blast all not in herd ‭ With your abhorr’d heads; who, because cashier’d ‭ By men for monsters, think men monsters all, ‭ That are not of your pied Hood and your Hall, ‭ When you are nothing but the scum of things, ‭ And must be cast off; drones, that have no stings; ‭ Nor any more soul than a stone hath wings? ‭ Avaunt, ye hags! Your hates and scandals are ‭ The crowns and comforts of a good man’s care; ‭ By whose impartial perpendicular, ‭ All is extuberance, and excretion all, ‭ That you your ornaments and glories call. ‭ Your wry mouths censure right! Your blister’d tongues, ‭ That lick but itches! And whose ulcerous lungs ‭ Come up at all things permanent and sound! ‭ O you, like flies in dregs, in humours drown’d! ‭ Your loves, like atoms, lost in gloomy air, ‭ I would not retrieve with a wither’d hair. ‭ Hate, and cast still your stings then, for your kisses ‭ Betray but truth, and your applauds are hisses. ‭ To see our supercilious wizards frown, ‭ Their faces fall’n like fogs, and coming down, ‭ Stinking the sun out, makes me shine the more; ‭ And like a check’d flood bear above the shore, ‭ That their profane opinions fain would set ‭ To what they see not, know not, nor can let. ‭ Yet then our learn’d men with their torrents come, ‭ Roaring from their forc’d hills, all crown’d with foam, ‭ That one not taught like them, should learn to know ‭ Their Greek roots, and from thence the groves that grow, ‭ Casting such rich shades from great Homer’s wings, ‭ That first and last command the Muses’ springs. ‭ Though he’s best scholar, that, through pains and vows ‭ Made his own master only, all things knows. ‭ Nor pleads my poor skill form, or learned place, ‭ But dauntless labour, constant prayer, and grace. ‭ And what’s all their skill, but vast varied reading? ‭ As if broad-beaten highways had the leading ‭ To Truth’s abstract, and narrow path, and pit; ‭ Found in no walk of airy worldly wit. ‭ And without Truth, all’s only sleight of hand, ‭ Or our law-learning in a foreign land, ‭ Embroidery spent on cobwebs, braggart show ‭ Of men that all things learn, and nothing know. ‭ For ostentation humble Truth still flies, ‭ And all confederate fashionists defies. ‭ And as some sharp-brow’d doctor, English born, ‭ In much learn’d Latin idioms can adorn ‭ A verse with rare attractions, yet become ‭ His English Muse like an Arachnean loom, ‭ Wrought spite of Pallas, and therein bewrays ‭ More tongue than truth, begs, and adopts his bays; ‭ So Ostentation, be he never so ‭ Larded with labour to suborn his show, ‭ Shall sooth within him but a bastard soul, ‭ No more heaven heiring than, Earth’s son, the mole, ‭ But as in dead calms emptiest smokes arise, ‭ Uncheck’d and free, up straight into the skies; ‭ So drowsy Peace, that in her humour steeps ‭ All she affects, lets such rise while she sleeps. ‭ Many, and most men, have of wealth least store, ‭ But none the gracious shame that fits the poor. ‭ So most learn’d men enough are ignorant, ‭ But few the grace have to confess their want, ‭ Till lives and learnings come concomitant. ‭ Far from men’s knowledges their lives’-acts flow; ‭ Vainglorious acts then vain prove all they know. ‭ As night the life-inclining stars best shows, ‭ So lives obscure the starriest souls disclose. ‭ For me, let just men judge by what I show ‭ In acts expos’d how much I err or know; ‭ And let not envy make all worse than nought, ‭ With her mere headstrong and quite brainless thought, ‭ Others, for doing nothing, giving all, ‭ And bounding all worth in her bursten gall. ‭ God and my dear Redeemer rescue me ‭ From men’s immane and mad impiety, ‭ And by my life and soul (sole known to Them) ‭ Make me of palm, or yew, an anadem. ‭ And so my sole God, the Thrice-Sacred-Trine, ‭ Bear all th’ ascription of all me and mine.

‭Supplico tibi, Domine, Pater, et Dux rationis nostræ, ut nostræ ‭nobilitatis recordemur quâ Tu nos ornasti; et ut Tu nobis præstó sis, ‭ut iis qui per sese moventur; ut et à corporis contagio, ‭brutorumque affectuum, repurgemur, eosque superemus, atque ‭regamus, et, sicut decet, pro instrumentis iis utamur. Deinde, ut ‭nobis adjumento sis, ad accuratam rationis nostræ correctionem, et ‭conjunctionem cum iis qui verè sunt per lucem veritatis. Et ‭tertiùm, Salvatori supplex oro, ut ab oculis animorum nostrorum, ‭caliginem prorsus abstergas, ut norimus bene qui Deus, aut ‭mortalis, habendus. Amen.

‭ Sine honore vivam, nulloque numera ero. ‭ FINIS