Odyssey

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,

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

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.