Classic Poem

The servants thus inform'd, the Matron goes
Up where the Queene was cast in such repose,
Affected with a fervent joy to tell
What all this time she did with paine conceale.
Her knees revokt their first strength, and her feete
Were borne above the ground with wings, to greete
The long-greev'd Queene with newes her King was come;
And (neere her) said: " Wake! Leave this withdrawne roome,
That now your eyes may see at length, though late,
The man return'd which, all the heavy date
Your woes have rackt out, you have long'd to see:
Ulysses is come home, and hath set free
His Court of all your wooers, slaughtering all
For wasting so his goods with Festivall,
His house so vexing, and for violence done
So all waies varied to his onely sonne."
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 blinde with follies wisest eies
And make men foolish, so to make them wise.
For they have hurt even thy grave braine, that bore
An understanding spirit heretofore.
Why hast thou wak't me to more teares, when Mone
Hath turn'd my minde with teares into her owne?
Thy madnesse much more blamefull, that with lyes
Thy haste is loaden, and both robs mine eyes
Of most delightsome sleepe, and sleepe of them,
That now had bound me in his sweet extream
T'embrace my lids and close my visual Spheres.
I have not slept so much this twenty yeares,
Since first my dearest sleeping-Mate was gone
For that too-ill-to-speake-of Ilion.
Hence take your mad steps backe; if any Maid
Of all my traine besides a part had plaid
So bold to wake and tell mine eares such lies,
I had return'd her to her huswiferies
With good proofe of my wrath to such rude Dames.
But go, your yeares have sav'd their yonger blames."
She answer'd her: " I nothing wrong your eare,
But tell the truth: your long-mist Lord is heere,
And with the wooers' slaughter his owne hand
(In chiefe exploit) hath to his owne command
Reduc't his house; and that poore Guest was he
That all those wooers wrought such injurie.
Telemachus had knowledge long ago
That 'twas his Father, but his wisedome so
Observ'd his counsailes, to give surer end
To that great worke 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't every teare away
From her faire cheekes, and then began to say
What Nurse said, over thus: " O Nurse, can this
Be true thou sayst? How could that hand of his
Alone destroy so many? They would still
Troope all together. How could he then kill
Such numbers so united?" " How?" said she,
" I have nor seene nor heard, but certainly
The deed is done. We sate within in feare,
The doores shut on us, and from thence might heare
The sighes and grones of every man he slew —
But heard nor saw more, till at length there flew
Your sonne's voice to mine eare, that call'd to me,
And bad me then come foorth: and then I see
Ulysses standing in the midst of all
Your slaughtred wooers, heap't up like a wall
One on another, round about his side.
It would have done you good to have descride
Your conqu'ring lord, al smeard with blood and gore
So like a Lyon. Straight then off they bore
The slaughtred carkasses, that now before
The fore-Court gates lye, one on other pilde.
And now your victor all the Hall (defilde
With stinch of hot death) is perfuming round,
And with a mighty fire the harth hath crown'd.
" Thus, all the death remov'd and every roome
Made sweet and sightly, that your selfe should come
His pleasure sent me. Come then, take you now
Your mutuall fils of comfort. Griefe on you
Hath long and many sufferings laid; which length,
Which many suffrings, nowe your vertuous strength
Of uncorrupted chastnesse hath conferr'd
A happy end to. He that long hath err'd
Is safe arriv'd at home, his wife, his sonne,
Found safe and good; all ill that hath bene done
On all the dooers' heads (though long prolong'd)
His right hath wreak't, and in the place they wrong'd."
She answer'd: " Do not you now laugh, and bost
As you had done some great act, seeing most
Into his Being. For, you know, he won
(Even through his poore and vile condition)
A kind of prompted thought that there was plac't
Some vertue in him, fit to be embrac't
By all the house, but, most of all, by me
And by my Son, that was the progenie
Of both our loves. And yet it is not he,
For all the likely proofes ye plead to me.
Some God hath slaine the wooers, in disdaine
Of the abhorred pride he saw so raigne
In those base workes they did. No man alive,
Or good, or bad, whoever did arrive
At their abodes once, ever could obtaine
Regard of them: and therefore their so vaine
And vile deserts have found as vile an end.
But, for Ulysses, never will extend
His wisht returne 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 farre
From any home of his! Your wit's at warre
With all credulity ever. And yet now
I'le name a signe shall force beleefe from you:
I bath'd him lately, and beheld the scar
That still remaines a marke too ocular
To leave your heart yet blinded; and I then
Had run and told you, but his hand was feine
To close my lips from th'acclamation
My heart was breathing, and his wisedome won
My still retention, till he gave me leave
And charge to tell you this. Now, then, receave
My life for gage of his returne — which take
In any cruell fashion, if I make
All this not cleere to you." " Lov'd Nurse," said she,
" Though many things thou knowst, yet these things be
Veil'd in the counsailes th'uncreated Gods
Have long time maskt in, whose darke periods
Tis hard for thee to see into. But come,
Let's see my son, the slaine, and he by whom
They had their slaughter." This said, down they went —
When on the Queen's part divers thoghts wer spent,
If (all this given no faith) she still should stand
Aloofe and question more, or his hugg'd hand
And loved head she should at first assay
With free-given kisses. When her doubtfull way
Had past the stony pavement, she tooke seate
Against her husband, in the opposite heate
The fire then cast upon the other wall,
Himselfe set by the Columne of the Hall,
His lookes cast downwards, and expected still
When her incredulous and curious will
To shun ridiculous error, and the shame
To kisse a Husband that was not the same,
Would downe, and win enough faith from his sight.
She silent sate, and her perplexed plight
Amaze encounter'd. Sometimes she stood cleare
He was her Husband: sometimes the ill weare
His person had put on transform'd him so,
That yet his stampe would hardly currant go.
Her son, her strangenesse 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 cleere such doubt
As may perplexe you? Found man ever out
One other such a wife that could forbeare
Her lov'd Lord's welcome home, when twenty yeare
In infinite sufferance he had spent apart:
No Flint so hard is as a woman's hart."
" Son," she replied, " amaze containes my minde,
Nor can I speake and use the commune kind
Of those enquiries, nor sustaine to see
With opposite lookes his countenance. If this be
My true Ulysses now return'd, there are
Tokens betwixt us of more fitnesse farre
To give me argument he is my Lord;
And my assurance of him may afford
My proofes of joy for him from all these eies
With more decorum than object their guise
To publique notice." The much-Sufferer brake
In laughter out, and to his Son said: " Take
Your Mother from the prease, that she may make
Her owne proofes of me, which perhaps may give
More cause to the acknowledgements that drive
Their shew thus off. But now, because I goe
So poorely clad, she takes disdaine to know
So loath'd a creature for her loved Lord.
Let us consult then how we may accord
The Towne to our late action. Some one slaine
Hath made the all-left slaughterer of him faine
To fly his friends and country. But our swords
Have slaine a Citie's most supportfull Lords,
The chiefe Peeres of the kingdome: therefore see
You use wise meanes t'uphold your victorie."
" See you to that, good Father," saide the Son,
" Whose counsailes have the soveraigne glory won
From all men living. None will strive with you,
But with unquestion'd Girlands grace your brow —
To whom, our whol 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 seemes capitall
Of all choise courses. Bathe we first, and then
Attire we freshly, all our Maides and men
Enjoyning likewise to their best attire.
The sacred Singer then let touch his Lire,
And go before us all in gracefull dance,
That all without, to whose eares shal advance
Our cheerefull accents (or of Travailers by,
Or firme inhabitants) solemnity
Of frolicke Nuptials may imagine heere.
And this performe we, lest the massakere
Of all our wooers be divulg'd about
The ample City ere our selves 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 toiles and crowne our welcome home."
This all obey'd, bath'd, put on fresh attire
Both men and women did. Then tooke his Lire
The holy singer, and set thirst on fire
With songs and faultlesse dances: all the Court
Rung with the footings that the numerous sport
From jocund men drew and faire-girdl'd Dames —
Which (heard abroad) thus flew the commune fames:
" Thus sure the day is when the much-woo'd Queen
Is richly wed. O wretch! that hath not beene
So constant as to keepe her ample house
Til th'utmost houre had brought her formost spouse."
Thus some conceiv'd, but little knew the thing.
And now Eurynome had bath'd the King,
Smooth'd him with Oyles, and he himselfe attir'd
In vestures royall. Her part then inspir'd
The Goddesse Pallas, deck't 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. Curles soft and bright
Adorn'd his head withall, and made it show
As if the flowry Hyacinth did grow
In all his pride there, in the generall trim
Of every locke, and every curious lim.
Looke how a skilfull Artizan, well seene
In all Arts Metalline, as having beene
Taught by Minerva and the God of fire,
Doth Gold with Silver mix so that entire
They keepe their selfe distinction, and yet so
That to the Silver from the Gold doth flow
A much more artificiall luster than his owne,
And thereby to the Gold it selfe is growne
A greater glory than if wrought alone,
Both being stuck off by either's mixtion:
So did Minerva hers and his combine;
He more in Her, She more in Him did shine.
Like an Immortall from the Bath he rose,
And to his wife did all his grace dispose,
Encountring this her strangenesse: " Cruell Dame
Of all that breathe, the Gods past steele and flame
Have made thee ruthlesse. Life retaines not one
Of all Dames else that beares so over-growne
A minde with abstinence, as twenty yeares
To misse her husband, drown'd in woes and teares,
And, at his comming, keepe aloofe, and fare
As of his so long absence and his care
No sense had seisd her. Go, Nurse, make a bed,
That I alone may sleepe; her heart is dead
To all reflection." To him thus replied
The wise Penelope: " Man halfe deified,
'Tis not my fashion to be taken streight
With bravest men — nor poorest use to sleight.
Your meane apparance made not me retire,
Nor this your rich shew 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 likenesse holds no full desart
For me to trust to. Go, Nurse, see addrest
A soft bed for him, and the single rest
Himselfe 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 furnisht with magnificence."
This said she to assay him, and did stir
Even his establisht patience, and to hir,
Whom thus he answerd: " Woman! your words prove
My patience strangely. Who is it can move
My Bed out of his place? It shall oppresse
Earth's greatest under-stander; and, unlesse
Even God himselfe come, that can easely grace
Men in their most skils, it shall hold his place.
For Man — he lives not that (as not most skill'd,
So not most yong) shall easely make it yield,
If (building on the strength in which he flowes)
He addes both Levers too, and Iron Crowes.
For in the fixure of the Bed is showne
A Maister-peece, 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 armes so thicke that to the eye
It shew'd a columne for solidity.
To this had I a comprehension
To build my Bridall Bowre, which all of stone,
Thicke as the Tree of leaves, I raisde, and cast
A Roofe about it nothing meanly grac'st,
Put glew'd doores to it, that op't Art enough.
Then from the Olive every broad-leav'd bough
I lopt away, then fell'd the Tree, and then
Went over it both with my Axe and Plaine,
Both govern'd by my Line. And then I hew'd
My curious Bed-sted out, in which I shew'd
Worke of no commune hand. All this, begon,
I could not leave till to perfection
My paines had brought it — tooke my Wimble, bor'd
The holes as fitted, and did last afford
The varied Ornament which shew'd no want
Of Silver, Gold, and polisht Elephant.
An Oxe-hide Dide in purple then I threw
Above the cords. And thus to curious view
I hope I have objected honest signe,
To prove I author nought that is not mine.
But if my bed stand unremov'd or no,
O woman, passeth humane wit to know."
This sunk her knees and heart, to heare so true
The signes she urg'd; and first did teares ensue
Her rapt assurance; then she ran and spread
Her armes about his necke, kist oft his head,
And thus the curious stay she made excusde:
" Ulysses! Be not angry that I usde
Such strange delayes to this, since heretofore
Your suffering wisedome hath the Gyrland wore
From all that breath: and 'tis the Gods that, thus
With mutuall misse so long afflicting us,
Have causd my coynesse — to our youths envied
That wisht society that should have tied
Our youths and yeares together: and, since now
Judgement and Duty should our age allow
As full joyes therein as in youth and blood,
See all yong anger and reproofe withstood
For not at first sight giving up my armes,
My heart still trembling, lest the false alarmes
That words oft strike up should ridiculize me.
Had Argive Helen knowne credulity
Would bring such plagues with it, and her againe
(As aucthresse of them all) with that foule staine
To her and to her countrey, she had staid
Her love and mixture from a stranger's bed.
But God impell'd her to a shamelesse deede,
Because she had not in her selfe decreed
Before th'attempt that such acts still were shent
As simply in themselves as in th'event.
By which not onely she her selfe sustaines,
But we, for her fault, have paid mutuall paines.
Yet now, since these signes of our certaine bed
You have discover'd and distinguished
From all earth's others, no one man but you
Yet ever getting of it th'onely show,
Nor one of all Dames but my selfe, and she
My Father gave, old Actor's progenie
(Who ever guarded to our selves the dore
Of that thick-shaded chamber) I no more
Will crosse your cleere perswasion — though till now
I stood too doubtfull and austere to you."
These words of hers, so justifying her stay,
Did more desire of joyfull mone convay
To his glad minde 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 minde, that knew his depth of wit,
And held chaste vertue at a price so high.
And as sad men at Sea, when shore is nigh,
Which long their hearts have wisht (their ship quite lost
By Neptune's rigor, and they vext and tost
Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives,
A few escap't, and that few that survives
All drencht in fome and brine) craule up to Land
With joy as much as they did worlds command:
So deare to this wife was her husband's sight —
Who still embrac't his necke, and had (til light
Displaid her silver Ensigne) if the Dame
That beares the blew sky entermixt with flame
In her faire eyes had not infixt her thought
On other joyes, for loves so hardly brought
To long'd-for meeting: who th'extended night
With-held in long date, nor would let the light
Her wing-hoov'd horse joyne (Lampus, Phaeton),
Those ever Colts that bring the morning on
To worldly men, but, in her golden chaire,
Downe to the Ocean by her silver haire
Bound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said:
" O wife! Nor yet are my contentions staid;
A most unmeasur'd labour, long and hard,
Askes more performance — to it being prepar'd
By grave Tiresias, when downe to hell
I made darke passage, that his skill might tell
My men's returne, and mine. But come, and now
Enjoy the sweet rest that our Fates allow."
" The place of rest is ready," she replyed,
" 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) informe me, what must be
Your last set labour? Since 'twill fall to me
(I hope) to heare 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 yeares in travaile, many Cities more
By Sea to visit: and, when first for shore
I left my shipping, I was will'd to take
A navall Oare 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 victles, who the purple beakes
Of Ships did never see, nor that which breakes
The waves in curles, which is a Fan-like Oare,
And serves as wings with which a ship doth soare.
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 signe:
When any one that tooke that Oare of mine
Borne on my shoulder for a Corne-clense Fan
I met ashore, and shew'd to be a man
Of that Land's labour, there had I command
To fixe mine Oare, and offer on that strand
T'imperiall Neptune (whom I must implore)
A Lambe, a Bull, and Sow-ascending Bore —
And then turne home, where all the other Gods
That in the broad heaven made secure abods
I must solicite (all my curious heed
Given to the severall rites they have decreed)
With holy Hecatombes. 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 sequell of my fortunes were engag'd."
" If then," saide 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 dayes at length."
While this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed
Eurynome and Nurse had made and spred
With richest Furniture, while Torches spent
Their parcell-gilt thereon. To bed then went
The aged Nurse, and where their Soveraignes were
Eurynome (the Chamber-maid) did beare
A Torch, and went before them to their rest:
To which she left them, and for hers addrest.
The King and Queene, then, now (as newly wed)
Resum'd the old Lawes of th'embracing bed.
Telemachus and both his Herdsmen then
Dissolv'd the dances both to Maids and men,
Who in their shady roofes tooke timely sleepe.
The Bride and Bridegroome, having ceast to keepe
Observed Love-joyes, from their fit delight
They turn'd to talke. The Queene then did recite
What she had suffer'd by the hatefull rout
Of harmfull wooers, who had eate her out
So many Oxen and so many Sheepe,
How many Tun of wine their drinking deepe
Had quite exhausted. Great Ulysses, then,
What ever slaughters he had made of men,
What ever sorrowes he himselfe sustain'd,
Repeated amply, and her eares remain'd
With all delight attentive to their end,
Nor would one winke sleepe till he told her all —
Beginning where he gave the Cicons fall;
From thence his passe to the Lotophagi;
The Cyclop's acts; the putting out his eye,
And wreake of all the Souldiers he had eate,
No least ruth shewne to all they could entreate.
His way to Æolus; his prompt receit,
And kinde dismission; his inforc't retreate
By sodaine Tempest to the fishy maine,
And quite distraction from his course againe;
His landing at the Laestrygonian Port,
Where ships and men in miserable sort
Met all their spoiles, his ship and he alone
Got off from the abhorr'd confusion;
His passe to Circe, her deceits, and Arts;
His thence descension to th'infernall parts;
His life's course of the Theban Prophet learn'd,
Where all the slaughter'd Grecians he descern'd,
And loved Mother; his astonisht eare
With what the Sirens' voices made him heare;
His scape from th'erring Rockes, which Scylla was
And rough Charybdis, with the dangerous passe
Of all that toucht there; his Sicilian
Offence given to the Sun, his every man
Destroy'd by thunder vollied out of heaven,
That split his Ship; his owne endevours driven
To shift for succours on th'Ogygian shore,
Where Nimph Calypso such affection bore
To him in his arrivall that with feast
She kept him in her Caves, and would have blest
His welcome life with an immortall state,
Would he have staid and liv'd her Nuptiall mate,
All which she never could perswade him to.
His passe to the Phaeacians, spent in wo,
Their hearty welcome of him, as he were
A God descended from the starry Sphere;
Their kinde dismission of him home with Gold,
Brasse, Garments, all things his occasions would.
This last word usde, sleepe seiz'd his weary eye,
That salves all care to all mortality.
In meane space, Pallas entertain'd intent
That, when Ulysses thought enough time spent
In love-joyes with his wife, to raise the Day,
And make his grave occasions call away.
The Morning rose, and he, when thus he saide:
" O Queene! Now satiate with afflictions laide
On both our bosomes (you oppressed heere
With cares for my returne, I every where
By Jove and all the other Deities tost
Even till all hope of my returne was lost)
And both arriv'd at this sweet Haven, our Bed,
Be your care usde to see administred
My house-possessions left. Those Sheepe that were
Consum'd in surfets by your wooers heere
I'le forrage to supply with some; and more
The suffering Grecians shall be made restore,
Even till our stalles 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 meane time, be
Your wisedome usde, that, since (the Sun ascended)
The fame will soone be through the Town extended
Of those I heere have slaine, your selfe (got close
Up to your chamber) see you there repose,
Cheer'd with your women, and nor looke afford
Without your Court, nor anie man a word."
This said, he arm'd, to arms both Son and Swain
His powre commanding, who did entertaine
His charge with spirit, op't the gates, and out,
He leading all. And now was hurl'd about
Aurora's ruddie fire, through all whose light
Minerva led them through the Towne from sight.