Classic Poem

Yet did Divine Ulysses keepe his Roofe,
And with Minerva plotted still the proofe
Of al the wooers' deaths — when thus his Son
He taught with these fore-counsailes: " We must ron
A close course with these Armes, and lay them by,
And to the wooers make so faire a sky
As it would never thunder. Let me then
(That you may wel retaine) repeate agen
What in Eumaeus' Cottage I advis'd.
If when they see your leysure exercis'd
In fetching downe your Armes, and aske what use
Your minde will give them, say 'tis their abuse
With smoke and rust that makes you take them down,
This not being like the Armory well knowne
To be the leavings of Laertes' Son,
Consorting the designe for Ilion.
Your eyes may see how much they are infected,
As all fire's vapors ever since reflected
On those sole Armes. 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 Nuptiall feast with wise Penelope.
The ready weapon when the bloud is up
Doubles the uprore heightned by the Cup.
Wrath's meanes for Act curbe all the wayes ye can;
As Loadstones draw the steele, so steele draws Man.
Retaine these words, nor what is good think, thus
Receiv'd at second hand, superfluous."
The Sonne, obeying, did Euryclea call,
And bad her shut (in the utter Porches) all
The other women, till himselfe brought downe
His Father's Armes, which all were over-growne
By his neglect with rust, his Father gone,
And he too childish to spend thoughts upon
Those manly Implements; but he would now
Reforme those yong neglects, and th'armes bestow
Past reach of smoke. The loving Nurse replide:
" I wish, O Son, your powers would once provide
For wisedome's habit, see your houshold were
In thrifty mannage, and tend all things there.
But if these armes must downe, and every Maide
Be shut in utter roomes, who else should aide
Your worke with light?" He answer'd: " This my guest.
There shal not one in my house tast my Feast,
(Or joyne in my Nave) that shall ydlely live,
How ever farre hence he his home derive."
He said, and his words stood. The doores she shut
Of that so wel-fill'd house. And th'other put
Their thoghts in act, bost Shields, Helmes, sharpned Lances
Brought downe; and Pallas before both advances
A golden Cresset, that did cast a Light
As if the Day sate in the Throne of Night.
When (halfe amaz'd) the Prince said: " O my Father,
Mine eyes my soule's pow'rs all in wonder gather,
For though the wals and goodly wind-beames here,
And all these Pillars, that their heads so rere,
Are all of Firre, they seeme yet all of fire.
Some God is surely with us." His wise Sire
Bad peace, and keepe the counsailes of the Gods,
Nor aske a word: " These Pow'rs that use abods
Above the starres have power from thence to shine
Through night and all shades to earth's inmost Mine.
Go thou for sleepe, and leave me here to wake
The women and the Queene, whose heart doth ake
To make enquiry for my selfe of me."
He went to sleepe, where lights did endlesly
Burne in his Night-roomes, where he feasted Rest
Til daye's faire weed did all the world invest.
Thus was divine Ulysses left alone
With Pallas, plotting foule confusion
To all the wooers. Forth then came the Queene;
Phaebe, with golden Cytherea seene,
Her Port presented. Whom they set a Chaire
Aside the fire, the fashion circulare,
The substance Silver and rich Elephant,
Whose Fabricke did the cunning finger vant
Of great Icmalius, who besides had done
A footstoole for her that did sute her Throne —
On which they cast an ample skin, to be
The Cushion for her other Royalty.
And there she sate — about whom came her Maids,
Who brought upon a Table store of Breads
And Bolles that with the wooers' wine were cround.
The Embers then they cast upon the ground
From out the Lampes and other Fuell added,
That still with cheereful flame the sad house gladded.
Melantho, seeing still Ulysses there,
Thus she held out her spleene: " Still, stranger, here?
Thus late in night? To see what Ladies do?
Avant, you wretch: hence. Go without doores, go —
And quickly, too, lest ye be sindg'd away
With burning fire-brands." He (thus seeing their fray
Continu'd by her with such spleene) replide:
" Minion! What makes your angry blood thus chide
My presence still? Is it because you see
I shine not in your wanton bravery,
But weare these rags? It fits the needy Fate
That makes me beg thus of the commune state.
Such poore soules, and such beggers, yet are men;
And even my meane meanes, means had to maintain
A wealthy house, and kept a manly prease,
Was counted blessed, and the poore accesse
Of any Begger did not scorne, but feede
With often hand, and any man of neede
Releev'd as fitted; kept my servants, too,
Not few, but did with those additions go
That call choise men The Honest, who are stild
The rich, the great. But what such great ones build
Jove oft puls downe, as thus he ruin'd me;
His will was such, which is his equity.
And therefore, woman, beare you fitting hand
On your behaviour, lest your spirit, thus mann'd
And cherisht with your beauties (when they wane),
Comes down, your pride now being then your bane.
And in the meane space shun the present danger,
Lest your bold fashion breed your Soveraign's anger —
Or lest Ulysses come, of whom even yet
Hope finds some life in fate. Or, be his seat
Amongst the meerly ruin'd, yet his Sonne
(Whose life's heate Phaebus saves) is such a one
As can discover who doth well deserve
Of any woman heere. His yeares now serve."
The Queen gave eare, and thus supprest the flame:
" Thou quite without a brow, past female shame,
I heare thy monstrous boldnesse, which thy head
Shall pay me paines for. Thou hast heard it said,
And from my selfe too; and at every part
Thy knowledge serves thee, that (to ease my hart
So punisht in thy witnesse) my desire
Dwelt on this Stranger, that I might enquire
My lost friend's Beeing. But 'tis ever tride —
Both Man and God are still forgot with Pride.
Eurynome! Bring heere this Guest a seat
And Cushion on it, that we two may treat
Of the affaire in question. Set it neare,
That I may softly speake, yet he well heare."
She did this little freely, and he sat
Close by the Queen, who askt him, whence, and what
He was himselfe? And what th'inhabited place?
Where liv'd his parents? Whence he fetcht his race?
" O woman," he replyed, " with whom no man
That moves in earth's unbounded circle can
Maintaine contention for true honor geven,
Whose fame hath reacht the fairely-flowing heaven,
Who like a never-ill-deserving King
That is well spoke of, first, for worshipping
And striving to resemble God in Empire,
Whose equall hand impartially doth temper
Greatnesse and Goodnesse — to whom therefore beares
The blacke earth store of all graine, Trees conferres
Cracking with burthen, long liv'd Herds creates,
All which the Sea with her sorts emulates —
And all this feeds beneath his powrefull hand
Men, valiant, many, making strong his Land
With happy lives led — nothing else the cause
Of all these blessings but well-order'd Lawes.
Like such a King are you, in Love, in Fame,
And all the blisse that deifies a Dame.
And therefore do not mixe this with a mone
So wretched as is now in question.
Aske not my Race nor Countrey, lest you fill
My heart yet fuller with repeated ill:
For I must follow it with many teares;
Though 'tis not seemly to sit wounding eares
In publique Roofes with our particular life:
Time's worst expence is still-repeated Griefe.
I should be irkesome to your Ladies here,
And you your selfe would say you urg'd your eare
To what offends it, my still-broken eine
Supposing wounded with your too much wine."
" Stranger," said she, " you feare your owne excesse,
With giving me too great a noblenesse.
The Gods my person, Beauty, Vertue too,
Long since subverted, when the Ilian wo
The Greeke designe attempted — in which went
My praise and honor. In his government
Had I deserv'd your utmost grace; but now
Sinister Deity makes dishonor woo
(In shew of grace) my ruine. All the Peres
Sylvane Zacynthus and Dulichius Spheres,
Samos and Ithaca, strange strifes have showne
To win me, spending on me all mine owne,
Will wed me in my spite. And these are those
That take from me all vertue to dispose
Or Guest or Suppliant, or take any course
Amongst my Heralds (that should all disburse)
To order any thing. Though I neede none
To give me greefe at home. Abroad erres 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 taske
That an unmeasur'd space of time would aske,
Which they, enduring long, would often say,
When ends thy worke? I soone had my delay,
And prai'd their stay. For, though my Lord wer dead,
His Father's life yet matter ministred
That must imploy me, which, (to tell them true)
Was that great worke I nam'd. For now nere drew
Laertes' death, and on my hand did lye
His funerall Robe, whose end (being now so nye)
I must not leave, and lose so much begun —
The rather, lest the Greeke Dames might be wun
To taxe mine honor, 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 helpe to undo againe,
Though oyle and watch it cost, and equall paine.
Three yeares my wit secur'd me undiscern'd,
Yet, when the fourth came, by my Maids discern'd
(False carelesse wenches) how they were deluded —
When (by my light descern'd) they all intruded,
Us'd threatning words, and made me give it end.
And then could I to no more length extend
My linger'd Nuptials; not a counsaile more
Was to be stood upon; my Parents bore
Continuall hand on me to make me wed;
My Sonne grew angry that so ruined
His goods were by them. He is now a man,
Wise in a great degree, and one that can
Himselfe give order to his houshold fare;
And Jove give equal glory to his care.
But thus you must not passe 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 Oake or justl'd out of stone.'
He answer'd: " O Ulysses" reverend wife!
Yet hold you purpose to enquire my life?
I'le tell you, though it much afflict me more
Than all the sorrowes I have felt before —
As worthily it may, since so long time
As I have wandred from my Native Clime
Through humane Cities, and in sufferance stil,
To rip all wounds up (though of all their ill
I touch but part) must actuate all their paine.
But aske you still; I'le tell, though stil sustaine.
" In middle of the sable Sea there lies
An Isle cal'd Crete, a ravisher of eyes,
Fruitfull, and mann'd with many an infinite store,
Where ninety Cities crowne the famous shore.
Mixt with all-languag'd men, there Greekes survive,
There the great-minded Eterocretans 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 yeares
Conferr'd with Jove, both great familiares
In mutual counsailes. And this Minos' Son,
The mighty-minded King Deucalion,
Was Sire to me and royall 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 saile for Troy, and wind-bound lay
Long in Amnisus — hardly got away
From horrid stormes, that made him anchor there
In Havens that sacred to Lucina were,
Dreadfull and dangerous, in whose bosome crept
Lucina's Caverne. But in my roofe slept
Ulysses, shor'd in Crete — who first enquir'd
For royall Idomen, and much desir'd
To taste his guest-rites, since to him had bene
A welcome Guest my Brother Idomen.
The tenth or leventh light on Ulysses shin'de
In stay at Crete, attending then the winde
For threatn'd Ilion — all which time my house
With love and entertainments curious
Embrac't his person, though a number more
My hospitable roofes receiv'd before.
His men I likewise call'd, and from the store
Allow'd them meale and heat-exciting wine,
And Oxen for their slaughter, to confine
In my free hand the utmost of their need.
Twelve daies the Greeks staid 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 sterne God. But on the thirteenth day
The tempest ceast, and then went Greekes 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 hir eares,
It made her weepe as she would turne to teares.
And as from off the Mountaines melts the snow
Which Zephyr's breath congeald, but was made flow
By hollow Eurus, which so fast poures downe
That with their Torrent flouds have over-flowne:
So downe her faire cheekes her kinde tears did glide,
Her mist Lord mourning, set so neere her side.
Ulysses much was mov'd to see her mourne,
Whose eies yet stood as dry as Iron or Horne
In his untroubl'd lids, which, in his craft
Of bridling passion, he from issue saf't.
When she had given her moane so many teares
That now 'twas satiate, her yet loving feares
Askt thus much further: " You have thus farre tried
My love's credulity, but if gratified
With so long stay he was with you, you can
Describe what weede he wore, what kinde of man
Both he himselfe was and what Followers
Observ'd him there." " Alas," sayd he, " the yeares
Have growne so many since (this making now
Their twentith 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, drawne close before
With golden Buttons, pleated thicke, and bore
A facing where a hundred colours shinde;
About the skirts a Hound a freckl'd Hinde
In full course hunted; on the fore-skirts yet
He pincht, and pull'd her downe, when with hir feet,
And all her force, she struggl'd hard for flight.
Which had such life in Gold that to the sight
It seem'd the Hinde it selfe for every hiew,
The Hound and al so answering the view
That all admir'd all. I observ'd beside
His inner weed, so rarely beautifide
That dumbe 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 wun
By him and by his weeds. But (by the way)
You must excuse me that I cannot say
He brought this suite 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 Fleete did not afford
Many that had not fewer. I bestow'd
A well-edg'd sword on him, a Robe that flow'd
In foulds and fulnesse, and did reach his feete,
Of richest purple, brought him to his Fleete
With all my honor. 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 curled head;
His name Eurybates; and much in stead
He stood your King, imploy'd in most command,
Since most of all his minde could understand."
When all these signes she knew for chiefly trew,
Desire of moane upon her beauties grew,
And yet (even that desire suffic'd) she said:
" Till this, my Guest, a wretched state arraid
Your ill-usd person, but from this houre forth
You shalbe honor'd, and finde all the worth
That fits a friend. Those weeds these hands bestow'd
From out my wardrobe, those gold buttons sow'd
Before for closure and for Ornament.
But never more must his returne present
The person that gave those adornments State.
And therefore under an abhorred Fate
Was he induc't to feed the commune fame,
To visit vile Troy — aye, too vile to name."
" No more yet mourne," said he, " nor thus see pinde
Your lovely person: Weeping wasts the Minde .
And yet I blame you not; for any Dame
That weds one yong and brings to him his name,
(What ever man he is) will mourne his losse.
Much more respectfull then must shew your woes,
That weepe thus for Ulysses, who (Fame saies)
Was equal with the Gods in all his waies.
But where no cause is, there must be no mone:
And therefore heare me; my Relation
Shal lay the cleere truth naked to your view.
I heard amongst the Thesprots for most trew
That Lord Ulysses liv'd, and stood just now
On his returne for home; that wealth did flow
In his possession, which he made not knowne,
But begg'd amongst the people, since alone
He quite was left — for all his men were lost
In getting off from the Thrinacian Coast;
Jove and the Sun was wroth with them for rape
Made of his Oxen, and no man let scape
The rugged deepes of Neptune. Onely he,
The Ship's Keele onely keeping, was by Sea
Cast on the faire Phaeacian Continent,
Where men survive that are the Gods' descent
And like a God receiv'd him, gave him heapes
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 safegard: so beyond the Shore
That commune sailes kept, his high flood of wit
Bore glorious top, and all the world for it
Hath farre exceeded. All this Pheidon told,
That doth the Scepter of Thesprotia hold,
Who swore to me, in houshold sacrifice,
The Ship was lancht and men to man the prise,
That soone should set him on his countrey earth —
Shew'd me the goods, enow to serve the birth
That in the tenth age of his seed shold spring,
Yet in his Court contain'd. But then the King
(Your husband) for Dodona was in way,
That from th'oraculous Oake he might display
Jove's will, what course for home would best prevaile —
To come in pompe, or beare a secret saile.
But me the King dispatcht in course before,
A Ship then bound for the Dulichian shore.
So thus you see his safety whom you mourne,
Who now is passing neere, and his returne
No more will punish with delayes, but see
His friends and country. All which truth to thee
I'le seale with sacred Oath. Be witnesse Jove,
Thou first and best of all the Thron'd above,
And thou house of the great Laertes' heire,
To whose high roofes I tender my repaire,
That what I tell the Queene event shall crowne:
This yeare Ulysses shall possesse his owne —
Nay, ere the next month ends shall heere arrive;
Nay, ere it enters, heere abide alive."
" O may this prove," saide 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 gaine your deduction thence — for now
The alter'd house doth no such man allow
As was Ulysses (if he ever were)
To entertaine a reverend Passenger,
And give him faire dismission. But, Maids, see
Ye bathe his feete, and then with Tapistry,
Best sheets, and blanquets make his bed, and lay
Soft wascotes by him, that (lodg'd warme) he may
Even till the golden-seated morning's ray
Enjoy good rest; and then, with her first light,
Bathe, and give balmes, that cherisht appetite
He may apply within our Hall and sit
Safe by Telemachus. Or if th'unfit
And harmfull minde of any be so base
To greeve his age againe, let none give grace
Of doing any deed he shall command
(How wroth so ever) to his barbarous hand.
For how shall you, guest, know me for a Dame
That passe so far — nay, turne and winde the Fame
Of other Dames for wisedome and the frame
Of household usage — if your poore thin weeds
I let draw on you, want, and worser deeds,
That may, perhaps, cause heere your latest day?
The life of Man is short and flyes away.
And if the Ruler's selfe of housholds be
Ungentle, studying inhumanity,
The rest prove worse. But he beares all the blame:
All men will, living, vow against his name
Mischiefes and miseries, and (dead) supply
With bitter Epitaphes his memory.
But if himselfe 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 scorne to stand
On such state now, nor ever thought it yet,
Since first I left the snowy hils of Crete.
When once I fell a ship-boord, those thoughts fled;
I love to take now (as long since) my bed,
Though I began the use with sleeplesse nights —
I, many a darknesse with right homely rites
Have spent ere this houre; and desir'd the Morne
Would come, and make sleepe to the world a scorne.
Nor run these dainty Bathes in my rude head;
Nor any handmaid (to your service bred)
Shal touch my ill-kept feete, unlesse there live
Some poore old drudge here, that hath learnd to give
Old men good usage, and no worke wil fly,
As having suffer'd ill as much as I.
But if there live one such in your command,
I wil not shame to give my foot her hand."
She gave this answere: " O my loved Guest,
There never enter'd these kinde Roofes, for rest,
Stranger or Friend that so much wisedome laide
In gage for Guest-rites as your lippes have paide.
There lives an old maide in my charge, that knowes
The good you speake of by her many woes,
That nourisht and brought up with curious care
Th'unhappy man, your old familiar,
Even since his Mother let him view the light,
And oft hath felt in her weake armes his weight.
And she (though now much weaker) shal apply
Her Maiden service to your modesty.
Euryclea, rise, and wash the feete of one
That is of one age with your Soveraigne gone —
Such hands, such feet hath, though of alter'd grace:
Much griefe in men wil bring on change apace."
She (from her aged slumber wak't) did cleare
Her heavy eyes, and instantly (to heare
Her Soveraigne's name) had worke enough to dry
Her cheekes from teares, and to his memory
These Mones did offer: " O my Son," saide she,
" I never can take greefe enough for thee,
Whom Goodnes hurts, and whom even Jove's high spleen
(Since thou art Jove-like) hates the most of men.
For none hath offer'd him so many Thyes,
Nor such whole Hecatombes of sacrifice,
Fat and selected, as thy zeale hath done —
For all but praying that thy noble Sonne
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 your selfe, O Father, in your way
Tooke these faire roofes for hospitable rights,
Yet finde (for them) our dogged women's spights,
So he (in like course), being driven to proofe
(Long time ere this) what such a royall Roofe
Would yeeld his miseries, found such usage there.
And you (now flying the foule Language here,
And many a filthy fact of our faire Dames)
Fly me like them, and put on causlesse shames
To let me clense your feet. For not the cause
The Queene's command yeelds is the pow'r that drawes
My will to wash your feete. But what I do
Proceeds from her charge, and your reverence too,
Since I in soule am stricken with a ruth
Of your distresses, and past show of truth —
Your strangenesse claiming little interest
In my affections, and yet many a Guest
Of poore condition hath bene harbour'd here,
But never any did so right appeare
Like King Ulysses as your selfe, for state,
Both of your stature, voice, and very gate."
" So all have said," said he, " that ever yet
Had the proportions of our figures met
In their observances; so right your eye
Proves in your soule your judging faculty."
Thus tooke she up a Caldron brightly scour'd
To clense his feete in, and into it pour'd
Store of cold wave, which on the fire she set,
And therein bath'd (being temperatly heat)
Her Soveraign's feet — who turnd him from the light,
Since sodainly he doubted her conceit
(So rightly touching at his state before),
A scar now seeing on his foot that bore
An old note to discerne him, might descry
The absolute truth, which (witnest by her eye)
Was straite approv'd. He first receiv'd this sore
As in Parnassus' tops a white-tooth'd Bore
He stood in chace withall — who strooke him there,
At such time as he liv'd a sojourner
With his grand Sire, Autolycus, who th'Art
Of Theft and swearing (not out of the hart,
But by equivocation) first adorn'd
Your witty man withall, and was suborn'd
By Jove's descent, ingenious Mercurie —
Who did bestow it, since so many a Thie
Of Lambes 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 grand Sire came
To see the then preferrer of his fame,
His loved daughter. The first supper done,
Euryclea put in his lap her Sonne,
And pray'd him to bethinke and give his name,
Since that desire did all desires inflame.
" Daughter and Son-in-Law," sayd he, " let then
The name that I shall give him stand with men,
Since I arriv'd here at the houre of paine
In which mine owne kinde entrailes did sustaine
Moane for my daughter's yet unended throes,
And when so many men's and women's woes,
In joynt compassion met of humane birth,
Brought forth t'attend the many feeding earth.
Let Odysseus be his name, as one
Exposd to just constraint of all men's mone.
When heere at home he is arriv'd at state
Of man's first youth, he shall initiate
His practisd feete in travaile made abrode,
And to Parnassus, where mine owne abode
And chiefe meanes lye, addresse his way, where I
Will give him from my opened treasury
What shall returne him well, and fit the Fame
Of one that had the honor of his name."
For these faire 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 with all to-do
In Grandame's welcomes, both his faire eyes kist
And browes, and then commanded to assist
Were all her sonnes by their respected Sire
In furnishing a Feast; whose eares did fire
Their minds with his command, who home straite led
A five-yeares-old male Oxe, feld, slew, and flead,
Gather'd about him, cut him up with Art,
Spitted and roasted, and his every 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 darknesse rose, they slept, till daye's fire het
Th'enlightned earth, and then on hunting went
Both Hounds and all Autolycus' descent.
In whose guide did divine Ulysses go,
Climb'd steepe Parnassus, on whose forehead grow
All sylvan off-springs round. And soone they rech't
The Concaves, whence ayr's sounding vapors fetcht
Their loud descent. As soone as any Sun
Had from the Ocean (where his waters run
In silent deepnesse) rais'd his golden head,
The early Huntsmen all the hill had spread
Their Hounds before them on the searching Traile,
They neere, and ever eager to assaile,
Ulysses brandishing a lengthfull Lance,
Of whose first flight he long'd to prove the chance.
Then found they lodg'd a Bore of bulke extreame
In such a Queach, as never any beame
The Sun shot pierc'st, nor any passe let finde
The moist impressions of the fiercest winde,
Nor any storme the sternest winter drives,
Such proofe it was: yet all within lay leaves
In mighty thicknesse, and through all this flew
The hounds' loud mouthes. The sounds, the tumult threw.
And all together rouz'd the Bore, that rusht
Amongst their thickest: all his brissels pusht
From forth his rough necke, and with flaming eyes
Stood close, and dar'd all. On which horrid prise
Ulysses first charg'd, whom above the knee
The savage strooke, and rac't it crookedly
Along the skin, yet never reacht the bone.
Ulysses' Lance yet through him quite was throwne,
At his right shoulder entring: at his left,
The bright head passage to his keennesse cleft,
And shew'd his point gilt with the gushing gore.
Downe in the dust fell the extended Bore,
And forth his life flew. To Ulysses round
His Unckle drew, who (wofull for his wound)
With all Art bound it up, and with a charme
Staid 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 honor'd Nephew — whose returne his Sire
And reverend Mother tooke with joyes entire,
Enquir'd all passages; all which he gave
In good relation, nor of all would save
His wound from utterance: by whose scar he came
To be discovered by this aged Dame.
Which when she clensing felt and noted well,
Downe from her Lap into the Caldron fell
His weighty foot, that made the Brasse resound,
Turn'd all aside, and on th'embrewed ground
Spilt all the water. Joy and griefe together
Her brest invaded, and of weeping weather
Her eyes stood full; her small voice stucke within
Her part expressive; till at length his chin
She tooke, and spake to him: " O Sonne," saide she,
" Thou art Ulysses, nor canst other be:
Nor could I know thee yet, till all my King
I had gone over with the warmed Spring."
Then look't she for the Queene to tell her all;
And yet knew nothing sure, thogh nought could fall
In compasse of all thoughts to make her doubt.
Minerva that distraction strooke throughout
Her mind's rapt forces, that she might not tell.
Ulysses, noting yet her aptnesse well,
With one hand tooke her chin, and made all shew
Of favour to her, with the other drew
Her offer'd parting closer — askt her why
She, whose kinde breast had nurst so tenderly
His infant life, would now his age destroy,
Though twenty yeares had held him from the joy
Of his lov'd country. But since onely she
(God putting her in minde) now knew 'twas he,
He charg'd her silence, and to let no eare
In all the Court more know his being there,
Lest, if God gave into his wreakfull hand
Th'insulting wooers' lives, he did not stand
On any partiall respect with her,
Because his Nurse, and to the rest prefer
Her safety therefore, but, when they should feele
His punishing finger, give her equall steele.
" What words," said she, " flye your retentive pow'rs?
You know you locke your counsailes in your Tow'rs
In my firme bosome, and that I am farre
From those loose frailties. Like an Iron barre
Or bolt of solidst stone, I will containe,
And tell you this besides — that if you gaine,
By God's good aide, the wooers' lives in yours,
What Dames are heere their shamelesse Paramours
And have done most dishonor to your worth,
My information well shall paint you forth."
" It shal not neede," saide he, " my selfe will soone
(While thus I maske heere) set on every 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 knowne Ulysses' foot. More brought (and he
Supplied besides with sweetest Oyntments) he
His seate drew neere the fire to keepe him warme,
And with his peec't rags hiding close his harme.
The Queene came neere, and said: " Yet, guest, afford
Your further patience, till but in a word
I'le tell my woes to you. For well I know
That Rest's sweet Houre her soft foote orders now,
When all poore men, how much soever griev'd,
Would gladly get their wo-watcht pow'rs reliev'd.
But God hath given my griefe a heart so great
It will not downe with rest. And so I set
My judgment up to make it my delight.
All day I mourne, yet nothing let the right
I owe my charge, both in my worke and Maids;
And when the night brings rest to others' aides,
I tosse my bed, Distresse with twenty points
Slaught'ring the pow'rs that to my turning joynts
Convey the vitall heate. And as all night
Pandareus' daughter, poore Edone, sings,
Clad in the verdure of the yearly Springs,
When she for Itylus, her loved Sonne
(By Zethus' issue, in his madnesse done
To cruell death) poures out her hourely mone,
And drawes the eares to her of every one:
So flowes my mone, that cuts in two my minde,
And here and there gives my discourse the winde,
Uncertain whether I shal with my Son
Abide still heere the safe possession
And guard of all goods, reverence to the bed
Of my lov'd Lord, and, too, my far-off spred
Fame with the people putting still in use —
Or follow any best Greeke I can chuse
To his fit house, with treasure infinite
Won to his Nuptials. While the infant plight
And want of judgement 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 heere
And leave his Court, offended that their cheere
Should so consume his free possessions.
To settle then a choice in these my mones,
Heare and expound a dreame that did engrave
My sleeping fancy. Twenty Geese I have;
All which, me thought, mine eye saw tasting wheate
In water steep't, and joy'd to see them eate —
When straight a crooke-beak't Eagle from a hill,
Stoop't, and trust all their neckes, and all did kill;
When (all left scatter'd on the Pavement there)
She tooke her wing up to the Gods' faire sphere.
I, even amid my Dreame, did weepe and mourne
To see the Eagle with so shrew'd a turne
Stoope my sad turrets — when, me thought, there came
About my mournings many a Grecian Dame
To cheere my sorrowes, in whose most extreame
The Hawke came back, and on the prominent beame
That crost my Chamber fell, and us'd to me
A humane voice that sounded horribly,
And saide: " Be confident, Icarius' seed.
This is no dreame, but what shall chance indeed.
The Geese the wooers are; the Eagle, I
Was heeretofore a Fowle, but now imply
Thy husband's Beeing, and am come to give
The wooers death, that on my Treasure live. "
With this Sleepe left me, and my waking way
I tooke to try if any violent prey
Were made of those my Fowles — which well enough
I (as before) found feeding at their Trough
Their yoted wheate." " O woman," he replide,
" Thy dreame can no interpretation bide
But what the Eagle made, who was your Lord,
And saide himselfe would sure effect afford
To what he told you — that confusion
To all the wooers should appeare, and none
Escape the Fate and death he had decreed."
She answer'd him: " O Guest, these dreames exceede
The Art of man t'interpret, and appere
Without all choise, or forme, nor ever were
Perform'd to all at all parts. But there are
To these light Dreames, that like thin vapors fare,
Two two-leav'd gates, the one of Ivory,
The other Horne. Those dreames that Fantasie
Takes from the polisht Ivory Port delude
The Dreamer ever, and no truth include:
Those that the glittering Horn-gate lets abrode
Do evermore some certaine truth abode.
But this my dreame I hold of no such sort
To flye from thence; yet, which soever Port
It had accesse from, it did highly please
My Son and me. And this my thoughts professe —
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 easly drawes, and from his draft
Shoots through twelve Axes (as he did his shaft,
All set up in a rowe, and from them all
His stand-farre-off kept firme) my fortunes shall
Dispose, and take me to his house from hence,
Where I was wed a Maide in confluence
Of feast and riches, such a Court heere then
As I shall ever in my dreames reteine."
" Do not," said he, " deferre the gamefull prise,
But set to taske their importunities
With something else than Nuptials. For your Lord
Will to his Court and Kingdome be restor'd,
Before they thred those steeles or draw his Bow."
" O Guest," repli'de Penelope, " would you
Thus sit and please me with your speech, mine eares
Would never let mine eye-lids close their Spheares!
But none can live without the death of sleepe;
Th'Immortals in our mortall memories keepe
Our ends and deaths by sleepe, dividing so
(As by the Fate and portion of our wo)
Our times spent heere — to let us nightly try
That while we live, as much as live, we dye.
In which use I will to my bed ascend,
Which I bedeaw with tears and sigh past end
Through all my houres spent since I lost my joy
For vile, lew'd, never-to-be-named Troy.
Yet there I'le prove for sleepe, which take you here —
Or on the earth, if that your custome were,
Or have a bed dispos'd for warmer rest."
Thus left she with her Ladies her old Guest,
Ascended her faire chamber and her bed;
Whose sight did ever duly make her shed
Teares for her Lord, which still her eyes did steepe
Till Pallas shut them with delightsome sleepe.