Classic Poem

Ulysses in the Entry laide his head,
And under him an Oxe-hide newly flead,
Above him Sheep-fels' store; and over those
Eurynome cast Mantles. His repose
Would bring no sleepe yet, studying the ill
He wisht the wooers — who came by him still
With all their wenches, laughing, wantoning
In mutuall lightnesse: which his heart did sting,
Contending two wayes, 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 barke within him to surprize
Their sports with spoiles. No fell shee-Mastive can
Amongst her whelpes flye eagrer on a man
She doth not know, yet sents him something neare,
And faine would come to please her tooth and teare,
Than his disdaine, to see his Roofe so fil'de
With those fowle fashions, grew within him wilde
To be in blood of them. But, finding best
In his free judgement to let passion rest,
He chid his angry spirit, and beate his brest,
And said: " Forbeare, my minde, and thinke on this:
There hath bene time when bitter agonies
Have tried thy patience. Call to minde the day
In which the Cyclop, which past manly sway
Of violent strength devour'd thy friends; thou then
Stoodst firmely bold, till from that hellish den
Thy wisedome broght thee off, when nought but death
Thy thoughts resolv'd on." This discourse did breath
The fiery boundings of his heart, that still
Lay in that aeture, without end, his ill
Yet manly suffering. But from side to side
It made him tosse apace. You have not tride
A fellow roasting of a Pig before
A hasty fire (his belly yeelding store
Of fat and blood) turne faster, labour more
To have it roast and would not have it burne,
Than this and that way his unrest made turne
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 hast and speed, that went to all the proofe
His well-laid plots and his exploits requir'd —
Since he, but one, to all their deaths aspir'd.
In this contention Pallas stoop't from heaven,
Stood over him, and had her presence given
A woman's forme, who sternly thus began:
" Why, thou most sowre and wretched-fated man
Of all that breath, yet liest thou thus awake?
The house in which thy cares so tosse 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."
" Goddesse," said he, 'tis true. But I contend
To right their wrongs, and (though I bee but one)
To lay unhelpt and wreakfull hand upon
This whole resort of impudents that here
Their rude assemblies never will forbeare.
And yet a greater doubt imployes my care,
That if their slaughters in my reaches are
And I performe them (Jove and you not pleas'd)
How shall I flye their friends? And would stand seas'd
Of counsaile to resolve this care in me."
" Wretch," she replied, " a friend of worse degree
Might win thy credence, that a mortall were
And us'd to second thee, though nothing nere
So powerfull in performance nor in care —
Yet I, a Goddesse, that have still had share
In thy atchievements and thy person's guard,
Must still be doubted by thy Braine — so hard
To credit any thing above thy powre,
And that must come from heaven, if every houre
There be not personall apparance made
And aide direct given, that may sense invade.
I'le tell thee therefore cleerely. If there were
Of divers-languag'd men an Army here
Of fifty Companies, all driving hence
Thy Sheepe and Oxen, and with violence
Offer'd to charge us and besiedge us round,
Thou shouldst their prey reprize and them confound.
Let sleepe then seize thee: To keepe watch all Night
Consumes the spirits, and makes dull the sight."
Thus pour'd the Goddesse sleepe into his eyes,
And re-ascended the Olympian skies.
When care-and-lineament-resolving sleepe
Had laide his temples in his golden steepe,
His wise-in-chast-wit-worthy wife did rise:
(First sitting up in her soft bed) her eyes
Opened with teares in care of her estate,
Which now her friends resolv'd to terminate
To more delaies, and make her marry one.
Her silent teares then ceast, her Orizon
This Queene of women to Diana made:
" Reverend Diana, let thy Darts invade
My wofull bosome and my life deprive
Now at this instant, or soone after drive
My soule with Tempests forth, and give it way
To those farre-off darke Vaults where never day
Hath powre to shine, and let them cast it downe
Where refluent Oceanus doth crowne
His curled head, where Pluto's Orchard is
And entrance to our after miseries.
As such sterne whirlewinds ravisht to that streame
Pandareus' daughters, when the Gods to them
Had reft their parents and them left alone
(Poore orphan children) in their Mansion —
Whose desolate life did love's sweet Queene incline
To nurse with pressed Milke and sweetest wine,
Whom Juno deckt beyond all other Dames
With wisedome's light and beautie's moving flames,
Whom Phaebe goodlinesse of stature render'd,
And to whose faire hands wise Minerva tender'd
The Loome and Needle in their utmost skill —
And, while Love's Empresse skal'd th'Olympian hill
To beg of Lightning-loving Jove (since hee
The meanes to all things knowes, and doth decree
Fortunes, infortunes, to the mortall Race)
For those poore virgins the accomplisht grace
Of sweetest Nuptials, the fierce Harpyes prey'd
On every good, and miserable Maid
And to the hatefull Furies gave them all
In horrid service — yet may such Fate fall
From steepe Olympus on my loathed head,
Or faire-hair'd Phaebe strike me instant dead,
That I may undergo the gloomy Shore
To visit great Ulysses' soule, before
I sooth my idle blood and wed a wurse.
And yet beneath how desperate a curse
Do I live now? It is an ill that may
Be well indur'd, to mourne the whole long day,
So night's sweete sleepes (that make a man forget
Both bad and good) in some degree would let
My thoughts leave greeving. But both day and night
Some cruell God gives my sad memory sight.
This night (me thought) Ulysses grac't my bed
In all the goodly state with which he led
The Grecian Army — which gave joyes extreame
To my distresse, esteeming it no dreame
But true indeed, and that conceite I had,
That when I saw it false, I might be mad.
Such cruell Fates command in my life's guide."
By this the morning's Orient dewes had di'de
The earth in all her colours, when the King,
In his sweet sleepe, suppos'd the sorrowing
That she us'd waking in her plaintiffe bed
To be her mourning, standing by his head,
As having knowne him there — who straight arose,
And did againe within the Hall dispose
The Carpets and the Cushions, where before
They serv'd the seats. The Hide without the dore
He carried backe; and then with held-up hands
He pray'd to him that heaven and earth commands:
" O Father Jove, if through the moyst and dry
You (willing) brought me home, when misery
Had punisht me enough by your free doomes,
Let some of these within those inner roomes
(Startl'd with horror of some strange Ostent)
Come heere, and tell me that great Jove hath bent
Threatnings without at some lewd men within."
To this his pray'r Jove shooke his sable chin,
And thunder'd from those pure clouds that (above
The breathing aire) in bright Olympus move.
Divine Ulysses joy'd, to heare it rore —
Report of which a woman Miller bore
Straight to his eares. For neere to him there ground
Milles for his Corne, that twice six women found
Continuall motion, grinding Barley meale
And wheat (man's Marrow). Sleepe the eies did seale
Of all the other women, having done
Their usuall taske, which yet this Dame alone
Had scarce given end to, being of al the rest
Least fit for labour. But when these sounds prest
Her eares above the rumbling of her Mill,
She let that stand, look't out, and heaven's steepe hill
Saw cleere and temperate — which made her (unware
Of giving any comfort to his care
In that strange signe he pray'd for) thus invoke:
" O King of men and Gods, a mighty stroke
Thy thundring hand laide on the cope of starres,
No cloud in all the aire; and therefore warres
Thou bidst to some men in thy sure Ostent.
Performe to me (poore wretch) the maine event,
And make this day the last and most extream
In which the wooers' pride shall solace them
With whoorish Banquets in Ulysses' Roofe —
That with sad toyle to grinde them meale enough
Have quite dissolv'd my knees. Vouchsafe then now
Thy thunders may their latest Feast foreshow."
This was the Boone Ulysses begg'd of Jove,
Which (with his Thunder) through his bosom drove
A joy, that this vant breath'd: " Why, now these men
(Despite their pride) will Jove make pay me paine."
By this had other Maids than those that lay
Mixt with the wooers made a fire like day
Amidst the harth of the illustrious Hall:
And then the Prince, like a Celestiall,
Rose from his bed, to his embalm'd feete tied
Faire shooes, his sword about his breast applied,
Tooke to his hand his sharp-pil'd Lance, and met
Amidst the Entry his old Nurse, that set
His hast at sodaine stand — to whom he said:
" O, my lov'd Nurse, with what grace have you laid
And fed my guest heere? Could you so neglect
His age, to lodge him thus? Though all respect
I give my Mother's wisedome, I must yet
Affirme it fail'd in this. For she hath set
At much more price a man of much lesse worth
Without his person's note, and yet casts forth
With ignominious hands (for his Forme sake)
A man much better." " Do not faulty make,
Good Son, the faultlesse. He was given his seat
Close to her side, and food till he would eat,
Wine til his wish was serv'd. For she requir'd
His wants, and will'd him all things he desir'd,
Commanded her chiefe Maides to make his bed;
But he (as one whom sorrow onely fed
And all infortune) would not take his rest
In bed and coverings fit for any Guest,
But in the Entry, on an Oxe's hide
Never at Tanners, his old Limbes implide
In warme Sheep-fels; yet over all we cast
A mantle fitting for a man more grac'st."
He tooke her answere, left the house, and went
(Attended with his dogges) to sift th'event
Of private Plots betwixt him and his Sire
In commune counsaile. Then the crue entire
Of al the houshold Maids, Euryclea bad
Bestir them through the house, and see it clad
In all best Forme; gave all their parts; and one
She set to furnish every seate and Throne
With Needle-workes and purple clothes of State,
Another set to scoure 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 paines she will'd to be — for this to all
Should be a day of commune Festivall,
And not a wooer now should seeke his home
Else where than there. But all were bid to come
Exceeding early, and be rais'd to heaven
With all the entertainment could be geven.
They heard with greedy eares, and every thing
Put straight in practise. Twenty to the Spring
Made speed for water; many in the house
Tooke paines; 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't the lusty wooers in, and then
Came all from Spring — at their heeles loaded men
With slaughter'd Brawnes, of all the Herd the prize,
That had bene long fed up in severall Sties.
Eumaeus and his men convei'd them there.
He (seeing now the King) began to chere,
And thus saluted him: " How now, my Guest?
Have yet your vertues found more interest
In these great wooers' good respects? Or still
Pursue they you with all their wonted ill?"
" I would to heaven, Eumaeus," he replide,
" The Deities once would take in hand their pride,
That such unseemly fashions put in frame
In others' Roofes as shew no sparke 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 coats
The sounding Porticos of that faire Court.
Melanthius (seeing the King) this former sort
Of upland Language gave: " What? Still stay heere
And dull these wooers with thy wretched cheere?
Not gone for ever, yet? Why, now I see
This strife of cuffes betwixt the beggery
(That yesterday assaid to get thee gone)
And thy more roguery needs wil 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 ride
At anchor stil with us?" He nothing said,
But thought of ill enough, and shooke his head.
Then came Philaetius (a chiefe of men)
That to the wooers' all-devouring den
A barren Stere drave and fat Goats; for they
In custome were with Traffiquers by sea,
That who they would sent, and had utterance there.
And for these likewise, the faire Porches were
Hurdles and Sheep-pens, as in any Faire.
Philaetius tooke note in his repaire
Of seene Ulysses, being a man as well
Given to his mind's use as to buy and sell,
Or do the drudgery that the blood desir'd —
And (standing neere Eumaeus) this enquir'd:
" What Guest is this that makes our house of late
His entertainer? Whence claimes he the state
His birth in this life holds? What Nation?
What race? What country stands his speech upon?
Ore hardly portion'd by the terrible Fates,
The structure of his Lineaments relates
A King's resemblance in his pompe of reigne,
Even thus in these rags. But poore erring men
That have no firme homes but range here and there
As Need compels, God keepes in this earth's sphere
As under water; and this tune he sings
When he is spinning even the cares of Kings."
Thus comming to him, with a kinde of feare
He tooke his hand, and (touch't exceeding neare
With meere imagination of his worth)
This salutation he sent lowdly forth:
" Health! Father stranger! In another world
Be rich and happy, though thou here art hurld
At feete of never such insulting Neede.
O Jove, there lives no one God of thy seede
More ill to man than thou. Thou tak'st no ruth
(When thou thy selfe hast got him in most truth)
To wrap him in the straites of most distresse
And in the curse of others' wickednesse.
My browes have swet to see it, and mine eyes
Broke all in teares, when, this being still the guise
Of worthiest men, I have but onely thought
That downe to these ils was Ulysses wrought,
And that (thus clad) even he is error driven,
If yet he lives and sees the light of heaven.
But, if now dead and in the house of hell —
O me! O good Ulysses, that my weale
Did ever wish, and when but halfe a man
Amongst the people Cephallenian,
His bounty to his Oxen's charge preferr'd
One in that youth — which now is growne a Herd
Unspeakeable for number, and feede there
With their broad heads as thicke as of his eare
A Field of Corne is to a man: yet these
Some men advise me that this noted prease
Of wooers may devoure, and wish me drive
Up to their Feasts with them — that neither give
His Son respect, though in his owne free roofe,
Nor have the wit to feare th'infallible proofe
Of heavenly vengeance, but make offer now
The long-lack't King's possessions to bestow
In their selfe shares. Me thinkes, the minde in me
Doth turne as fast as (in a flood, or Sea)
A raging whirlepit doth, to gather in
To fishy death those swimmers in their sin,
Or feeds a motion as circulare
To drive my Herds away. But while the Son
Beares up with life, t'were hainous wrong to ron
To other people with them, and to trust
Men of another earth: and yet more just
It were to venture their Lawes, the maine right
Made stil their Maisters, than at home lose quite
Their right and them, and sit and greeve to see
The wrong authoriz'd by their gluttonie.
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 even stil
I had a hope that this (though borne to ill)
Would one day come from some coast, and their last
In his roofes strew with ruines red and vast."
" Hersman," said he, " because thou art in show
Nor lewd nor indiscreete, and that I know
There rules in thee an understanding soule,
I'le take an oath that in thee shall controule
All doubt of what I sweare: be witnesse, Jove,
That swai'st the first Seate of the thron'd above,
This hospitable Table and this house
That still holds title for the strenuous
Sonne of Laertes, that (if so you please)
Your eyes shall witnesse Laertiades
Arriv'd at home, and all these men that raigne
In such excesses heere shall heere lye slaine."
He answer'd: " Stranger! would just Jove wold signe
What you have sworne, in your eyes' beams should shine
What powers I mannage, and how these my hands
Would rise and follow where he first commands."
So said Eumaeus, praying all the Sky
That wise Ulysses might arrive and trie.
Thus while they vow'd, the wooers sat as hard
On his Son's death — but had their counsels skar'd,
For on their left hand did an Eagle sore,
And in her seres a fearefull Pigeon bore.
Which seene, Amphinomus presag'd: " O friends,
Our Counsailes never will receive their ends
In this man's slaughter: let us therefore plie
Our bloody feast, and make his Oxen die."
Thus came they in, cast off on seates their cloakes,
And fell to giving sacrificing strokes
Of Sheepe and Goates, the cheefely fat and great,
Slew fed-up Swine and, from the Heard, a Neate.
The inwards (roasted) they dispos'de betwixt
Their then observers, wine in Flaggons mixt.
The bolles Eumaeus brought, Philaetius bread;
Melanthius fill'd the wine. Thus dranke and fed
The feastfull wooers. Then the Prince (in grace
Of his close project) did his Father place
Amids the paved Entrie, in a Seate
Seemelesse and abject, a small boord and meate
Of th'onely inwards. In a cup of gold
Yet sent him wine, and bad him now drinke bolde;
All his approches he himselfe would free
Gainst all the wooers, since he would not see
His Court made populare, but that his Sire
Built it to his use. Therefore all the fire
Blowne in the wooers' spleenes he had suppresse,
And that in hands nor words they should digresse
From that set peace his speech did then proclaime.
They bit their lips, and wondred at his aime
In that brave Language, when Antinous saide:
" Though this speech, Grecians, be a meere upbraide,
Yet this time give it passe. The will of Jove
Forbids the violence of our hands to move —
But of our tongues we keepe the motion free,
And, therefore, if his further jollity
Tempt our encounter with his Braves, let's checke
His growing insolence, though pride to speake
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 Towne
The sacred Hecatombe, to whose renowne
The faire-haird Greekes assembl'd; 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 accrew
To glorious satisfaction. Those that were
Disposers of the Feast did equall cheere
Bestow on wretched Laertiades
With all the wooers' soules. 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 wreakfull anguish. There was wooing there
(Amongst the rest) a Gallant, that did beare
The name of one well learn'd in jests prophane,
His name Ctesippus, borne 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: " Heare me, my Lords, in strife
For this great widdow. This her guest did share
Even feast with us, with very comely care
Of him that order'd it. For 'tis not good
Nor equall to deprive Guestes of their food,
And specially what ever guest makes way
To that house where Telemachus doth sway.
And therefore I will adde to his receipt
A gift of very hospitable weight,
Which he may give againe to any Maide
That baths his grave feete, and her paines see paide,
Or any servant else that the divine
Ulysses' lofty Battlements confine."
Thus snatcht he with a valiant hand from out
The poore folke's commune basket a Neat's foot,
And threw it at Ulysses, who his head
Shrunke quietly aside, and let it shed
His malice on the wall — the suffering man
A laughter raising most Sardinian,
With scorne and wrath mixt, at the Samian —
Whom thus the Prince reprov'd: " Your valour wan
Much grace, Ctesippus, and hath eas'd your minde
With mighty profit: yet you see it finde
No marke it aim'd at; the poore stranger's part
Himselfe 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
Thy selfe in Nuptials with his wealth) thy Sire
Should make thy toomb heere, that the foolish fire
Of all such valors may not dare to show
These foule indecencies to me. I now
Have yeares to understand my strength, and know
The good and bad of things, and am no more
At your large sufferance, to behold my store
Consum'd with patience, see my Cattell slaine,
My wine exhausted, and my Bread in vaine
Spent on your license. For to one then yong
So many enemies were match too strong —
But let me never more be witnesse to
Your hostile minds, nor those base deeds ye do:
For, should ye kill me in my offred wreake,
I wish it rather, and my death would speake
Much more good of me than to live and see
Indignity upon indignity,
My Guests provok't with bitter words and blowes,
My women servants dragg'd about my house
To lust and rapture." This made silence seize
The house throughout, till Damastorides
At length the calme brake, and said: " Friends, forbeare
To give a just speech a disdainfull eare,
The Guest no more touch, nor no servant here.
My selfe will to the Prince and Queene commend
A motion gratefull, if they please to lend
Gratefull receite. As long as any hope
Left wise Ulysses any passage ope
To his returne in our conceits, so long
The Queene's delayes to our demands stood strong
In cause and reason; and our quarrels thus
With guests, the Queene, or her Telemachus
Set never foote amongst our liberall Feast.
For should the King returne, though thought deceast,
It had bene gaine to us, in finding him,
To lose his wife. But now, since nothing dim
The daie breakes out that shewes he never more
Shal reach the deere touch of his countrey shore,
Sit by your Mother, in perswasion
That now it stands her honor 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 cleere
Recover in our no more concourse here,
Possesse your birth-right wholly, eate and drinke,
And never more on our disgraces thinke."
" By Jove, no, Agelaus! For I sweare
By all my Father's sorrowes, who doth erre
Farre off from Ithaca, or rests in death,
I am so farre from spending but my breath
To make my Mother any more defer
Her wished Nuptials, that I'le counsaile her
To make her free choise — and, besides, will give
Large gifts to move her. But I feare 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 rouz'd their late annoy
To such a laughter as would never downe.
They laught with others' cheeks, eate meat oreflowne
With their owne bloods, their eies stood full of teares
For violent joyes: their soules yet thought of feares —
Which Theoclymenus exprest, and said:
" O wretches! Why? Sustaine ye (well apaid)
Your imminent ill? A night, with which Death sees
Your heads and faces hide beneath your knees;
Shriekes burn about you, your eies thrust out teares,
These fixed wals and that maine Beame that beares
The whole house up in bloody torrents fall;
The Entry full of ghosts stands: full the Hall
Of passengers to hel; and, under all
The dismall shades, the Sun sinkes from the Poles,
And troubl'd aire poures bane about your soules."
They sweetly laught at this. Eurymachus
To mocks dispos'd, and saide: " This new-come-t'us
Is surely mad; conduct him forth to light
In th'open Market place — he thinkes 'tis night
Within the house." " Eurymachus," said he,
" I will not aske for any guide of thee:
I both my feete enjoy, have eares and eies,
And no mad soule within me: and with these
Will I go forth the doores, because I know
That imminent mischiefe must abide with you —
Which not a man of all the wooers here
Shall flye or scape. Ye all too highly beare
Your uncurb'd heads. Impieties ye commit,
And every man affect with formes unfit."
This said, he left the house, and tooke his way
Home to Piraeus, who as free as day
Was of his welcome. When the wooers' eyes
Chang'd lookes with one another, and, their guise
Of laughters still held on, still eas'd their brests
Of will to set the Prince against his guests,
Affirming that of all the men alive
He worst lucke had, and prov'd it worst to give
Guests entertainment — for he had one there,
A wandring Hunter out of provendere,
An errant Begger every 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 stept up, and would lay forth
His lips in phrophesie thus: " But (would he heare
His friends' perswasions) he should finde it were
More profit for him to put both abord
For the Sicilian people, that afford
These feete of men good price, and this would bring
Good meanes for better guests." These words made wing
To his eares idlely, 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 past, Icarius' heire
(The wise Penelope) her royall chaire
Had plac't of purpose. Their high dinner then
With all pleas'd palates these ridiculous men
Fell sweetly to, as joying they had slaine
Such store of banquet. But there did not raigne
A bitterer banquet Planet in all heaven
Than that which Pallas had to that day driven,
And with her able friend now meant t'appose,
Since they till then were in deserts so grose.