Classic Poem

Ulysses and divine Eumaeus rose
Soone as the morning could her eyes unclose,
Made fire, brake fast, and to their Pasture send
The gather'd Herds, on whom their Swaines attend.
The selfe-tyre barking Dogs all fawn'd upon,
Nor bark't, at first sight of Ulysses' son.
The whinings of their fawnings yet did greet
Ulysses' eares, and sounds of certaine feet,
Who thus bespake Eumaeus: " Sure some friend
Or one well knowne comes, that the Mastives spend
Their mouths no lowder. Onely some one neare
They whine and leape about, whose feete I heare."
Each word of this speech was not spent before
His Son stood in the entry of the dore.
Out-rusht amaz'd Eumaeus, and let go
The cup to earth that he had labor'd so,
Cleans'd for the neate wine, did the Prince surprise,
Kist his faire forehead, both his lovely eyes,
Both his white hands, and tender teares distil'd.
There breath'd no kind-soul'd Father that was fild
Lesse with his sonne's embraces, that had liv'd
Ten years in farre-off earth, now new retriv'd,
His onely childe, too, gotten in his age,
And for whose absence he had felt the rage
Of griefes upon him, than for this divin'd
So-much-for-forme was this divine-for-mind —
Who kist him through, who grew about him kissing,
As fresh from death scapt. Whom (so long time missing)
He wept for joy, and said: " Thou yet art come
(Sweet light, sweet Sun-rise) to thy cloudy home.
O never I look't, when once shipt away
For Pylos' shores, to see thy turning day.
Come, enter, lov'd Son. Let me feast my hart
With thy sweete sight, new come, so farre apart.
Nor, when you liv'd at home, would you walk downe
Often enough heere, but staide still at Towne.
It pleas'd you then to cast such forehand view
About your house on that most damned crew."
" It shall be so then, Friend," saide he, " but now
I come to glad mine eyes with thee, and know
If still my Mother in her house remaine,
Or if some wooer hath aspir'd to gaine
Of her in Nuptials: for Ulysses' bed,
By this, lies all with Spiders' cobwebs spred,
In penury of him that should supply it."
" She still," said he, " holds her most constant quiet
Aloft thine owne house for the bed's respect:
But for her Lord's sad losse sad nights and daies
Obscure her beauties and corrupt their raies."
This said, Eumaeus tooke his brazen Speare,
And in he went: when, being enter'd neare
Within the stony threshold, from his seat
His Father rose to him, who would not let
Th'old man remove, but drew him backe and prest
With earnest termes his sitting, saying: " Guest,
Take heere your seate againe; we soon shall get
Within our owne house heere some other seat.
Heere's one will fetch it." This said, downe againe
His Father sate, and to his sonne his Swaine
Strew'd faire greene Osiers, and impos'd thereon
A good soft Sheepeskin, which made him a Throne.
Then he appos'd to them his last-left Roste,
And in a wicker basket bread engroste,
Fil'd luscious wine, and then tooke opposite seate
To the divine Ulysses — when, the meate
Set there before them all fell to, and eate.
When they had fed, the Prince said: " Pray thee say,
Whence coms this guest? What seamen gave him way
To this our Isle? I hope these feete of his
Could walke no water. Who boasts he he is?"
" I'le tell all truly, Son. From ample Crete
He bosts himselfe, and sayes his erring feete
Have many Cities trod, and God was he
Whose finger wrought in his infirmity.
But to my Cottage the last scape of his
Was from a Thesprot's Ship. What ere he is,
I'le give him you: do what you please. His vant
Is that he is (at most) a suppliant."
" Eumaeus," said the Prince, " to tell me this,
You have afflicted my weake Faculties:
For how shall I receive him to my house
With any safety, that suspitious
Of my yong forces (should I be assaide
With any sodaine violence) may want aide
To shield my selfe? Besides, if I go home,
My mother is with two doubts overcome —
If she shall stay with me, and take fit care
For all such guests as there seeke guestive fare,
Her husband's bed respecting and her fame
Amongst the people, or her blood may frame
A liking to some wooer, such as best
May bed her in his house, not giving least.
And thus am I unsure of all meanes free
To use a Guest there fit for his degree.
But, being thy Guest, I'le be his supply
For all weeds such as mere necessity
Shall more than furnish, fit him with a sword,
And set him where his heart would have bene shor'd.
Or (if so pleasd) receive him in thy Shed:
I'le send thee clothes, I vow, and all the bread
His wish would eate, that to thy men and thee
He be no burthen. But that I should be
His meane to my house, where a company
Of wrong-professing wooers wildly live,
I will in no sort author, lest they give
Foule use to him, and me as gravely grieve.
For what great act can any one atchieve
Against a multitude, although his minde
Retaine a courage of the greatest kinde?
For all minds have not force in one degree."
Ulysses answer'd: " O Friend, since 'tis free
For any man to change fit words with thee,
I'le freely speake. Me thinkes a wolvish powre
My heart puts on to teare and to devoure,
To heare your affirmation, that (in spite
Of what may fall on you) made opposite,
Being one of your proportion, birth and age,
These wooers should in such injustice rage.
What should the cause be? Do you wilfully
Indure their spoile? Or hath your Empery
Bene such amongst your people that all gather
In troope and one voice (which even God doth father)
And vow your hate so that they suffer them?
Or blame your Kinsfolks' faiths, before th'extream
Of your first stroke hath tried them — whom a man,
When strifes to blowes rise, trusts, though battel ran
In huge and high waves? Would to heaven my spirit
Such youth breath'd as the man that must inherit
Yet-never-toucht Ulysses, or that he
(But wandring this way) would but come and see
What my age could atchieve (and there is Fate
For Hope yet left, that he may recreate
His eyes with such an object). This my head
Should any stranger strike off, if starke dead
I strooke not all, the house in open force
Entring with challenge. If their great concourse
Did over-lay me, being a man alone
(Which you urge for your selfe), be you that one.
I rather in mine owne house wish to dye
One death for all than so indecently
See evermore deeds worse than death applied —
Guests wrong'd with vile words and blow-giving pride,
The women-servants dragg'd in filthy kind
About the faire house, and in corners blind
Made serve the rapes of Ruffins, food devour'd
Idely and rudely, wine exhaust, and pour'd
Through throats prophane; and all about a deed
That's ever wooing, and will never speed."
" I'le tell you, Guest, most truly," saide his Son,
" I do not thinke that all my people ron
One hatefull course against me, nor accuse
Kinsfolkes that I in strifes of weight might use:
But Jove will have it so, our Race alone
(As if made singular) to one and one
His hand confining. Onely to the King
(Jove-bred Arcesius) did Laertes spring;
Onely to old Laertes did descend
Ulysses; onely to Ulysses' end
Am I the Adjunct — whom he left so yong
That from me to him never comfort sprong.
And to all these now (for their race) arise
Up in their house a brood of enemies,
As many as in these Isles bow men's knees,
Samos, Dulichius, and the rich in Trees
Zacynthus, or in this rough Isle's command,
So many suiters for the Nuptials stand
That aske my Mother, and meane space prefer
Their lusts to all spoile, that dishonor her.
Nor doth she (though she loaths) deny their suites,
Nor they denials take, though taste their fruites.
But all this time the state of all things there
Their throats devoure, and I must shortly beare
A part in all; and yet the periods
Of these designes lye in the knees of Gods.
Of all Loves, then, Eumaeus, make quicke way
To wise Penelope, and to her say
My safe returne from Pylos, and alone
Returne thou hither, having made it knowne.
Nor let (besides my Mother) any eare
Partake thy Message, since a number beare
My safe returne displeasure." He replied:
" I know, and comprehend you; you divide
Your minde with one that understands you well.
But, all in one yet, may I not reveale
To th'old hard-fated Arcesiades
Your safe returne? Who through his whole distres
Felt for Ulysses did not yet so grieve
But with his houshold he had will to live,
And serv'd his appetite with wine and food,
Surveigh'd his husbandry, and did his blood
Some comforts fitting life: but since you tooke
Your ship for Pylos he would never brooke
Or wine, or food, they say, nor cast an eye
On any labour, but sits weeping by
And sighing out his sorrowes, ceasselesse mones
Wasting his body, turn'd all skin and bones."
" More sad newes still," said he, " yet, mourne he still:
For if the rule of all men's workes be will,
And his will his way goes, mine stands inclin'd
T'attend the home-turne of my neerer kind.
Do then what I injoyne, which given effect,
Erre not to field to him, but turne direct,
Entreating first my Mother, with most speed
And all the secrecy that now serves Neede,
To send this way their store-house Guardian,
And she shall tell all to the aged Man."
He tooke his shooes up, put them on, and went.
Nor was his absence hid from Jove's descent,
Divine Minerva, who tooke straight to view
A goodly woman's shape, that all workes knew,
And, standing in the entry, did prefer
Her sight t'Ulysses. But (though meeting her)
His sonne Telemachus nor saw nor knew:
The Gods' cleere presences are knowne to few.
Yet (with Ulysses) even the Dogs did see
And would not barke, but, whining lovingly,
Fled to the Stal's farre side, where She her eine
Moov'd to Ulysses. He knew her designe,
And left the house, past the great Sheep-cote's wall,
And stood before her. She bad utter all
Now to his sonne, nor keepe the least unlosde,
That, all the wooers' deaths being now disposde,
They might approach the Towne, affirming she
Not long would faile t'assist to victory.
This said, She laide her golden Rod on him,
And with his late-worne weeds grac't every lim,
His body straitn'd, and his youth instill'd,
His fresh blood call'd up, every wrinkle fill'd
About his broken eyes, and on his chin
The browne haire spred. When his whole trim wrought in,
She yssu'd, and he enter'd to his sonne,
Who stood amaz'd, and thought some God had done
His house that honor, turn'd away his eyes,
And sayd: " Now, Guest, you grace another guise
Than suites your late shew; other weeds you weare,
And other person. Of the starry spheare
You certainly present some deathlesse God.
Be pleasd that to your here vouchsaf't abod
We may give sacred rites, and offer Gold
To do us favour." He replied: " I hold
No deified state. Why put you thus on me
A God's resemblance? I am onely he
That beares thy Father's name, for whose lov'd sake
Thy youth so grieves, whose absence makes thee take
Such wrongs of men." Thus kist he him, nor could
Forbeare those teares that in such mighty hold
He held before — still held, still yssuing ever —
And now (the shores once broke) the springtide never
Forbore earth from the cheekes he kist. His sonne
(By all these violent arguments not wonne
To credit him his Father) did deny
His kinde assumpt, and said some Deity
Fain'd that joye's cause to make him grieve the more,
Affirming that no man, whoever wore
The garment of mortality, could take
(By any utmost power his soule could make)
Such change into it — since at so much will
Not Jove himselfe could both remove and fill
Old age with youth, and youth with age so spoile
In such an instant. " You wore all the soile
Of age but now and were old, and but now
You beare that yong grace that the Gods indow
Their heaven-borne formes withall." His father saide:
" Telemachus! Admire, nor stand dismaide,
But know thy solid Father, since within
He answeres all parts that adorne his skin.
There shall no more Ulyssesses come heere.
I am the man, that now this twentith yeare
(Stil under sufferance of a world of ill)
My countrey earth recover. 'Tis the will
The Prey-professor Pallas puts in act,
Who put me thus together, thus distract
In aged pieces, as even now you saw,
This youth now rendring. 'Tis within the law
Of her free pow'r. Sometimes to shew me pore,
Sometimes againe thus amply to restore
My youth and Ornaments, She still would please.
The Gods can raise, and throw men downe, with ease."
This said, he sat, when his Telemachus pour'd
Himselfe about him. Teares on teares he shour'd,
And to desire of mone increast the cloud:
Both wept and howl'd, and laide out shrieks more loud
Than or the Bird-bone-breaking Eagle reres
Or Brood-kind Vulture with the crooked Seres,
When rusticke hands their tender Aries draw,
Before they give their wings their full-plum'd Law.
But miserably pour'd they from beneath
Their lids their teares, while both their breasts did breath
As frequent cries: and to their fervent mone
The light had left the skies, if first the sonne
Their dumbe mones had not vented, with demand
What Ship it was that gave the naturall land
To his blest feet. He then did likewise lay
Hand on his passion, and gave these words way:
" I'le tell thee truth, my sonne. The men that beare
Much fame for shipping my Reducers were
To long-wisht Ithaca, who each man els
That greets their shore give passe to where he dwels.
The Phaeacensian Peeres in one night's date
(While I fast slept) fetcht th'Ithacensian state,
Grac't me with wealthy gifts, Brasse, store of Gold,
And Robes faire wrought — all which have secret hold
In Caves that, by the God's advice, I chusde.
And now, Minerva's admonitions usde
For this retreat, that we might heere dispose
In close Discourse the slaughters of our foes,
Recount the number of the wooers then,
And let me know what name they hold with men,
That my minde may cast over their estates
A curious measure, and conferre the rates
Of our two pow'rs and theirs — to try if we
Alone may propagate to victory
Our bold encounters of them all, or prove
The kind assistance of some other's love."
" O Father," he replied, " I oft have heard
Your counsailes, and your force of hand prefer'd
To mighty glory. But your speeches now
Your ventrous minde exceeding mighty show.
Even to amaze they move me, for in right
Of no fitte counsaile should be brought to fight
Two men 'gainst th'able faction of a throng.
No one two, no one ten, no twice ten strong
These wooers are, but more by much. For know
That from Dulichius there are fifty two,
All choise yong men, and every one of these
Six men attend. From Samos crost the Seas
Twice twelve young Gallants. From Zacynthus came
Twice ten. Of Ithaca, the best of name,
Twice six. Of all which all the State they take
A sacred Poet and a Herald make.
Their delicacies two (of speciall sort
In skill of banquets) serve. And all this port
If we shall dare t'encounter, all thrust up
In one strong roofe, have great care lest the cup
Your great mind thirsts exceeding bitter taste,
And your retreat commend not to your haste
Your great attempt, but make you say you buy
Their pride's revenges at a price too hy.
And therefore (if you could) t'were well you thought
Of some assistent. Be your spirit wrought
In such a man's election as may lend
His succours freely and expresse a Friend."
His Father answer'd: " Let me aske of thee:
Heare me, consider, and then answer me.
Think'st thou, if Pallas and the King of skies
We had to Friend, would their sufficiencies
Make strong our part? Or that some other yet
My thoughts must worke for?" " These," saide he, " are set
Aloft the clouds, and are sound aydes indeed —
As pow'rs not onely that these men exceed,
But beare of all men else the high command,
And hold, of Gods, an over-ruling hand."
" Well then," said he, " not these shall sever long
Their force and ours in fights assur'd and strong.
And then twixt us and them shall Mars prefer
His strength, to stand our great distinguisher,
When in mine owne Roofes I am forc't to blowes.
But when the day shall first her fires disclose,
Go thou for home, and troope up with the woo'rs,
Thy wil with theirs joind, pow'r with their rude pow'rs;
And after, shall the Herdsman guide to Towne
My steps, my person wholly over-growne
With all apparance of a poore old Swaine,
Heavy and wretched. If their high disdaine
Of my vile presence make them my desert
Affect with contumelies, let thy loved heart
Beare in fixt confines of thy bosome still,
And see me suffer patient of their ill —
I, though they drag me by the heeles about
Mine owne free earth, and after hurle me out,
Do thou still suffer. Nay, though with their Darts
They beate and bruise me, beare. But these foul parts
Perswade them to forbeare, and by their names
Cal all with kinde words, bidding for their shames
Their pleasures cease. If yet they yeeld not way,
There breakes the first light of their fatall day.
In meane space, marke this: When the chiefly wise
Minerva prompts me, I'le informe thine eies
With some given signe, and then all th'armes that are
Aloft thy Roofe in some neere roome prepare
For speediest use. If those brave men enquire
Thy end in all, still rake up all thy fire
In faire coole words, and say: " I bring them downe
To scoure the smoke off, being so over-growne
That one would thinke all fumes that ever were
Breath'd since Ulysses' losse reflected here.
These are not like the armes he left behinde
In way for Troy. Besides, Jove prompts my minde
In their remove apart thus with this thought,
That if in heighth of wine there should bee wrought
Some harsh contention twixt you, this apt meane
To mutual bloodshed may be taken cleane
From out your reach, and all the spoile prevented
Of present Feast — perhaps even then presented
My Mother's Nuptials to your long kinde vowes.
Steele it selfe, ready, drawes a man to blowes. "
Thus make their thoughts secure; to us alone
Two Swords, two Darts, two shields left, which see done
Within our readiest reach, that at our will
We may resume and charge, and all their skil
Pallas and Jove, that all just counsailes breath,
May darken with securenesse to their death.
And let me charge thee now, as thou art mine,
And as thy veines mine owne true blood combine:
Let (after this) none know Ulysses nere,
Not any one of all the houshold there,
Not here the Herdsman, not Laertes be
Made privy, nor her selfe Penelope —
But onely let thy selfe and me worke out
The women's thoughts of all things borne about
The wooers' hearts; and then thy men approve,
To know who honors, who with reverence love,
Our well-weigh'd Memories, and who is won
To faile thy fit right, though my onely Son."
" You teach," saide he, " so punctually now,
As I knew nothing, nor were sprung from you.
I hope, heereafter, you shall better know
What soule I beare, and that it doth not let
The least loose motion passe his naturall seat.
But this course you propose will prove, I feare,
Small profit to us, and could wish your care
Would weigh it better, as too farre about.
For Time will aske much to the sifting out
Of each man's disposition by his deeds;
And, in the meane time, every wooer feeds
Beyond saciety, nor knowes how to spare.
The women yet, since they more easie are
For our enquiry, I would wish you try
Who right your state, who do it injury.
The men I would omit, and these things make
Your labour after. But to undertake
The wooers' warre, I wish your utmost speede,
Especially if you could cheere the deed
With some Ostent from Jove." Thus (as the Sire
Consented to the Son) did heere expire
Their mutuall speech. And now the Ship was come
That brought the yong Prince and his soldiers home.
The deepe Haven reacht, they drew the Ship ashore,
Tooke all their Armes out, and the rich Gifts bore
To Clytius' house. But to Ulysses' Court
They sent a Herald first, to make report
To wise Penelope that safe at field
Her Son was left: yet, since the Ship would yield
Most hast to her, he sent that first, and them
To comfort with his utmost the extream
He knew she suffer'd. At the Court now met
The Herald and the Herdsman, to repeat
One message to the Queene. Both whom (arriv'd
Within the gates) both to be formost striv'd
In that good Newes. The Herald, he for hast
Amongst the Maids bestow'd it, thinking plac'st
The Queene amongst them. " Now," said he, " O Queen,
Your lov'd Son is arriv'd." And then was seene
The Queene her selfe, to whom the herdsman tould
All that Telemachus injoyn'd he should.
All which discharg'd, his steps he backe bestowes,
And left both Court and City for his Sowes.
The wooers then grew sad, soule-vext, and all
Made forth the Court — when by the mighty wall
They tooke their severall seate before the gates;
To whom Eurymachus initiates
Their utter'd greevance: " O," sayd he, " my Friends,
A worke right great begun as proudly ends.
We said Telemachus should never make
His voyage good, nor this shore ever take
For his returne's receipt: and yet we faile,
And he performes it. Come, let's man a Saile
The best in our election, and bestow
Such souldiers in her as can swiftest row,
To tell our friends that way-lay his retreat
'Tis safe perform'd, and make them quickly get
Their ship for Ithaca." This was not said,
Before Amphinomus in Port displaid
The ship arriv'd, her sailes then under stroke,
And Oares resum'd — when laughing, thus he spoke:
" Move for no messenger: these men are come.
Some God hath either told his turning home,
Or they themselves have seene his ship gone by,
Had her in chase, and lost her." Instantly
They rose, and went to Port, found drawne to Land
The Ship, the souldiers taking Armes in hand.
The woo'rs themselves to counsaile went in throng,
And not a man besides, or old or yong,
Let sit amongst them. Then Eupitheus' Sonne,
Antinous, said: " See what the Gods have done:
They onely have delivered from our ill
The men we way-laid; every windy hill
Hath bin their watch-tow'r, where by turns they stood
Continuall Sentinell. And we made good
Our worke as well, for (Sun once set) we never
Slept winke ashore all night, but made saile ever
This way and that, even till the morning kept
Her sacred Station, so to intercept
And take his life for whom our ambush lay:
And yet hath God to his returne given way.
But let us prosecute with counsailes here
His necessary death, nor any where
Let rest his safety, for, if he survive,
Our sailes will never in wisht Havens arrive,
Since he is wise, hath soule, and counsaile too
To worke the people, who will never do
Our faction favour. What we then intend
Against his person give we present end
Before he call a counsaile, which, beleeve,
His spirit will hast, and point where it doth greeve,
Stand up amongst them all, and urge his death
Decreed amongst us. Which complaint will breath
A fire about their spleenes, and blow no praise
On our ill labours. Lest they therefore raise
Pow'r to exile us from our Native earth,
And force our lives' societies to the birth
Of forreigne countries, let our speeds prevent
His comming home to this austere complaint
(At field and farre from Towne, or in some way
Of narrow passage) with his latest day
Shewne to his forward youth, his goods and lands
Left to the free division of our hands,
The Moovables made al his Mother's dowre
And his who-ever Fate affoords the powre
To celebrate with her sweet Hymen's rites.
Or if this please not, but your appetites
Stand to his safety, and to give him seate
In his whole birth-right, let us looke to eate
At his cost never more, but every man
Haste to his home, and wed with whom he can
At home; and there lay first about for dowre,
And then the woman give his second powre
Of Nuptiall liking, and for last, apply
His purpose with most gifts and destiny."
This silence caus'd, whose breach, at last, begon
Amphinomus, the much renowned Son
Of Nisus, surnam'd Aretiades,
Who from Dulichius (full of flowry Leas)
Led all the wooers; and in chiefe did please
The Queene with his discourse, because it grew
From rootes of those good mindes that did indue
His goodly person — who (exceeding wise)
Us'd this speech: " Friends, I never will advise
The Prince's death, for 'tis a damned thing
To put to death the yssue of a King.
First, therefore, let's examine what applause
The Gods will give it. If the equall Lawes
Of Jove approove it, I my selfe will be
The man shall kill him, and this companie
Exhort to that minde. If the Gods remaine
Adverse and hate it, I advise, refraine."
This said Amphinomus, and pleas'd them all:
When all arose, and in Ulysses' Hall
Tooke seate againe. Then to the Queene was come
The wooers' plot to kill her sonne at home
Since their abroad designe had mist successe,
The Herald Medon (who the whole addresse
Knew of their counsailes) making the report.
The Goddesse of her sex, with her faire sort
Of lovely women, at the large Hal's dore
(Her bright cheekes clouded with a veile shee wore)
Stood, and directed to Antinous
Her sharpe reproofe, which she digested thus:
" Antinous! Composde of injury,
Plotter of mischiefe! Though reports that flye
Amongst our Ithacensian people say
That thou, of all that glory in their sway,
Art best in words and counsailes, th'art not so.
Fond, busie fellow, why plott'st thou the wo
And slaughter of my Son, and dost not feare
The Presidents of suppliants, when the eare
Of Jove stoopes to them? 'Tis unjust to do
Slaughter for slaughter, or pay woe for wo;
Mischiefe for kindnesse, Death for life sought, then,
Is an injustice to be loath'd of men.
Serves not thy knowledge to remember when
Thy Father fled to us? Who (mov'd to wrath
Against the Taphian theeves) pursu'd with scath
The guiltlesse Thesprots, in whose people's feare,
Pursuing him for wreake, he landed here,
They after him, professing both their prize
Of all his chiefly valew'd Faculties,
And more priz'd life. Of all whose bloodiest ends
Ulysses curb'd them, though they were his frends.
Yet thou, like one that no Law will allow
The least true honor, eat'st his house up now
That fed thy Father, woo'st for love his wife,
Whom thus thou griev'st, and seek'st her sole son's life.
Ceasse, I command thee; and command the rest
To see all thought of these foule fashions ceast."
Eurymachus replyed: " Be confident,
Thou all of wit made, the most fam'd descent
Of King Icarius. Free thy spirits of feare.
There lives not any one, nor shall live here
Now nor hereafter, while my life gives heat
And light to me on earth, that dares entreat
With any ill touch thy well-loved Sonne —
But heere I vow, and heere will see it done,
His life shall staine my Lance. If on his knees
The City-racer, Laertiades,
Hath made me sit, put in my hand his foode,
And held his red wine to me, shall the bloode
Of his Telemachus on my hand lay
The least pollution that my life can stay?
No: I have ever charg'd him not to feare
Death's threat from any. And for that most deare
Love of his Father he shall ever be
Much the most lov'd of all that live to me.
Who kils a guiltlesse man, from Man may flye;
From God his searches all escapes deny."
Thus cheer'd his words, but his affections still
Fear'd not to cherish foule intent to kill
Even him whose life to all lives he prefer'd.
The Queene went up, and to her love appear'd
Her Lord so freshly that she wept, till sleepe
(By Pallas forc't on her) her eyes did steepe
In his sweet humor. When the Even was come,
The God-like Herdsman reacht the whole way home.
Ulysses and his Son for supper drest
A yeare-old Swine, and ere their Host and Guest
Had got their presence, Pallas had put by
With her faire rod Ulysses' royalty,
And render'd him an aged man againe,
With all his vile Integuments, lest his Swaine
Should know him in his trim and tell his Queene,
In these deepe secrets being not deeply seene.
He seene, to him the Prince these words did use:
" Welcome, divine Eumaeus. Now what newes
Imployes the City? Are the wooers come
Backe from their Scout dismaid? Or heere at home
Will they againe attempt me?" He replied:
" These touch not my care. I was satisfied
To do, with most speed, what I went to do —
My message done, returne. And yet, not so
Came my newes first; a Herald (met with there)
Fore-stal'd my Tale and told how safe you were.
Besides which meerely necessary thing,
What in my way chanc't I may over-bring,
Being what I know and witnest with mine eyes.
" Where the Hermaean Sepulcher doth rise
Above the City, I beheld take Port
A Ship, and in her many a man of sort:
Her freight was shields and Lances; and me thought
They were the wooers, but of knowledge nought
Can therein tell you." The Prince smil'd, and knew
They were the wooers, casting secret view
Upon his Father. But what they intended
Fled far the Herdsman — whose Swaine's labors ended,
They drest the Supper, which, past want, was eat.
When all desire suffic'd, of wine, and meat,
Of other humane wants, they tooke supplies
At Sleepe's soft hand, who sweetly clos'd their eies.