Classic Poem

" Our Ship now past the streights of th'Ocean flood;
She plowd the broad sea's billowes, and made good
The Ile Æaea, where the Pallace stands
Of th'early Riser with the rosie hands,
Active Aurora — where she loves to dance,
And where the Sunne doth his prime beames advance.
" When here arriv'd, we drew her up to land,
And trod our selves the resaluted sand,
Found on the shore fit resting for the Night,
Slept, and expected the celestiall light.
" Soone as the white-and-red-mixt-fingerd Dame
Had guilt the mountaines with her Saffron flame,
I sent my men to Circe's house before,
To fetch deceast Elpenor to the shore.
" Strait swelld the high banks with feld heapes of trees,
And (full of teares) we did due Exequies
To our dead friend — whose Corse consum'd with fire
And honourd Armes, whose Sepulcher entire,
And, over that, a Columne raisd, his Ore,
Curiously carv'd (to his desire before)
Upon the top of all his Tombe we fixt.
Of all Rites fit his Funerall Pile was mixt.
" Nor was our safe ascent from hell conceald
From Circe's knowledge, nor so soone reveald
But she was with us, with her bread and food
And ruddie wine, brought by her sacred brood
Of woods and Fountaines. In the midst she stood,
And thus saluted us: " Unhappie men,
That have (inform'd with all your sences) bene
In Pluto's dismall mansion! You shall die
Twice now, where others, that Mortalitie
In her faire armes holds, shall but once decease.
But eate and drinke out all conceit of these,
And this day dedicate to food and wine,
The following Night to Sleepe. When next shall shine
The chearfull Morning, you shall prove the seas.
Your way, and every act ye must addresse,
My knowledge of their order shall designe,
Lest with your owne bad counsels ye encline
Events as bad against ye, and sustaine
By sea and shore the wofull ends that raigne
In wilfull actions. " Thus did she advise,
And for the time our Fortunes were so wise
To follow wise directions. All that day
We sate and feasted. When his lower way
The Sunne had enterd, and the Even the hie,
My friends slept on their Gables; she and I
(Led by her faire hand to a place apart,
By her well sorted) did to sleepe convert
Our timed powres — when all things Fate let fall
In our affaire she askt. I told her all,
To which she answerd: " These things thus tooke end.
And now to those that I informe attend,
Which (you remembring) God himselfe shall be
The blessed author of your memorie.
" " First to the Sirens ye shall come, that taint
The minds of all men whom they can acquaint
With their attractions. Whosoever shall
(For want of knowledge mov'd) but heare the call
Of any Siren, he will so despise
Both wife and children for their sorceries,
That never home turnes his affection's streame,
Nor they take joy in him, nor he in them.
The Sirens will so soften with their song
(Shrill, and in sensuall appetite so strong)
His loose affections that he gives them head.
And then observe: They sit amidst a meade,
And round about it runnes a hedge or wall
Of dead men's bones, their witherd skins and all
Hung all along upon it; and these men
Were such as they had fawnd into their Fen,
And then their skins hung on their hedge of bones.
Saile by them therefore, thy companions
Before hand causing to stop every eare
With sweete soft waxe so close that none may heare
A note of all their charmings. Yet may you
(If you affect it) open eare allow
To trie their motion: but presume not so
To trust your judgement when your senses go
So loose about you, but give straight command
To all your men to bind you foote and hand
Sure to the Mast, that you may safe approve
How strong in instigation to their love
Their rapting tunes are. If so much they move
That, spite of all your reason, your will stands
To be enfranchisde both of feete and hands,
Charge all your men before to sleight your charge
And rest so farre from fearing to enlarge
That much more sure they bind you. When your friends
Have outsaild these, the danger that transcends
Rests not in any counsaile to prevent,
Unlesse your owne mind finds the tract and bent
Of that way that avoids it. I can say
That in your course there lies a twofold way,
The right of which your owne taught, present wit
And grace divine must prompt. In generall yet
Let this informe you: Neare these Sirens' shore
Move two steepe Rocks, at whose feete lie and rore
The blacke sea's cruell billowes: the blest Gods
Call them the Rovers. Their abhord abods
No bird can passe — no, not the Doves, whose feare
Sire Jove so loves, that they are said to beare
Ambrosia to him, can their ravine scape,
But one of them falles ever to the rape
Of those slie rocks. Yet Jove another still
Adds to the rest, that so may ever fill
The sacred number. Never ship could shunne
The nimble perill wing'd there, but did runne
With all her bulke and bodies of her men
To utter ruine. For the seas retaine
Not onely their outragious aesture there,
But fierce assistents of particular feare
And supernaturall mischiefe they expire —
And those are whirlewinds of devouring fire
Whisking about still. Th'Argive ship alone
(Which bore the care of all men) got her gone,
Come from Æeta. Yet perhaps even she
Had wrackt at those Rocks if the Deitie
That lies by Jove's side had not lent her hand
To their transmission, since the man that mann'd
In chiefe that voyage she in chiefe did love.
Of these two spitefull Rocks, the one doth shove
Against the height of heaven her pointed brow.
A blacke cloud binds it round, and never show
Lends to the sharp point: not the cleare blew skie
Lets ever view it, not the Sommer's eye,
Not fervent Autumne's. None that Death could end
Could ever skale it, or, if up, descend,
Though twenty hands and feete he had for hold:
A polisht ice-like glibnesse doth enfold
The rocke so round, whose midst a gloomie cell
Shrowds so farre Westward that it sees to hell.
From this keepe you as farre as from his bow
An able yong man can his shaft bestow.
For here, the whuling Scylla shrowds her face,
That breaths a voice, at all parts no more base
Than are a newly-kitn'd kitling's cries —
Her selfe a monster yet of boundlesse sise,
Whose sight would nothing please a mortal's eies —
No, nor the eyes of any God, if he
(Whom nought should fright) fell foule on her, and she
Her full shape shew'd. Twelve foule feete beare about
Her ougly bulke. Sixe huge long necks looke out
Of her ranke shoulders; every necke doth let
A ghastly head out; every head three set,
Thicke thrust together, of abhorred teeth;
And every tooth stucke with a sable death.
" " She lurkes in midst of all her denne, and streakes
From out a ghastly whirle-poole all her necks;
Where (gloting round her rocke) to fish she falles,
And up rush Dolphins, Dogfish, somewhiles Whales,
If got within her when her rapine feeds —
For ever-groning Amphitrite breeds
About her whirlepoole an unmeasur'd store;
No Sea-man ever boasted touch of shore
That there toucht with his ship, but still she fed
Of him and his, a man for every head
Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descrie
The other humbler Rocke, that moves so nie
Your dart may mete the distance. It receaves
A huge wilde Fig-tree, curl'd with ample leaves,
Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits
Supping the blacke deepes. Thrice a day her pits
She drinkes all dry, and thrice a day againe
All up she belches, banefull to sustaine.
When she is drinking, dare not neare her draught,
For not the force of Neptune (if once caught)
Can force your freedome. Therefore, in your strife
To scape Charybdis, labour all for life
To row neare Scylla, for she will but have
For her sixe heads sixe men, and better save
The rest than all make offerings to the wave. "
" This Neede she told me of my losse, when I
Desir'd to know, if that Necessitie
(When I had scap't Charybdis' outrages)
My powres might not revenge, though not redresse?
She answerd: " O unhappy! art thou yet
Enflam'd with warre, and thirst to drinke thy swet?
Not to the Gods give up both Armes and will?
She deathlesse is, and that immortall ill
Grave, harsh, outragious, not to be subdu'd,
That men must suffer till they be renew'd.
Nor lives there any virtue that can flie
The vicious outrage of her crueltie.
Shouldst thou put Armes on, and approch the Rocke,
I feare sixe more must expiate the shocke.
Sixe heads sixe men aske still. Hoise saile, and flie;
And in thy flight aloud on Cratis crie
(Great Scylla's Mother, who exposde to light
That bane of men) and she will do such right
To thy observance that she downe will tread
Her daughter's rage, nor let her shew a head.
" " From thenceforth then, for ever past her care,
Thou shalt ascend the Ile Triangulare,
Where many Oxen of the Sunne are fed,
And fatted flocks. Of Oxen fifty head
In every herd feed, and their herds are seven,
And of his fat flocks is their number Even.
Increase they yeeld not, for they never die.
There every shepherdesse a Deitie:
Faire Phaethusa and Lampetie
The lovely Nymphs are that their Guardians be,
Who to the daylight's lofty-going flame
Had gracious birthright from the heavenly Dame,
Still young Neaera; who (brought forth and bred)
Farre off dismist them, to see duly fed
Their Father's herds and flocks in Sicilie.
These herds and flocks if to the Deitie
Ye leave, as sacred things, untoucht, and on
Goe with all fit care of your home, alone
(Though through some sufferance) you yet safe shall land
In wished Ithaca. But if impious hand
You lay on those herds to their hurts, I then
Presage sure ruine to thy ship and men.
If thou escap'st thy selfe, extending home
Thy long'd-for landing, thou shalt loded come
With store of losses, most exceeding late,
And not consorted with a saved mate. "
" This said, the golden-thron'd Aurora rose;
She her way went, and I did mine dispose
Up to my ship, weigh'd Anchor, and away —
When reverend Circe helpt us to convaie
Our vessell safe, by making well inclind
A Sea man's true companion, a forewind,
With which she filld our sailes — when, fitting all
Our Armes close by us, I did sadly fall
To grave relation what concernd in Fate
My friends to know, and told them that the state
Of our affaire's successe, which Circe had
Presag'd to me alone, must yet be made
To one nor onely two knowne, but to all;
That since their lives and deaths were left to fall
In their elections, they might life elect,
And give what would preserve it fit effect.
" I first inform'd them that we were to flie
The heavenly-singing Sirens' harmony
And flowre-adorned Medow. And that I
Had charge to heare their song, but fetterd fast
In bands unfavor'd to th'erected Mast;
From whence if I should pray or use command
To be enlarg'd, they should with much more band
Containe my struglings. This I simply told
To each particular, nor would withold
What most enjoyn'd mine owne affection's stay,
That theirs the rather might be taught t'obay.
" In meane time flew our ship, and straight we fetcht
The Sirens' Ile, a spleenelesse wind so stretcht
Her wings to waft us and so urg'd our keele.
But, having reacht this Ile, we could not feele
The least gaspe of it: it was striken dead,
And all the Sea in prostrate slumber spread:
The Sirens' divell charm'd all. Up then flew
My friends to worke, strooke saile, together drew
And under hatches stowd them, sat and plied
Their polisht oares, and did in curls divide
The white-head waters. My part then came on;
A mighty waxen Cake I set upon,
Chopt it in fragments with my sword, and wrought
With strong hand every peece till all were soft.
The great powre of the Sunne, in such a beame
As then flew burning from his Diademe,
To liquefaction helpt us. Orderlie
I stopt their eares, and they as faire did ply
My feete and hands with cords, and to the Mast
With other halsers made me soundly fast.
" Then tooke they seate, and forth our passage strooke —
The fomie Sea beneath their labour shooke —
Rowd on in reach of an erected voice;
The Sirens soone tooke note without our noice,
Tun'd those sweete accents that made charmes so strong
And these learn'd numbers made the Sirens' song:
" " Come here, thou, worthy of a world of praise,
That dost so high the Grecian glory raise.
Ulysses! stay thy ship, and that song heare
That none past ever but it bent his eare,
But left him ravishd and instructed more
By us than any ever heard before.
For we know all things whatsoever were
In wide Troy labour'd, whatsoever there
The Grecians and the Troyans both sustain'd
By those high issues that the Gods ordain'd:
And whatsoever all the earth can show
T'informe a knowledge of desert, we know. "
" This they gave accent in the sweetest straine
That ever open'd an enamour'd vaine —
When my constrain'd heart needs would have mine eare
Yet more delighted, force way forth, and heare.
To which end I commanded with all signe
Sterne lookes could make (for not a joynt of mine
Had powre to stirre) my friends to rise, and give
My limbs free way. They freely striv'd to drive
Their ship still on. When (farre from will to lose)
Eurylochus and Perimedes rose
To wrap me surer, and opprest me more
With many a halser than had use before.
When, rowing on without the reach of sound,
My friends unstopt their eares and me unbound,
And that Ile quite we quitted. But againe
Fresh feares emploid us. I beheld a maine
Of mighty billows, and a smoke ascend,
A horrid murmure hearing. Every friend
Astonisht sat: from every hand his oare
Fell quite forsaken: with the dismall Rore,
Where all things there made Echoes, stone still stood
Our ship it selfe, because the ghastly flood
Tooke all men's motions from her in their owne:
I through the ship went, labouring up and downe
My friends' recoverd spirits. One by one
I gave good words, and said that well were knowne
These ills to them before: I told them all;
And that these could not prove more capitall
Than those the Cyclop blockt us up in, yet
My vertue, wit, and heaven-helpt Counsailes set
Their freedomes open. I could not beleeve
But they rememberd it, and wisht them give
My equall care and meanes now equall trust:
The strength they had for stirring up they must
Rouze and extend, to trie if Jove had laid
His powres in theirs up, and would adde his aid
To scape even that death. In particular then
I told our Pylot that past other men
He most must beare firme spirits, since he swaid
The Continent that all our spirits convaid
In his whole guide of her. He saw there boile
The fierie whirlpooles that to all our spoile
Inclosde a Rocke, without which he must stere,
Or all our ruines stood concluded there.
" All heard me, and obaid, and little knew
That, shunning that Rocke, sixe of them should rue
The wracke another hid. For I conceal'd
The heavy wounds that never would be heal'd,
To be by Scylla opened — for their feare
Would then have robd all of all care to stere
Or stirre an oare, and made them hide beneath,
When they, and all, had died an idle death.
But then even I forgot to shunne the harme
Circe forewarnd — who willd I should not arme,
Nor shew my selfe to Scylla, lest in vaine
I ventur'd life. Yet could not I containe,
But arm'd at all parts, and two lances tooke,
Up to the foredecke went, and thence did looke
That Rockie Scylla would have first appear'd
And taken my life, with the friends I feard.
" From thence yet no place could afford her sight,
Though through the darke rocke mine eye threw her light,
And ransackt all waies. I then tooke a streight
That gave my selfe and some few more receipt
Twixt Scylla and Charybdis; whence we saw
How horridly Charybdis' throat did draw
The brackish sea up, which when all abroad
She spit againe out, never Caldron sod
With so much fervor, fed with all the store
That could enrage it. All the Rocke did rore
With troubl'd waters: round about the tops
Of all the steepe crags flew the fomy drops.
But when her draught the sea and earth dissunderd,
The troubl'd bottoms turnd up, and she thunderd,
Farre under shore the swart sands naked lay —
Whose whole sterne sight the startl'd blood did fray
From all our faces. And while we on her
Our eyes bestowd thus to our ruine's feare,
Sixe friends had Scylla snatcht out of our keele,
In whom most losse did force and virtue feele —
When, looking to my ship, and lending eye
To see my friends' estates, their heeles turnd hie
And hands cast up I might discerne, and heare
Their calles to me for helpe, when now they were
To try me in their last extremities.
And as an Angler medcine for surprise
Of little fish sits powring from the rocks,
From out the crookt horne of a fold-bred Oxe,
And then with his long Angle hoists them hie
Up to the Aire, then sleightly hurles them by,
When helplesse sprauling on the land they lie:
So easely Scylla to her Rocke had rapt
My wofull friends, and so unhelpt, entrapt,
Strugling they lay beneath her violent rape,
Who in their tortures, desperate of escape,
Shriekt as she tore, and up their hands to me
Still threw for sweete life. I did never see,
In all my sufferance ransacking the seas,
A spectacle so full of miseries.
" Thus having fled these rocks (these cruell dames
Scylla, Charybdis), where the king of flames
Hath offerings burnd to him our ship put in
The Iland that from all the earth doth winne
The Epithete Faultlesse, where the broad of head
And famous Oxen for the Sunne are fed,
With many fat flocks of that high-gone God.
Set in my ship, mine eare reacht, where we rod,
The bellowing of Oxen and the bleate
Of fleecie sheepe, that in my memorie's seate
Put up the formes that late had bene imprest
By dread Æaean Circe and the best
Of Soules and Prophets, the blind Theban Seer,
The wise Tiresias, who was grave decreer
Of my returne's whole meanes. Of which, this one
In chiefe he urg'd, that I should alwaies shunne
The Iland of the Man-delighting Sunne.
When (sad at heart for our late losse) I praid
My friends to heare fit counsaile (though dismaid
With all ill fortunes) which was given to me
By Circe's and Tiresias' Prophecie —
That I should flie the Ile where was ador'd
The Comfort of the world, for ills abhorr'd
Were ambusht for us there; and therefore willd
They should put off and leave the Ile. This kill'd
Their tender spirits; when Eurylochus
A speech that vext me utter'd, answering thus:
" " Cruell Ulysses! Since thy nerves abound
In strength, the more spent, and no toyles confound
Thy able lims, as all beate out of steele,
Thou ablest us to, as unapt to feele
The teeth of Labor and the spoile of Sleepe,
And therefore still wilt wast us in the deepe,
Nor let us land to eate, but madly now
In Night put forth, and leave firme land to strow
The Sea with errors. All the rabide flight
Of winds that ruine ships are bred in Night.
Who is it that can keepe off cruell Death,
If suddainly should rush out th'angry breath
Of Notus, or the eager-spirited West,
That cuffe ships dead, and do the Gods their hest?
Serve black Night still with shore, meate, sleepe, and ease,
And offer to the Morning for the seas. "
" This all the rest approv'd, and then knew I
That past all doubt the divell did apply
His slaughterous works. Nor would they be withheld;
I was but one, nor yeelded but compell'd.
But all that might containe them I assaid:
A sacred oath on all their powres I laid,
That if with herds or any richest flocks
We chanc't t'encounter, neither sheepe nor Oxe
We once should touch, nor (for that constant ill
That followes folly) scorne advice and kill,
But quiet sit us downe, and take such food
As the immortall Circe had bestowd.
" They swore all this in all severest sort;
And then we ancord in the winding Port
Neare a fresh River, where the longd-for shore
They all flew out to, tooke in victles' store,
And, being full, thought of their friends, and wept
Their losse by Scylla, weeping till they slept.
" In Night's third part, when stars began to stoope,
The Cloud-assembler put a Tempest up.
A boistrous spirit he gave it, drave out all
His flocks of clouds, and let such darknesse fall
That Earth and Seas for feare to hide were driven;
For with his clouds he thrust out Night from heaven.
" At Morne, we drew our ship into a cave,
In which the Nymphs that Phaebus' cattaile drave
Faire dancing Roomes had, and their seates of State.
I urg'd my friends then, that, to shunne their Fate,
They would observe their oath, and take the food
Our ship afforded, nor attempt the blood
Of those faire Herds and Flocks, because they were
That dreadfull God's that all could see and heare.
" They stood observant, and in that good mind
Had we bene gone, but so adverse the wind
Stood to our passage that we could not go.
For one whole moneth perpetually did blow
Impetuous Notus; not a breath's repaire
But his and Eurus' rul'd in all the Aire.
As long yet as their ruddy wine and bread
Stood out amongst them, so long not a head
Of all those Oxen fell in any strife
Amongst those students for the gut and life.
But when their victles faild, they fell to prey:
Necessitie compell'd them then to stray
In rape of fish and fowle: what ever came
In reach of hand or hooke, the bellie's flame
Afflicted to it. I then fell to praire;
And (making to a close Retreate repaire,
Free from both friends and winds) I washt my hands,
And all the Gods besought that held commands
In liberall heaven to yeeld some meane to stay
Their desperate hunger, and set up the way
Of our returne restraind. The Gods, in steed
Of giving what I prayd for, powre of deed,
A deedlesse sleepe did on my lids distill,
For meane to worke upon my friends their fill.
For whiles I slept, there wak't no meane to curb
Their headstrong wants, which he that did disturb
My rule in chiefe at all times, and was chiefe
To all the rest in counsaile to their griefe,
Knew well, and of my present absence tooke
His fit advantage, and their iron strooke
At highest heate. For (feeling their desire
In his owne Entrailes, to allay the fire
That Famine blew in them) he thus gave way
To that affection: " Heare what I shall say
(Though words will stanch no hunger): every death
To us poore wretches that draw temporall breath
You know is hatefull; but all know, to die
The Death of Famine is a miserie
Past all Death loathsome. Let us therefore take
The chiefe of this faire herd, and offerings make
To all the Deathlesse that in broad heaven live,
And in particular vow, if we arrive
In naturall Ithaca, to strait erect
A Temple to the haughtie in aspect,
Rich, and magnificent, and all within
Decke it with Relicks many and divine.
If yet he stands incenst, since we have slaine
His high-browd herd, and therefore will sustaine
Desire to wracke our ship, he is but one;
And all the other Gods that we attone
With our divine Rites will their suffrage give
To our design'd returne and let us live.
If not, and all take part, I rather crave
To serve with one sole Death the yawning wave
Than in a desert Iland lie and sterve,
And with one pin'd life many deaths observe. "
" All cried: " He counsailes nobly " ; and all speed
Made to their resolute driving. For the feed
Of those coleblacke, faire, broad-browd, Sun-lov'd Beeves
Had place close by our ships. They tooke the lives
Of sence, most eminent, about their fall
Stood round, and to the States celestiall
Made solemne vowes. But other Rites their ship
Could not afford them; they did therefore strip
The curld-head Oke of fresh young leaves, to make
Supply of service for their Barly cake.
And on the sacredly enflam'd, for wine
Powrd purest water, all the parts divine
Spitting and rosting; all the Rites beside
Orderly using. Then did light divide
My low and upper lids; when my repaire
Made neare my ship, I met the delicate ayre
Their rost exhal'd. Out instantly I cried,
And said: " O Jove, and all ye Deified,
Ye have opprest me with a cruell sleepe,
While ye conferd on me a losse as deepe
As Death descends to. To themselves alone
My rude men left ungovernd, they have done
A deed so impious (I stand well assur'd)
That you will not forgive though ye procur'd. "
" Then flew Lampetie with the ample Robe
Up to her Father with the golden Globe,
Ambassadresse t'informe him that my men
Had slaine his Oxen. Heart-incensed then,
He cried: " Revenge me, Father, and the rest
Both ever-living and for ever blest!
Ulysses' impious men have drawne the blood
Of those my Oxen that it did me good
To looke on, walking all my starrie round
And when I trod earth, all with medowes crown'd.
Without your full amends I'le leave heaven quite,
Dis and the Dead adorning with my light. "
" The Cloud-herd answerd: " Son! thou shalt be ours,
And light those mortals in that Mine of flowres.
My red hote flash shall grase but on their ship
And eate it, burning, in the boyling deepe. "
" This by Calypso I was told, and she
Inform'd it from the verger Mercurie.
" " Come to our ship, " I chid, and told by name
Each man how impiously he was to blame.
But chiding got no peace; the Beeves were slaine —
When straight the Gods fore-went their following paine
With dire Ostents. The hides the flesh had lost
Crept all before them. As the flesh did rost
It bellowd like the Oxe it selfe, alive.
And yet my souldiers did their dead Beeves drive
Through all these Prodigies in daily feasts.
Sixe daies they banqueted and slue fresh beasts,
And when the seventh day Jove reduc't, the wind
That all the moneth rag'd and so in did bind
Our ship and us, was turnd and calm'd, and we
Lancht, put up Masts, Sailes hoised, and to Sea.
" The Iland left so farre that land no where
But onely sea and skie had powre t'appeare,
Jove fixt a cloud above our ship, so blacke
That all the sea it darkned. Yet from wracke
She ranne a good free time, till from the West
Came Zephyr ruffling forth, and put his breast
Out in a singing tempest so most vast
It burst the Gables that made sure our Mast;
Our Masts came tumbling downe, our tackle downe
Rusht to the Pump, and by our Pylot's crowne
The maine Mast past his fall, pasht all his Skull —
And all this wracke but one flaw made at full.
Off from the Sterne the Sternesman diving fell,
And from his sinews flew his Soule to hell.
Together, all this time Jove's Thunder chid,
And through and through the ship his lightning glid
Till it embrac't her round; her bulke was filld
With nasty sulphur, and her men were killd,
Tumbl'd to Sea, like Sea-mews swumme about,
And there the date of their returne was out.
" I tost from side to side still, till all broke
Her Ribs were with the storme, and she did choke
With let-in Surges, for the Mast, torne downe,
Tore her up pecemeale, and for me to drowne
Left little undissolv'd. But to the Mast
There was a lether Thong left, which I cast
About it and the keele, and so sat tost
With banefull weather till the West had lost
His stormy tyranny. And then arose
The South, that bred me more abhorred woes —
For backe againe his blasts expelld me quite
On ravenous Charybdis. All that Night
I totter'd up and downe, till Light and I
At Scylla's Rocke encounterd, and the nie
Dreadfull Charybdis. As I drave on these,
I saw Charybdis supping up the seas,
And had gone up together if the tree
That bore the wilde figs had not rescu'd me —
To which I leapt and left my keele, and, hie
Clambring upon it, did as close imply
My brest about it as a Reremouse could.
Yet might my feete on no stub fasten hold
To ease my hands, the roots were crept so low
Beneath the earth, and so aloft did grow
The far-spred armes that (though good height I gat)
I could not reach them. To the maine Bole flat
I therefore still must cling, till up againe
She belcht my Mast, and after that amaine
My keele came tumbling. So at length it chanc't
To me as to a Judge, that, long advanc't
To judge a sort of hote yong fellowes' jarres,
At length time frees him from their civill warres,
When glad he riseth, and to dinner goes:
So time at length releast with joyes my woes,
And from Charybdis' mouth appear'd my keele.
To which (my hand now loosd, and now my heele)
I altogether with a huge noise dropt,
Just in her midst fell, where the Mast was propt,
And there rowd off, with owers of my hands.
God and Man's Father would not from her sands
Let Scylla see me, for I then had died
That bitter death that my poore friends supplied.
" Nine Daies at Sea I hover'd: the tenth Night
In th'Ile Ogygia, where abode the bright
And right renoum'd Calypso, I was cast
By powre of Deitie — where I liv'd embrac't
With Love and feasts. But why should I relate
Those kind occurrents? I should iterate
What I in part to your chaste Queene and you
So late imparted. And for me to grow
A talker over of my tale againe
Were past my free contentment to sustaine."