Classic Poem

Cyllenian Hermes with his golden rod
The wooers' soules (that yet retain'd abod
Amids their bodies) call'd in dreadfull rout
Forth to th'Infernals, who came murmuring out.
And as amids the desolate retreate
Of some vaste Caverne (made the sacred seate
Of austere spirits) Bats with Brests and wings
Claspe fast the wals, and each to other clings,
But, swept off from their coverts, up they rise
And flye with murmures in amazefull guise
About the caverne: so these (grumbling) rose
And flockt together. Downe before them goes
None-hurting Mercury to hel's broad waies;
And straight to those streights where the Ocean staies
His lofty current in calme deepes they flew.
Then to the snowy rocke they next withdrew,
And to the close of Phaebus' orient gates,
The Nation then of Dreames; and then the states
Of those soules' Idols that the weary dead
Gave up in earth, which in a flowry Mead
Had habitable situation.
And there they saw the soule of Thetis' son,
Of good Patroclus, brave Antilochus,
And Ajax, the supremely strenuous
Of all the Greeke hoast next Peleion —
All which assembled about Maia's son.
And to them (after) came the mournfull Ghost
Of Agamemnon, with all those he lost
In false Ægisthus' Court. Achilles then
Beholding there that mighty King of men,
Deplor'd his plight, and said: " O Atreus" Son!
Of all Heroes all Opinion
Gave thee for Jove's most lov'd, since most command
Of all the Greekes he gave thy eminent hand
At siedge of Ilion, where we suffer'd so.
And is the issue this? That first in wo
Sterne Fate did therefore set thy sequell downe?
None borne past others' Fates can passe his owne.
I wish to heaven that in the heighth of all
Our pompe at Ilion Fate had sign'd thy fall,
That all the Greekes might have advanc't to thee
A famous Sepulcher, and Fame might see
Thy Son given honor in thy honour'd end;
But now a wretched death did Fate extend
To thy confusion and thy Issue's shame."
" O Thetis' Son," said he, " the vitall flame
Extinct at Ilion, far from th'Argive fields,
The stile of blessed to thy vertue yields.
About thy fall the best of Greece and Troy
Were sacrific'd to slaughter, thy just joy
Conceiv'd in battell, with some worth forgot,
In such a death as great Apollo shot
At thy encounters. Thy brave person lay
Hid in a dusty whirlewinde, that made way
With humane breaths, spent in thy ruine's state;
Thou, great, wert greatly valew'd in thy Fate.
All day we fought about thee, nor at all
Had ceast our conflict had not Jove let fall
A storme, that forc't off our unwilling feete.
But, having brought thee from the fight to fleete,
Thy glorious person (bath'd and balm'd) we laide
Aloft a bed, and round about thee paide
The Greekes warme teares to thy deplor'd decease,
Quite danted, cutting all their curles' increase.
Thy death drave a divine voice through the Seas,
That started up thy Mother from the waves,
And all the Marine Godheads left their caves,
Consorting to our fleet her rapt repaire.
The Greekes stood frighted to see Sea and Aire
And Earth combine so in thy losse's sence,
Had taken ship, and fled for ever thence,
If old much-knowing Nestor had not staide
Their rushing off — his counsailes having swaide
In all times former with such cause their courses —
Who bad containe themselves and trust their forces;
For all they saw was Thetis come from Sea,
With others of the watry progenie,
To see and mourne for her deceased Son;
Which staid the feares that all to flight had won.
And round about thee stood th'old Sea-god's seedes,
Wretchedly mourning, their immortall weeds
Spreading upon thee; all the sacred Nine
Of deathlesse Muses paid thee dues divine,
By varied turnes their heavenly voyces venting,
All in deepe passion for thy death consenting.
And then of all our Army not an eye
You could have seene undrown'd in misery,
The moving Muse so rul'd in every minde.
Full seventeene dayes and nights our teares confin'd
To celebration of thy mourned end,
Both men and Gods did in thy moane contend.
The eighteenth day we spent about thy heape
Of dying fire. Blacke Oxen, fattest Sheepe
We slew past number. Then the precious spoile
(Thy Corse) wee tooke up, which with floods of oile
And pleasant Hony we embalm'd, and then
Wrapt thee in those Robes that the Gods did raine —
In which we gave thee to the hallowed flame.
To which a number of heroicall name,
All arm'd, came rushing in in desperate plight,
As prest to sacrifice their vitall right
To thy dead ruines while so bright they burn'd;
Both foote and horse brake in, and fought, and mourn'd
In infinite tumult. But when all the night
The rich flame lasted, and that wasted quite
Thy body was with the enamor'd fire,
We came in early Morne, and an entire
Collection made of every Ivorie bone —
Which, washt in wine and given fit unction,
A two-ear'd Bolle of Gold thy Mother gave,
By Bacchus given her, and did forme receave
From Vulcan's famous hand, which, O renown'd
Great Thetis' Son, with thy faire bones we crown'd,
Mixt with the Bones of Menaetiades,
And brave Antilochus, who, in decease
Of thy Patroclus, was thy favour's Deere.
About thee then a matchlesse Sepulchere
The sacred hoast of the Achaians raisd
Upon the Hellespont, where most it seisd
(For height and conspicuity) the eies
Of living men and their posterities.
Thy Mother then obtain'd the Gods' consent
To institute an honor'd game, that spent
The best approvement of our Grecian Fames:
In whose praise, I must say that many games
About Heroes' Sepulchers mine eyes
Have seene perform'd, but these bore off the prize
With myracles to me from all before —
In which thy Silver-footed Mother bore
The Institution's name, but thy desarts
(Being great with heaven) caus'd al the eminent parts.
And thus through all the worst effects of Fate
Achilles' Fame even Death shall propagate:
While any one shall lend the light an eye
Divine Æacides shal never dye.
But wherein can these comforts be conceiv'd
As rights to me? — when, having quite atchiev'd
An end with safety, and with Conquest too
Of so unmatcht a warre, what none could do
Of all our enemies there, at home a Friend
And Wife have given me inglorious end."
While these thus spake, the Argus-killing spy
Brought neere Ulysses' noble victory
To their renew'd discourse, in all the ends
The wooers suffer'd, and shew'd those his Frends,
Whom now amaze invaded with the view,
And made give backe: yet Agamemnon knew
Melanthius' heyre, much-fam'd Amphimedon,
Who had in Ithaca Guest favours shown
To great Atrides — who first spake, and saide:
" Amphimedon, what sufferance hath bene laide
On your alive parts that hath made you make
This land of darknesse the retreat you take
So all together, all being like in yeeres,
Nor would a man have choosd, of all the Peeres
A City honors, men to make a part
More strong for any object? Hath your smart
Bene felt from Neptune, being at Sea — his wrath
The winds and waves exciting to your scath?
Or have offensive men imposd this Fate,
Your Oxen driving, or your flocke's estate?
Or for your City fighting, and your wives,
Have deaths untimely seiz'd your best-tim'd lives?
Informe me truly: I was once your Guest,
When I and Menelaus had profest
First armes for Ilion, and were come ashore
On Ithaca, with purpose to implore
Ulysses' aide, that City-racing man,
In wreake of the adulterous Phrygian.
Retaine not you the time? A whole month's date
We spent at Sea, in hope to instigate
In our arrivall old Laertes' Son,
Whom (hardly yet) to our designe we won."
The Soule made answer: " Worthiest King of men,
I well remember every passage then
You now reduce to thought, and will relate
The truth in whole forme of our timelesse Fate.
" We woo'd the wife of that long absent King,
Who (though her second marriage were a thing
Of most hate to her) she would yet deny
At no part our affections, nor comply
With any in performance: but decreed
In her delayes the cruell Fates we feed.
Her craft was this. She undertooke to weave
A Funerall garment, destin'd to receave
The corse of old Laertes, being a taske
Of infinite labour, and which Time would aske.
In midst of whose attempt, she causd our stay
With this attraction: " Youths, that come in way
Of honor'd Nuptials to me! Though my Lord
Abide amongst the dead, yet cease to bord
My choise for present Nuptials, and sustaine
(Lest what is past me of this web be vaine)
Till all receive perfection. 'Tis a weede
Dispos'd to wrap in, at his Funerall neede,
The old Laertes, who (possessing much)
Would (in his want of rites as fitting) touch
My honor highly with each vulgar Dame. "
Thus spake she, and perswaded; and her Frame
All day she labour'd, her daye's worke not small,
But every night time, she unwrought it all —
Three yeares continuing this imperfect taske;
But when the fourth year came, her slights could mask
In no more covert, since her trusted Maid
Her whole deceite to our true note betraid.
With which surpriz'd, she could no more protract
Her worke's perfection, but gave end exact
To what remain'd, washt up, and set thereon
A glosse so bright that like the Sun and Moon
The whole worke shew'd together. And when now
Of meere necessity her honour'd vow
She must make good to us, ill fortune brought
Ulysses home — who yet gave none one thought
Of his arrivall, but far-off at field
Liv'd with his Herdsman, nor his trust would yield
Note of his person, but liv'd there as Guest,
Ragg'd as a begger, in that life profest.
At length Telemachus left Pylos' sand,
And with a Ship fetcht soone his native Land —
When yet, not home he went, but laid his way
Up to his Herdsman, where his Father lay,
And where both laide our deaths — to town then bore
The Swine-herd and his King, the Swaine before.
Telemachus, in other wayes, bestow'd
His course home first, t'associate us that woo'd.
The Swaine the King led after, who came on
Ragged and wretched, and still lean'd upon
A borrow'd staffe. At length he reacht his home,
Where (on the sodaine and so wretched come)
Nor we, nor much our elders, once did dreame
Of his returne there, but did wrongs extreame
Of words and blowes to him, all which he bore
With that old patience he had learn'd before.
But when the minde of Jove had rais'd his owne,
His son and he fetcht all their Armour downe,
Fast lockt the doores, and (to prepare their use)
He will'd his wife (for first meane) to produce
His Bow to us to draw; of which no one
Could stir the string. Himselfe yet set upon
The deadly strength it held, drew all with ease,
Shot through the steeles, and then began to sease
Our armelesse bosomes, striking first the brest
Of King Antinous, and then the rest
In heapes turn'd over, hopefull of his end
Because some God (he knew) stood firme his frend.
Nor prov'd it worse with him, but all in flood
The Pavement straight blusht with our vitall blood.
And thus our soules came heere, our bodies laid
Neglected in his roofes, no word convaid
To any friend to take us home and give
Our wounds fit balming, nor let such as live
Entombe our deaths, and, for our fortunes, shed
Those teares and dead rites that renowne the dead."
Atrides' Ghost gave answere: " O blest Son
Of old Laertes, thou at length hast won
With mighty vertue thy unmatched wife!
How good a knowledge, how untoucht a life
Hath wise Penelope! How well she laide
Her husband's rights up, whom she lov'd a Maid!
For which her vertues shall extend applause
Beyond the circles fraile mortality drawes,
The deathlesse in this vale of death comprising
Her praise in numbers into infinites rising.
The daughter Tyndarus begat begot
No such chaste thoughts, but cut the virgin knot
That knit her spouse and her with murtherous swords.
For which posterities shall put hatefull words
To notes of her, that all her Sex defam'd,
And for her ill shall even the good be blam'd,"
To this effect these these digressions made
In hell, Earth's darke and ever-hiding shade.
Ulysses and his Son (now past the Towne)
Soone reacht the field, elaborately growne
By old Laertes' labour, when, with cares
For his lost Son, he left all Court affaires
And tooke to this rude upland, which, with toile,
He made a sweet and habitable soile —
Where stood a house to him, about which ran,
In turnings thicke and Labyrinthian,
Poore Hovels, where his necessary men
That did those workes (of pleasure to him then)
Might sit, and eate, and sleepe. In his owne house
An old Sicilian Dame liv'd, studious
To serve his sowre age with her cheerefull paines.
Then saide Ulysses to his Son and Swaines:
" Go you to Towne, and for your dinner kill
The best Swine ye can choose; my selfe will still
Stay with my father and assay his eye,
If my acknowledg'd truth it can descry,
Or that my long time's travaile doth so change
My sight to him that I appeare as strange."
Thus gave he armes to them, and home they hied.
Ulysses to the fruitfull field applied
His present place, nor found he Dolius there,
His sonnes, or any servant, any where
In all that spacious ground; all, gone from thence,
Were dragging bushes to repaire a Fence,
Old Dolius leading all. Ulysses found
His father farre above in that faire ground,
Employd in proyning of a Plant, his weeds
All torne and tatter'd, fit for homely deeds,
But not for him. Upon his legs he wore
Patcht boots, to guard him from the brambles' gore;
His hands had thorne-proofe hedging Mittens on,
His head a Goats-skin Caske — through all which shone
His heart given over to abjectest mone.
Him when Ulysses saw consum'd with age,
And all the Ensignes on him that the rage
Of griefe presented, he brake out in teares,
And (taking stand then, where a tree of Peares
Shot high his forehead over him) his minde
Had much contention — if to yeeld to kinde,
Make straight way to his father, kisse, embrace,
Tell his returne, and put on all the face
And fashion of his instant-told returne,
Or stay th'impulsion, and the long day burne
Of his quite losse given in his Father's feare
A little longer, trying first his cheare
With some free dalliance, th'earnest being so neare.
This course his choise preferr'd, and forth he went,
His Father then his aged shoulders bent
Beneath what yeares had stoop't, about a Tree
Busily digging: " O, old man," said he,
" You want no skill to dresse and decke your ground,
For all your Plants doth order'd distance bound:
No Apple, Peare, or Olive, Fig, or Vine,
Nor any plat or quarter you confine
To grasse or flow'rs, stands empty of your care,
Which shewes exact in each peculiare:
And yet (which let not move you) you bestow
No care upon your selfe, though to this show
Of outward irksomnesse to what you are,
You labour with an inward froward care,
Which is your age, that should weare all without
More neate and cherishing. I make no doubt
That any sloth you use procures your Lord
To let an old man go so much abhord
In all his weeds, nor shines there in your looke
A fashion and a goodlinesse so tooke
With abject qualities to merit this
Nasty entreaty. Your resemblance is
A very King's and shines through this retreate.
You looke like one that, having washt and eate,
Should sleepe securely, lying sweet and neate.
It is the ground of Age, when cares abuse it,
To know life's end; and, as 'tis sweet, so use it.
" But utter truth and tell: what Lord is he
That rates your labour and your liberty?
Whose Orchard is it that you husband thus?
Or quit me this doubt — for if Ithacus
This kingdome claimes for his, the man I found
At first arrivall heere is hardly sound
Of braine or civill, not induring stay
To tell, nor heare me my enquiry out
Of that my friend — if stil he bore about
His life and Being, or were div'd to Death
And in the house of him that harboureth
The soules of men. For once he liv'd my guest,
My Land and house retaining interest
In his abode there, where there so journ'd none,
As guest, from any forreigne Region
Of more price with me. He deriv'd his race
From Ithaca, and said his Father was
Laertes, surnam'd Arcesiades.
I had him home, and all the offices
Perform'd to him that fitted any friend,
Whose proofe I did to wealthy gifts extend —
Seven Talents Gold, a Bolle all silver, set
With pots of flowers, twelve robes, that had no pleat,
Twelve cloakes (or mantles) of delicious dye,
Twelve inner weeds, twelve sutes of Tapistry.
I gave him likewise women skill'd in use
Of Loome and Needle, freeing him to chuse
Foure the most faire." His Father (weeping) saide:
" Stranger! The earth to which you are convaide
Is Ithaca, by such rude men possest,
Unjust and insolent, as first addrest
To your encounter; but the gifts you gave
Were given (alas) to the ungratefull grave.
If with his people, where you now arrive,
Your Fate had bene to finde your friend alive,
You shold have found like Guest-rites from his hand,
Like gifts, and kinde passe to your wished land.
But how long since receiv'd you as your guest
Your Friend, my Son, who was th'unhappiest
Of all men breathing, if he were at all?
O, borne when Fates and ill Aspects let fall
A cruell influence for him, farre away
From Friends and Countrey, destin'd to alay
The Sea-bred appetites, or (left ashore)
To be by Fowles and upland Monsters tore —
His life's kinde authors nor his wealthy wife
Bemoning (as behoov'd) his parted life,
Nor closing (as in honour's course it lyes
To all men dead) in bed his dying eyes.
But give me knowledge of your name and race.
What City bred you? Where the anchoring place
Your ship now rides at lies, that shor'd you here?
And where your men? Or if a passenger
In others' Keeles you came, who (giving Land
To your adventures heere, some other Strand
To fetch in further course) have left to us
Your welcome presence?" His reply was thus:
" I am of Alybande, where I hold
My name's chief house, to much renowne extold.
My Father Aphidantes, fam'd to spring
From Polypemon, the Molossian King:
My name, Eperitus. My taking land
On this faire Isle was rul'd by the command
Of God or Fortune, quite against consent
Of my free purpose, that in course was bent
For th'Isle Sicania. My Ship is held
Farre from the City, neere an ample field.
And, for Ulysses, since his passe from me
'Tis now five yeares. Unblest by Destiny,
That all this time hath had the Fate to erre!
Though at his parting good Birds did augure
His putting off, and on his right hand flew,
Which to his passage my affection drew,
His spirit joyfull; and my hope was now
To guest with him and see his hand bestow
Rights of our friendship." This a cloud of griefe
Cast over all the forces of his life.
With both his hands the burning dust he swept
Up from the earth, which on his head he heapt,
And fetcht a sigh, as in it life were broke —
Which greev'd his Son, and gave so smart a stroke
Upon his nosethrils with the inward stripe
That up the Veine rose there; and weeping ripe
He was to see his Sire feele such woe
For his dissembl'd joy — which now (let goe)
He sprung from earth, embrac't and kist his Sire,
And said: " O Father, he of whom y'enquire
Am I my selfe, that (from you twenty yeares)
Is now return'd. But do not breake in teares,
For now we must not formes of kinde maintaine,
But haste and guard the substance. I have slaine
All my wive's wooers, so revenging now
Their wrong so long time suffer'd. Take not you
The comfort of my comming, then, to heart
At this glad instant; but, in prov'd desert
Of your grave judgment, give mone glad suspence,
And on the sodaine put this consequence
In act as absolute, as all time went
To ripening of your resolute assent."
All this haste made not his staide faith so free
To trust his words, who said: " If you are he,
Approve it by some signe." " This scar then see,"
Replied Ulysses, " given me by the Bore
Slaine in Parnassus, I being sent before
By yours and by my honour'd Mother's will,
To see her Sire Autolycus fulfill
The gifts he vow'd at giving of my Name.
I'le tel you, too, the Trees (in goodly frame
Of this faire Orchard) that I askt of you
Being yet a childe, and follow'd for your show
And name of every Tree. You gave me then
Of Figge-trees forty, Apple-bearers ten,
Peare-trees thirteene, and fifty rankes of Vine,
Each one of which a season did confine
For his best eating. Not a Grape did grow
That grew not there, and had his heavy brow
When Jove's faire daughters (the all-ripening how'rs)
Gave timely date to it." This charg'd the pow'rs
Both of his knees and heart with such impression
Of sodaine comfort that it gave possession
Of all to Trance — the signes were all so true,
And did the love that gave them so renue.
He cast his armes about his sonne, and sunke,
The cicle slipping to his feete, so shrunke
Were all his age's forces with the fire
Of his yong love rekindl'd. The old Sire
The Son tooke up quite livelesse, but his breath
Againe respiring, and his soule from death
His bodie's pow'rs recovering, out he cried,
And said: " O Jupiter! I now have tried
That still there live in heaven remembring Gods
Of men that serve them; though the periods
They set to their apparances are long
In best men's sufferings, yet as sure as strong
They are in comforts, be their strange delayes
Extended never so from dayes to dayes.
Yet see the short joyes, or the soone-mixt feares
Of helpes with-held by them so many yeares —
For, if the wooers now have paide the paine
Due to their impious pleasures, now againe
Extreame feare takes me, lest we straight shall see
Th'Ithacensians here in mutinie,
Their Messengers dispatcht to win to friend
The Cephallenian Cities." " Do not spend
Your thoughts on these cares," saide his suffering son,
" But be of comfort, and see that course ron
That best may shun the worst. Our house is nere,
Telemachus and both his Herdsmen there
To dresse our supper with their utmost hast;
And thither haste we." This saide, forth they past,
Came home, and found Telemachus at feast
With both his Swaines: while who had done, all drest
With Baths and Balmes and royally arraid
The old King was by his Sicilian Maid —
By whose side Pallas stood, his crookt-age streitning,
His flesh more plumping and his looks enlightning,
Who yssuing then to view, his son admir'd
The God's Aspects into his forme inspir'd,
And said: " O Father, certainly some God
By your addression in this state hath stood,
More great, more reverend, rendring you by farre
At all your parts than of your selfe you are."
" I would to Jove," said he, " the Sun and She
That beares Jove's shield, the state had stood with me
That helpt me take in the wel-builded Tow'rs
Of strong Nericus (the Cephallian pow'rs
To that faire City leading) two dayes past,
While with the wooers thy conflict did last;
And I had then bene in the wooers' wreake!
I should have helpt thee so to render weake
Their stubborne knees that in thy joye's desert
Thy breast had bene too little for thy heart."
This said, and supper order'd by their men,
They state to it, old Dolius entring then,
And with him (tyr'd with labour) his sonnes came,
Call'd by their Mother, the Sicilian dame
That brought them up and drest their Father's fare —
As whose age grew, with it encreast her care
To see him serv'd as fitted. When (thus set)
These men beheld Ulysses there at meate,
They knew him, and astonisht in the place
Stood at his presence — who, with words of grace
Call'd to olde Dolius, saying: " Come and eate,
And banish all astonishment: your meate
Hath long bene ready and our selves made stay,
Expecting ever when your wished way
Would reach amongst us." This brought fiercely on
Old Dolius from his stand, who ran upon
(With both his armes abroad) the King, and kist
Of both his rapt up hands the either wrist,
Thus welcomming his presence: " O my Love,
Your presence heere (for which all wishes strove)
No one expected. Even the Gods have gone
In guide before you to your mansion.
Welcom, and all joyes to your heart contend.
Knowes yet Penelope? Or shall we send
Some one to tell her this?" " She knowes," said he,
" What need these troubles, Father, touch at thee?"
Then came the Sonnes of Dolius, and againe
Went over with their Father's entertaine,
Welcom'd, shooke hands, and then to feast sate down —
About which while they sate, about the Towne
Fame flew and shriek't about the cruell death
And Fate the wooers had sustain'd beneath
Ulysses' roofes. All heard; together all
From hence and thence met in Ulysses' Hall,
Short-breath'd and noisefull, bore out all the dead
To instant buriall, while their deaths were spread
To other Neighbor-Cities, where they liv'd —
From whence in swiftest Fisher-boats arriv'd
Men to transfer them home. In meane space, here
The heavy Nobles all in counsaile were,
Where (met in much heape) up to all arose
Extremely-greev'd Eupeithes so to lose
His Son Antinous, who first of all
By great Ulysses' hand had slaughtrous fall —
Whose Father (weeping for him) saide: " O Friends,
This man hath author'd workes of dismall ends,
Long since conveying in his guide to Troy
Good men and many, that did ships employ:
All which are lost, and all their Souldiers dead.
And now the best men Cephallenia bred
His hand hath slaughter'd. Go we then (before
His scape to Pylos or the Elean Shore
Where rule the Epeans) 'gainst his horrid hand:
For we shall grieve, and infamy will brand
Our Fames for ever, if we see our Sons
And Brothers end in these confusions,
Revenge left uninflicted. Nor will I
Enjoy one daye's life more, but greeve and die
With instant onset. Nor should you survive
To keepe a base and beastly name alive.
Haste then, lest flight prevent us." This with teares
His griefes advisd, and made all sufferers
In his affliction. But by this was come
Up to the Counsaile from Ulysses' home
(When sleep had left them, which the slaughters there
And their selfe dangers from their eyes in feare
Had two nights intercepted) those two men
That just Ulysses sav'd out of the slaine —
Which Medon and the sacred Singer were.
These stood amidst the Counsaile, and the feare
The slaughter had imprest in either's looke
Stucke stil so gastly that amaze it strooke
Through every there beholder — to whose eares
One thus enforc't, in his fright, cause of theirs:
" Attend me, Ithacensians. This sterne fact
Done by Ulysses was not put in act
Without the Gods' assistance. These selfe eies
Saw one of the immortall Deities
Close by Ulysses, Mentor's forme put on
At every part: and this sure Deity shone
Now neere Ulysses, setting on his bold
And slaughterous spirit, now the points controll'd
Of all the wooers' weapons, round about
The arm'd house whisking, in continuall rout
Their party putting, till in heapes they fell."
This newes new fears did through their spirits impel,
When Halitherses (honor'd Mastor's sonne,
Who of them all saw onely what was done
Present and future) the much-knowing man
And aged Heroe, this plaine course ran
Amongst their counsailes: " Give me likewise eare,
And let me tell ye, Friends, that these ils beare
On your malignant spleenes their sad effects,
Who not what I perswaded gave respects,
Nor what the people's Pastor, Mentor, saide —
That you should see your issues' follies staid
In those foule courses, by their petulant life
The goods devouring, scandaling the wife
Of no meane person, who (they still would say)
Could never more see his returning day:
Which yet appearing now, now give it trust,
And yeeld to my free counsailes: Do not thrust
Your owne safe persons on the acts your Sons
So deerely bought, lest their confusions
On your lov'd heads your like addictions draw."
This stood so farre from force of any Law
To curbe their loose attempts, that much the more
They rusht to wreake, and made rude tumult rore.
The greater part of all the Court arose:
Good counsaile could not ill designes dispose.
Eupeithes was perswader of the course,
Which (compleate arm'd) they put in present force:
The rest sate still in counsaile. These men met
Before the broad Towne in a place they set,
All girt in armes, Eupeithes choosing Chiefe
To all their follies, who put griefe to griefe,
And in his slaughter'd son's revenge did burne.
But Fate gave never feete to his returne,
Ordaining there his death. Then Pallas spake
To Jove, her Father, with intent to make
His will high Arbiter of th'act design'd,
And askt of him what his unsearched mind
Held undiscover'd — if with Armes, and ill,
And grave encounter, he would first fulfill
His sacred purpose, or both parts combine
In peacefull friendship? He askt: " Why incline
These doubts thy counsailes? Hast not thou decreed
That Ithacus should come and give his deed
The glory of revenge on these and theirs?
Performe thy will; the frame of these affaires
Have this fit issue — when Ulysses' hand
Hath reacht full wreake, his then renown'd command
Shall reigne for ever, faithfull Truces strooke
'Twixt him and all, for every man shall brooke
His Sons' and Brothers' slaughters by our meane
To send Oblivion in, expugning cleane
The Character of enmity in all,
As in best Leagues before. Peace, Feastivall
And Riches in abundance be the state
That crownes the close of Wise Ulysses' Fate."
This spurr'd the Free, who from heaven's Continent
To th'Ithacensian Isle made straight descent.
Where (dinner past) Ulysses said: " Some one
Looke out to see their neerenesse." Dolius' sonne
Made present speed abroad, and saw them nie,
Ran backe, and told, bad Arme; and instantlie
Were all in armes. Ulysses' part was foure,
And sixe more sons of Dolius — all his powre
Two onely more, which were his aged Sire
And like-year'd Dolius, whose lives' slaked fire
All white had left their heads, yet, driven by Neede,
Made Souldiers both of necessary deede.
And now, all girt in armes, the Ports set wide,
They sallied forth, Ulysses being their guide.
And to them, in the instant, Pallas came,
In forme and voice like Mentor, who, a flame
Inspir'd of comfort in Ulysses' hart
With her seene presence. To his Son, apart,
He thus then spake: " Now, Son, your eyes shall see
(Expos'd in slaughterous fight) the enemy,
Against whom who shall best serve will be seene:
Disgrace not then your race, that yet hath beene
For force and fortitude the formost tried
Of all earth's off-springs." His true Son replied:
" Your selfe shall see, lov'd Father, if you please,
That my deservings shall in nought digresse
From best fame of our Race's formost merit."
The old King sprung for joy to heare his spirit,
And said: " O lov'd Immortals, what a day
Do your cleere bounties to my life display?
I joy past measure to behold my Son
And Nephew close in such contention
Of vertues martiall." Pallas (standing neere)
Said: " O my Friend! Of all, supreamly deere
Seed of Arcesius, pray to Jove and her
That rules in Armes (his daughter) and a dart
(Spritefully brandisht) hurle at th'adverse part."
This said, he pray'd; and she a mighty force
Inspir'd within him, who gave instant course
To his brave-brandisht Lance, which strook the brasse
That cheek't Eupeithes' Caske, and thrust his passe
Quite through his head: who fell, and sounded falling,
His Armes the sound againe from earth recalling.
Ulysses and his Son rusht on before,
And with their both-way-headed Darts did gore
Their enemies' breasts so thicke that all had gone
The way of slaughter, had not Pallas throwne
Her voice betwixt them, charging all to stay
And spare expence of blood. Her voice did fray
The blood so from their faces that it left
A greenish palenesse. All their hands it reft
Of all their weapons, falling thence to earth,
And to the commune Mother of their Birth
(The City) all fled, in desire to save
The lives yet left them. Then Ulysses gave
A horrid shout, and like Jove's Eagle flew
In fiery pursuite, till Saturnius threw
His smoaking lightning twixt them, that had fall
Before Minerva — who then out did call
Thus to Ulysses: " Borne of Jove! Abstaine
From further bloodshed: Jove's hand in the slaine
Hath equall'd in their paines their prides to thee.
Abstaine then, lest you move the Deity."
Againe, then, twixt both parts the seed of Jove,
Athenian Pallas, of all future love
A league compos'd; and for her forme tooke choice
Of Mentor's likenesse both in Limb and Voice.

So wrought divine Ulysses through his woes,
So croun'd the Light with him his Mother's Throes,
As through his great Renowner I have wrought,
And my safe saile to sacred Anchor brought.
Nor did the Argive ship more burthen feele,
That bore the Care of all men in her Keele,
Than my adventurous Barke — the Colchian Fleece
Not halfe so precious as this soule of Greece —
In whose songs I have made our shores rejoyce,
And Greeke it selfe veile to our English voyce.
Yet this inestimable Pearle wil all
Our Dunghil Chanticheres but obvious call,
Each Moderne scraper this Gem scratching by,
His Oate preferring far. Let such let ly:
So scorne the stars the clouds, as true-soul'd men
Despise Deceivers. For, as Clouds would faine
Obscure the Stars, yet (Regions left below
With all their envies) bar them but of show,
For they shine ever, and wil shine when they
Dissolve in sinckes, make Mire, and temper Clay:
So puft Impostors (our Muse-vapours) strive,
With their selfe-blowne additions, to deprive
Men solid of their full, though infinite short
They come in their compare and false report
Of levelling or touching at their light,
That still retaine their radiance and cleere right,
And shal shine ever — when, alas, one blast
Of least disgrace teares downe th'Impostor's Mast,
His Tops, and Tacklings, his whole Freight and He
Confiscate to the Fishy Monarchy,
His trash, by foolish Fame bought now, from hence
Given to serve Mackarell forth, and Frankincence.