THE ARGUMENT

Ulysses and rogue Irus fight.
Penelope vouchsafes her sight
To all her Wooers; who present
Gifts to her, ravish’d with content.
A certain parlé then we sing.
Betwixt a Wooer and the King.

ANOTHER ARGUMENT
Σίγμα.

The beggar’s glee.
The King’s high fame.
Gifts giv’n to see
A virtuous dame.

There came a common beggar to the court,
Who in the city begg’d of all resort,
Excell’d in madness of the gut, drunk, ate,
Past intermission, was most hugely great,
Yet had no fibres in him nor no force,
In sight a man, in mind a living corse.
His true name was Arnæus, for his mother
Impos’d it from his birth, and yet another
The city youth would give him (from the course
He after took, deriv’d out of the force
That need held on him, which was up and down
To run on all men’s errands through the town)
Which sounded Irus. When whose gut was come,
He needs would bar Ulysses his own home,
And fell to chiding him: “Old man,” said he,
“Your way out of the entry quickly see
Be with fair language taken, lest your stay
But little longer see you dragg’d away.
See, sir, observe you not how all these make
Direct signs at me, charging me to take
Your heels, and drag you out? But I take shame.
Rise yet, y’ are best, lest we two play a game
At cuffs together.” He bent brows, and said:
“Wretch! I do thee no ill, nor once upbraid
Thy presence with a word, nor, what mine eye
By all hands sees thee giv’n, one thought envy.
Nor shouldst thou envy others. Thou may’st see
The place will hold us both; and seem’st to me
A beggar like myself; which who can mend?
The Gods give most to whom they least are friend.
The chief goods Gods give, is in good to end.
But to the hands’ strife, of which y’ are so free,
Provoke me not, for fear you anger me;
And lest the old man, on whose scorn you stood,
Your lips and bosom make shake hands in blood.
I love my quiet well, and more will love
To-morrow than to-day. But if you move
My peace beyond my right, the war you make
Will never after give you will to take
Ulysses’ house into your begging walk.”
“O Gods,” said he, “how volubly doth talk
This eating gulf! And how his fume breaks out,
As from an old crack’d oven! Whom I will clout
So bitterly, and so with both hands mall
His chaps together, that his teeth shall fall
As plain seen on the earth as any sow’s,
That ruts the corn-fields, or devours the mows.
Come, close we now, that all may see what wrong
An old man tempts that takes at cuffs a young.”
Thus in the entry of those lofty tow’rs
These two, with all spleen, spent their jarring pow’rs.
Antinous took it, laugh’d, and said: “O friends,
We never had such sport! This guest contends
With this vast beggar at the buffet’s fight.
Come, join we hands, and screw up all their spite.”
All rose in laughters; and about them bore
All the ragg’d rout of beggars at the door.
Then mov’d Antinous the victor’s hire
To all the Wooers thus: “There are now at fire
Two breasts of goat; both which let law set down
Before the man that wins the day’s renown,
With all their fat and gravy. And of both
The glorious victor shall prefer his tooth,
To which he makes his choice of, from us all,
And ever after banquet in our hall,
With what our boards yield; not a beggar more
Allow’d to share, but all keep out at door.”
This he propos’d; and this they all approv’d,
To which Ulysses answer’d: “O most lov’d,
By no means should an old man, and one old
In chief with sorrows, be so over-bold
To combat with his younger; but, alas,
Man’s own-ill-working belly needs will pass
This work upon me, and enforce me, too,
To beat this fellow. But then, you must do
My age no wrong, to take my younger’s part,
And play me foul play, making your strokes’ smart
Help his to conquer; for you eas’ly may
With your strengths crush me. Do then right, and lay
Your honours on it in your oaths, to yield
His part no aid, but equal leave the field.”
All swore his will. But then Telemachus
His father’s scoffs with comforts serious
Could not but answer, and made this reply:
“Guest! If thine own pow’rs cheer thy victory,
Fear no man’s else that will not pass it free.
He fights with many that shall touch but thee.
I’ll see thy guest-right paid. Thou here art come
In my protection; and to this the sum
Of all these Wooers (which Antinous are
And King Eurymachus) conjoin their care.”
Both vow’d it. When Ulysses, laying by
His upper weed, his inner beggary
Near show’d his shame, which he with rags prevented
Pluck’d from about his thighs, and so presented
Their goodly sight, which were so white and great,
And his large shoulders were to view so set
By his bare rags, his arms, his breast, and all,
So broad, and brawny—their grace natural
Being kept by Pallas, ever standing near—
That all the Wooers his admirers were
Beyond all measure, mutual whispers driv’n
Through all their cluster, saying: “Sure as heav’n
Poor Irus pull’d upon him bitter blows.
Through his thin garment what a thigh he shows!”
They said; but Irus felt. His coward mind
Was mov’d at root. But now he needs must find
Facts to his brags; and forth at all parts fit
The servants brought him, all his art’ries smit
With fears and tremblings. Which Antinous saw,
And said: “Nay, now too late comes fear. No law
Thou shouldst at first have giv’n thy braggart vein,
Nor should it so have swell’d, if terrors strain
Thy spirits to this pass, for a man so old,
And worn with penuries that still lay hold
On his ragg’d person. Howsoever, take
This vow from me for firm: That if, he make
Thy forces stoop, and prove his own supreme,
I’ll put thee in a ship, and down the stream
Send thee ashore where King Echetus reigns,
(The roughest tyrant that the world contains)
And he will slit thy nostrils, crop each ear,
Thy shame cut off, and give it dogs to tear.”
This shook his nerves the more. But both were now
Brought to the lists; and up did either throw
His heavy fists. Ulysses, in suspense
To strike so home that he should fright from thence
His coward soul, his trunk laid prostrate there,
Or let him take more leisure to his fear,
And stoop him by degrees. The last show’d best,
To strike him slightly, out of fear the rest
Would else discover him. But, peace now broke,
On his right shoulder Irus laid his stroke.
Ulysses struck him just beneath the ear,
His jawbone broke, and made the blood appear;
When straight he strew’d the dust, and made his cry
Stand for himself; with whom his teeth did lie,
Spit with his blood out; and against the ground
His heels lay sprawling. Up the hands went round
Of all the Wooers, all at point to die
With violent laughters. Then the king did ply
The beggar’s feet, and dragg’d him forth the hall,
Along the entry, to the gates and wall;
Where leaving him, he put into his hand
A staff; and bade him there use his command
On swine and dogs, and not presume to be
Lord of the guests, or of the beggary,
Since he of all men was the scum and curse;
And so bade please with that, or fare yet worse.
Then cast he on his scrip, all-patch’d and rent,
Hung by a rotten cord, and back he went
To greet the entry’s threshold with his seat.
The Wooers throng’d to him, and did entreat
With gentle words his conquest, laughing still,
Pray’d Jove and all the Gods to give his will
What most it wish’d him and would joy him most,
Since he so happily had clear’d their coast
Of that unsavoury morsel; whom they vow’d
To see with all their utmost haste bestow’d
Aboard a ship, and for Epirus sent
To King Echetus, on whose throne was spent
The worst man’s seat that breath’d. And thus was grac’d
Divine Ulysses, who with joy embrac’d
Ev’n that poor conquest. Then was set to him
The goodly goat’s breast promis’d (that did swim
In fat and gravy) by Antinous,
And from a basket, by Amphinomus,
Were two breads giv’n him; who, besides, renown’d
His banquet with a golden goblet; crown’d,
And this high salutation: “Frolic, guest,
And be those riches that you first possest
Restor’d again with full as many joys,
As in your poor state I see now annoys.”
“Amphinomus,” said he, “you seem to me
Exceeding wise, as being the progeny
Of such a father as authentic Fame
Hath told me was so, one of honour’d name,
And great revenues in Dulichius,
His fair name Nisus. He is blazon’d thus;
And you to be his son, his wisdom heiring,
As well as wealth, his state in nought impairing.
To prove which always, let me tell you this,
(As warning you to shun the miseries
That follow full states, if they be not held
With wisdom still at full, and so compell’d
To courses that abode not in their brows,
By too much swing, their sudden overthrows)
Of all things breathing, or that creep on earth,
Nought is more wretched than a human birth.
Bless’d men think never they can cursed be,
While any power lasts to move a knee.
But when the bless’d Gods make them feel that smart,
That fled their faith so, as they had no heart
They bear their suff’rings, and, what well they might
Have clearly shunn’d, they then meet in despite.
The mind of man flies still out of his way,
Unless God guide and prompt it ev’ry day.
I thought me once a blesséd man with men.
And fashion’d me to all so counted then,
Did all injustice like them, what for lust,
Or any pleasure, never so unjust
I could by pow’r or violence obtain,
And gave them both in all their pow’rs the rein,
Bold of my fathers and my brothers still;
While which held good my arts seem’d never ill.
And thus is none held simply good or bad,
But as his will is either miss’d or had.
All goods God’s gifts man calls, howe’er he gets them,
And so takes all; what price soe’er God sets them,
Says nought how ill they come, nor will controul
That ravine in him, though it cost his soul.
And these parts here I see these Wooers play,
Take all that falls, and all dishonours lay
On that man’s Queen, that, tell your friends, doth bear
No long time’s absence, but is passing near.
Let God then guide thee home, lest he may meet
In his return thy undeparted feet;
For when he enters, and sees men so rude,
The quarrel cannot but in blood conclude.”
This said, he sacrific’d, then drunk, and then
Referr’d the giv’n bowl to the guide-of-men;
Who walk’d away, afflicted at his heart,
Shook head, and fear’d that these facts would convert
To ill in th’ end; yet had not grace to fly,
Minerva stay’d him, being ordain’d to die
Upon the lance of young Ulyssides.
So down he sat; and then did Pallas please
T’ incline the Queen’s affections to appear
To all the Wooers, to extend their cheer
To th’ utmost lightning that still ushers death,
And made her put on all the painted sheath,
That might both set her Wooers’ fancies high,
And get her greater honour in the eye
Ev’n of her son and sov’reign than before.
Who laughing yet, to show her humour bore
No serious appetite to that light show,
She told Eurynomé, that not till now
She ever knew her entertain desire
To please her Wooers’ eyes, but oft on fire
She set their hate, in keeping from them still;
Yet now she pleas’d t’ appear, though from no will
To do them honour, vowing she would tell
Her son that of them that should fit him well
To make use of; which was, not to converse
Too freely with their pride, nor to disperse
His thoughts amongst them, since they us’d to give
Good words, but through them ill intents did drive.
Eurynomé replied: “With good advise
You vow his counsel, and your open guise.
Go then, advise your son, nor keep more close
Your cheeks, still drown’d in your eyes’ overflows,
But bathe your body, and with balms make clear
Your thicken’d count’nance. Uncomposéd cheer,
And ever mourning, will the marrow wear.
Nor have you cause to mourn; your son hath now
Put on that virtue which, in chief, your vow
Wish’d, as your blessing, at his birth, might deck
His blood and person.” “But forbear to speak
Of baths, or balmings, or of beauty, now,”
The Queen replied, “lest, urging comforts, you
Discomfort much; because the Gods have won
The spoil of my looks since my lord was gone.
But these must serve. Call hither then to me
Hippodamia and Autonoé,
That those our train additions may supply
Our own deserts. And yet, besides, not I,
With all my age, have learn’d the boldness yet
T’ expose myself to men, unless I get
Some other gracers.” This said, forth she went
To call the ladies, and much spirit spent
To make their utmost speed, for now their Queen
Would both herself show, and make them be seen.
But now Minerva other projects laid,
And through Icarius’ daughter’s veins convey’d
Sweet sleep’s desire; in whose soft fumes involv’d
She was as soon as laid, and quite dissolv’d
Were all her lineaments. The Goddess then
Bestow’d immortal gifts on her, that men
Might wonder at her beauties; and the beams
That glister in the Deified Supremes
She clear’d her mourning count’nance up withall.
Ev’n such a radiance as doth round empall
Crown’d Cytherea, when her order’d places
Conduct the bevy of the dancing Graces,
She added to her own; more plump, more high,
And fairer than the polish’d ivory,
Rend’ring her parts and presence. This grace done,
Away the Deity flew; and up did run
Her lovely-wristed ladies, with a noise
That blew the soft chains from her sleeping joys;
When she her fair eyes wip’d, and, gasping, said:
“O me unblest! How deep a sweet sleep spread
His shades about me! Would Diana pleas’d
To shoot me with a death no more diseas’d,
As soon as might be, that no more my moan
Might waste my blood in weepings never done,
For want of that accomplish’d virtue spher’d
In my lov’d lord, to all the Greeks preferr’d!”
Then she descended with her maids, and took
Place in the portal; whence her beamy look
Reach’d ev’ry Wooer’s heart; yet cast she on
So thin a veil, that through it quite there shone
A grace so stol’n, it pleas’d above the clear,
And sunk the knees of ev’ry Wooer there,
Their minds so melted in love’s vehement fires,
That to her bed she heighten’d all desires.
The prince then coming near, she said: “O son,
Thy thoughts and judgments have not yet put on
That constancy in what becomes their good,
Which all expect in thee. Thy younger blood
Did sparkle choicer spirits; but, arriv’d
At this full growth, wherein their form hath thriv’d
Beyond the bounds of childhood, and when now,
Beholders should affirm, ‘This man doth grow
Like the rare son of his matchless Sire,
(His goodliness, his beauty, and his fire
Of soul aspir’d to)’ thou mak’st nothing good
Thy fate, nor fortune, nor thy height of blood,
In manage of thy actions. What a deed
Of foul desert hath thy gross suff’rance freed
Beneath thine own roof! A poor stranger here
Us’d most unmanly! How will this appear
To all the world, when Fame shall trumpet out,
That thus, and thus, are our guests beat about
Our court unrighted? ’Tis a blaze will show
Extremely shameful to your name and you.”
“I blame you not, O mother,” he replied,
“That, this clear wrong sustain’d by me, you chide;
Yet know I both the good and bad of all,
Being past the years in which young errors fall.
But, all this known, skill is not so exact
To give, when once it knows, things fit their fact.
I well may doubt the prease of strangers here,
Who, bent to ill, and only my nerves near,
May do it in despite. And yet the jar
Betwixt our guest and Irus was no war
Wrought by the Wooers; nor our guest sustain’d
Wrong in that action, but the conquest gain’d.
And would to Jove, Minerva, and the Sun,
That all your Wooers might serve Contention
For such a purchase as the beggar made,
And wore such weak heads! Some should death invade,
Strew’d in the entry, some embrue the hall,
Till ev’ry man had vengeance capital,
Sattled like Irus at the gates, his head
Ev’ry way nodding, like one forfeited
To reeling Bacchus, knees nor feet his own,
To bear him where he’s better lov’d or known.”
Their speeches giv’n this end, Eurymachus
Began his courtship, and express’d it thus:
“Most wise Icarius’ daughter! If all those,
That did for Colchos vent’rous sail dispose
For that rich purchase, had before but seen
Earth’s richer prize in th’ Ithacensian Queen,
They had not made that voyage, but to you
Would all their virtues and their beings vow.
Should all the world know what a worth you store,
To-morrow than to-day, and next light, more
Your court should banquet; since to all dames you
Are far preferr’d, both for the grace of show,
In stature, beauty, form in ev’ry kind
Of all parts outward, and for faultless mind.”
“Alas,” said she, “my virtue, body, form,
The Gods have blasted with that only storm
That ravish’d Greece to Ilion, since my lord,
For that war shipp’d, bore all my goods aboard.
If he, return’d, should come and govern here
My life’s whole state, the grace of all things there
His guide would heighten, as the spirit it bore;
Which dead in me lives, giv’n him long before.
A sad course I live now; Heav’n’s stern decree
With many an ill hath numb’d and deaded me.
He took life with him, when he took my hand
In parting from me to the Trojan strand,
These words my witness: ‘Woman! I conceive
That not all th’ Achives bound for Troy shall leave
Their native earth their safe returnéd bones,
Fame saying, that Troy trains up approvéd sons
In deeds of arms, brave putters-off of shafts,
For winging lances masters of their crafts,
Unmatchéd riders, swift of foot, and straight
Can arbitrate a war of deadliest weight.
Hope then can scarce fill all with life’s supply,
And of all any failing, why not I?
Nor do I know, if God hath marshall’d me
Amongst the safe-return’d; or his decree
Hath left me to the thraldom order’d there.
However, all cares be thy burthens here,
My sire and mother tend as much as now,
I further off, more near in cares be you.
Your son to man’s state grown, wed whom you will;
And, you gone, his care let his household fill.’
Thus made my lord his will, which Heav’n sees prov’d
Almost at all parts; for the Sun remov’d
Down to his set, ere long, will lead the night
Of those abhorréd nuptials, that should fright
Each worthy woman, which her second are
With any man that breathes, her first lord’s care
Dead, because he to flesh and blood is dead;
Which, I fear, I shall yield to, and so wed
A second husband; and my reason is,
Since Jove hath taken from me all his bliss.
Whom God gives over they themselves forsake,
Their griefs their joys, their God their devil, make.
And ’tis a great grief, nor was seen till now
In any fashion of such men as woo
A good and wealthy woman, and contend
Who shall obtain her, that those men should spend
Her beeves and best sheep, as their chiefest ends,
But rather that herself and all her friends
They should with banquets and rich gifts entreat.
Their life is death that live with other’s meat.”
Divine Ulysses much rejoic’d to hear
His Queen thus fish for gifts, and keep in cheer.
Their hearts with hope that she would wed again,
Her mind yet still her first intent retain.
Antinous saw the Wooers won to give,
And said: “Wise Queen, by all your means receive
Whatever bounty any Wooer shall use.
Gifts freely giv’n ’tis folly to refuse.
For know, that we resolve not to be gone
To keep our own roofs, till of all some one,
Whom best you like, your long-woo’d love shall win.”
This pleas’d the rest, and ev’ry one sent in
His present by the herald. First had place
Antinous’ gift: A robe of special grace,
Exceeding full and fair, and twenty hues
Chang’d lustre to it; to which choice of shows,
Twelve massy plated buttons, all of gold,
Enrich’d the substance, made to fairly hold
The robe together, all lac’d down before,
Where keeps and catches both sides of it wore.
Eurymachus a golden tablet gave,
In which did Art her choicest works engrave;
And round about an amber verge did run,
That cast a radiance from it like the Sun.
Eurydamas two servants had that bore
Two goodly earrings, whose rich hollows wore
Three pearls in either, like so many eyes,
Reflecting glances radiant as the skies.
The king Pisander, great Polyctor’s heir,
A casket gave, exceeding rich and fair.
The other other wealthy gifts commended
To her fair hand; which took, and straight ascended
This Goddess of her sex her upper state.
Her ladies all her gifts elaborate
Up bearing after. All to dancing then
The Wooers went, and song’s delightful strain;
In which they frolick’d, till the evening came,
And then rais’d sable Hesperus his flame.
When, for their lights within, they set up there
Three lamps, whose wicks were wood exceeding sere,
And passing porous; which they caus’d to burn,
Their matter ever minister’d by turn
Of sev’ral handmaids. Whom Ulysses seeing
Too conversant with Wooers, ill-agreeing
With guise of maids, advis’d in this fair sort:
“Maids of your long-lack’d King, keep you the port
Your Queen’s chaste presence bears. Go up to her,
Employ your looms, or rocks, and keep ye there;
I’ll serve to feed these lamps, should these lords’ dances
Last till Aurora cheer’d us with their glances.
They cannot weary me, for I am one
Born to endure when all men else have done.”
They wantonly brake out in laughters all,
Look’d on each other; and to terms did fall
Cheek-proud Melantho, who was Dolius’ seed,
Kept by the Queen, that gave her dainty bread
Fit for her daughter; and yet won not so
Her heart to her to share in any woe
She suffer’d for her lord, but she was great
With great Eurymachus, and her love’s heat
In his bed quench’d. And this choleric thing
Bestow’d this railing language on the King:
“Base stranger, you are taken in your brain,
You talk so wildly. Never you again
Can get where you were born, and seek your bed
In some smith’s hovel, or the marketsted,
But here you must take confidence to prate
Before all these; for fear can get no state
In your wine-hardy stomach. Or ’tis like
To prove your native garb, your tongue will strike
On this side of your mouth still, being at best.
Is the man idle-brain’d for want of rest?
Or proud because he beat the roguish beggar?
Take heed, Sir, lest some better man beleager
Your ears with his fists, and set headlong hence
Your bold abode here with your blood’s expence.”
He, looking sternly on her, answer’d her:
“Dog! What broad language giv’st thou? I’ll prefer
Your usage to the prince, that he may fall
Foul on your fair limbs till he tell them all.”
This fray’d the wenches, and all straight got gone
In fear about their business, ev’ry one
Confessing he said well. But he stood now
Close by the cressets, and did looks bestow
On all men there; his brain employ’d about
Some sharper business than to dance it out,
Which had not long to go. Nor therefore would
Minerva let the Wooers’ spleens grow cold
With too good usuage of him, that his heart
Might fret enough, and make his choler smart.
Eurymachus provok’d him first, and made
His fellow laugh, with a conceit he had
Fetch’d far from what was spoken long before,
That his poor form perhaps some Deity bore.
“It well may chance,” said he, “some God doth bear
This man’s resemblance, for, thus standing near
The glist’ring torches, his slick’d head doth throw
Beams round about it as those cressets do,
For not a hair he hath to give it shade.
Say, will thy heart serve t’ undertake a trade
For fitting wages? Should I take thee hence
To walk my grounds, and look to ev’ry fence,
Or plant high trees, thy hire should raise thy forces
Food store, and clothes. But these same idle courses
Thou art so prompt in that thou wilt not work,
But forage up and down, and beg, and lurk
In ev’ry house whose roofs hold any will
To feed such fellows. That thy gut may fill,
Gives end to all thy being.” He replied:
“I wish, at any work we two were tried,
In height of spring-time, when heav’n’s lights are long,
I a good crook’d scythe that were sharp and strong,
You such another, where the grass grew deep,
Up by day-break, and both our labours keep
Up till slow darkness eas’d the labouring light,
Fasting all day, and not a crumb till night;
We then should prove our either workmanship.
Or if, again, beeves, that the goad or whip
Were apt t’ obey before a tearing plow,
Big lusty beasts, alike in bulk and brow,
Alike in labour, and alike in strength,
Our task four acres, to be till’d in length
Of one sole day; again: then you should try
If the dull glebe before the plow-should fly,
Or I a long stitch could bear clean and even.
Or lastly, if the Guide of earth and heaven
Should stir stern war up, either here or there,
And that at this day I had double spear,
And shield, and steel casque fitting for my brows;
At this work likewise, ’midst the foremost blows,
Your eyes should note me, and get little cause
To twit me with my belly’s sole applause.
But you affect t’ affect with injury,
Your mind ungentle, seem in valour high,
Because ’gainst few, and those not of the best,
Your conversation hath been still profest.
But if Ulysses, landed on his earth,
And enter’d on the true right of his birth,
Should come and front ye, straight his ample gates
Your feet would hold too narrow for your fates.”
He frown’d, rag’d, call’d him wretch, and vow’d
To be his death, since he durst prove so proud
Amongst so many, to tell him so home
What he affected; ask’d, if overcome
With wine he were, or, as his minion said,
Talk’d still so idly, and were palsiéd
In his mind’s instruments, or was proud because
He gat from Irus off with such applause?
With all which, snatching up a stool, he threw;
When old Ulysses to the knees withdrew
Of the Dulichian lord, Amphinomus,
As if he fear’d him. His dart missing thus
His aged object, and his page’s hand
(A boy that waited on his cup’s command,
Now holding of an ewer to him) he smit,
Down fell the sounding ewer, and after it
The guiltless page lay sprawling in the dust,
And crying out. When all the Wooers thrust
A tumult up amongst them, wishing all
The rogue had perish’d in some hospital,
Before his life there stirr’d such uproars up,
And with rude speeches spice their pleasures’ cup.
And all this for a beggar to fulfill
A filthy proverb: Good still yields to ill.
The prince cried out on them, to let the bad
Obscure the good so; told them they were mad,
Abus’d their banquet, and affirm’d some God
Tried mast’ries with them; bade them take their load
Of food and wine, sit up, or fall to bed
At their free pleasures; and since he gave head
To all their freedoms, why should they mistake
Their own rich humours for a beggar’s sake?
All bit their lips to be so taken down,
And taught the course that should have been their own,
Admir’d the prince; and said he bravely spoke.
But Nisus’ son then struck the equal stroke,
And said: “O friends, let no man here disdain
To put up equal speeches, nor maintain
With serious words an humour, nor with stroke
A stranger in another’s house provoke,
Nor touch the meanest servant, but confine
All these dissentions in a bowl of wine;
Which fill us, cup-bearer, that, having done
Our nightly sacrifice, we may atone
Our pow’rs with sleep, resigning first the guest
Up to the prince, that holds all interest
In his disposure here; the house being his
In just descent, and all the faculties.”
This all approv’d; when noble Mulius,
Herald-in-chief to lord Amphinomus,
The wine distributed with rev’rend grace
To ev’ry Wooer; when the Gods giv’n place;
With service fit; they serv’d themselves, and took
Their parting cups, till, when they all had shook
The angry humour off, they bent to rest,
And ev’ry Wooer to sev’ral roofs addrest.
THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ODYSSEYS.