The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts

  In Troy’s brave siege; he was squint-ey’d, and lame of either foot;

  So crook-back’d, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot

  (Here and there spers’d) thin mossy hair. He most of all envíed

  Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide.

  Nor could the sacred King himself avoid his saucy vein;

  Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain,

  Being angry for Achilles’ wrong, he cried out, railing thus:

  “Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What would’st thou more of us?

  Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine,

  With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign

  To our invasion. Want’st thou then, besides all this, more gold

  From Troy’s knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold

  I or some other Greek must take? Or would’st thou yet again

  Force from some other lord his prise, to soothe the lusts that reign

  In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be

  A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny

  By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy,

  And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, fly

  Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys,

  And try if we help’d him or not; he wrong’d a man that weighs

  Far more than he himself in worth; he forc’d from Thetis’ son,

  And keeps his prise still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won

  The style of wrathful worthily; he’s soft, he’s too remiss;

  Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.”

  Thus he the people’s Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him

  Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim,

  This bitter check gave: “Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein

  On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restrain,

  With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree;

  For not a worse, of all this host, came with our King than thee,

  To Troy’s great siege; then do not take into that mouth of thine

  The names of kings, much less revile the dignities that shine

  In their supreme states, wresting thus this motion for our home,

  To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will come

  Of these designments, if it be our good to stay, or go.

  Nor is it that thou stand’st on; thou revil’st our Gen’ral so,

  Only because he hath so much, not giv’n by such as thou

  But our heroës. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow

  (Which shall be curiously observ’d) if ever I shall hear

  This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear

  This head, nor be the father call’d of young Telemachus,

  If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus

  Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes, weeping hence

  This glory thou affect’st to rail.” This said, his insolence

  He settled with his sceptre; strook his back and shoulders so

  That bloody wales rose. He shrunk round; and from his eyes did flow

  Moist tears, and, looking filthily, he sate, fear’d, smarted, dried

  His blubber’d cheeks; and all the prease, though griev’d to be denied

  Their wish’d retreat for home, yet laugh’d delightsomely, and spake

  Either to other: “O ye Gods, how infinitely take

  Ulysses’ virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great

  In ord’ring armies, how most well this act became his heat,

  To beat from council this rude fool! I think his saucy spirit,

  Hereafter, will not let his tongue abuse the sov’reign merit,

  Exempt from such base tongues as his.” Thus spake the people; then

  The city-razer Ithacus stood up to speak again,

  Holding his sceptre. Close to him gray-eyed Minerva stood,

  And, like a herald, silence caus’d, that all the Achive brood

  (From first to last) might hear and know the counsel; when, inclin’d

  To all their good, Ulysses said: “Atrides, now I find

  These men would render thee the shame of all men; nor would pay

  Their own vows to thee, when they took their free and honour’d way

  From Argos hither, that, till Troy were by their brave hands rac’d,

  They would not turn home. Yet, like babes, and widows, now they haste

  To that base refuge, ’Tis a spite to see men melted so

  In womanish changes; though ’tis true, that if a man do go

  Only a month to sea, and leave his wife far off, and he,

  Tortur’d with winter’s storms, and toss’d with a tumultuous sea,

  Grows heavy, and would home. Us then, to whom the thrice-three year

  Hath fill’d his revoluble orb since our arrival here,

  I blame not to wish home much more; yet all this time to stay,

  Out of our judgments, for our end; and now to take our way

  Without it, were absurd and vile. Sustain then, friends; abide

  The time set to our object; try if Calchas prophesied

  True of the time or not. We know, ye all can witness well,

  (Whom these late death-conferring fates have fail’d to send to hell)

  That when in Aulis, all our fleet, assembled with a freight

  Of ills to Ilion and her friends, beneath the fair grown height

  A platane bore, about a fount, whence crystal water flow’d,

  And near our holy altar, we upon the Gods bestow’d

  Accomplish’d hecatombs; and there appear’d a huge portent,

  A dragon with a bloody scale, horrid to sight, and sent

  To light by great Olympius; which, crawling from beneath

  The altar, to the platane climb’d, and ruthless crash’d to death

  A sparrow’s young, in number eight, that in a top-bough lay

  Hid under leaves; the dam the ninth, that hover’d every way,

  Mourning her lov’d birth, till at length, the serpent, watching her,

  Her wing caught, and devour’d her too. This dragon, Jupiter,

  That brought him forth, turn’d to a stone, and made a pow’rful mean

  To stir our zeals up, that admir’d, when of a fact so clean

  Of all ill as our sacrifice, so fearful an ostent

  Should be the issue. Calchas, then, thus prophesied th’ event

  ‘Why are ye dumb-strook, fair-hair’d Greeks? Wise Jove is he hath shown

  This strange ostent to us. ’Twas late, and passing lately done,

  But that grace it foregoes to us, for suff’ring all the state

  Of his appearance (being so slow) nor time shall end, nor fate.

  As these eight sparrows, and the dam (that made the ninth) were eat

  By this stern serpent; so nine years we are t’ endure the heat

  Of rav’nous war, and, in the tenth, take-in this broad-way’d town.’

  Thus he interpreted this sign; and all things have their crown

  As he interpreted, till now. The rest, then, to succeed

  Believe as certain. Stay we all, till, that most glorious deed

  Of taking this rich town, our hands are honour’d with.” This said,

  The Greeks gave an unmeasur’d shout; which back the ships repaid

  With terrible echoes, in applause of that persuasion

  Divine Ulysses us’d; which yet held no comparison

  With Nestor’s next speech, which was this: “O shameful thing! Ye talk

  Like children all, that know not war. In what air’s region walk

  Our oaths,
and cov’nants? Now, I see the fit respects of men

  Are vanish’d quite; our right hands giv’n, our faiths, our counsels vain,

  Our sacrifice with wine, all fled in that profanéd flame

  We made to bind all; for thus still we vain persuasions frame,

  And strive to work our end with words, not joining stratagemes

  And hands together, though, thus long, the pow’r of our extremes

  Hath urg’d us to them. Atreus’ son, firm as at first hour stand!

  Make good thy purpose; talk no more in councils, but command

  In active field. Let two or three, that by themselves advise,

  Faint in their crowning; they are such as are not truly wise;

  They will for Argos, ere they knew if that which Jove hath said

  Be false or true. I tell them all, that high Jove bow’d his head,

  As first we went aboard our fleet, for sign we should confer

  These Trojans their due fate and death; almighty Jupiter

  All that day darting forth his flames, in an unmeasur’d light,

  On our right hand. Let therefore none once dream of coward flight,

  Till (for his own) some wife of Troy he sleeps withal, the rape

  Of Helen wreaking, and our sighs enforc’d for her escape.

  If any yet dare dote on home, let his dishonour’d haste

  His black and well-built bark but touch, that (as he first disgrac’d

  His country’s spirit) fate, and death, may first his spirit let go.

  But be thou wise, king, do not trust thyself, but others. Know

  I will not use an abject word. See all thy men array’d

  In tribes and nations, that tribes tribes, nations may nations, aid.

  Which doing, thou shalt know what chiefs, what soldiers, play the men,

  And what the cowards; for they all will fight in sev’ral then,

  Easy for note. And then shalt thou, if thou destroy’st not Troy,

  Know if the prophecy’s defect, or men thou dost employ

  In their approv’d arts want in war, or lack of that brave heat

  Fit for the vent’rous spirits of Greece, was cause to thy defeat.”

  To this the king of men replied: “O father, all the sons

  Of Greece thou conquer’st in the strife of consultations.

  I would to Jove, Athenia, and Phœbus, I could make,

  Of all, but ten such counsellors; then instantly would shake

  King Priam’s city, by our hands laid hold on and laid waste.

  But Jove hath order’d I should grieve, and to that end hath cast

  My life into debates past end. Myself, and Thetis’ son,

  Like girls, in words fought for a girl, and I th’ offence begun.

  But if we ever talk as friends, Troy’s thus deferréd fall

  Shall never vex us more one hour. Come then, to victuals all,

  That strong Mars all may bring to field. Each man his lance’s steel

  See sharpen’d well, his shield well lin’d, his horses meated well,

  His chariot carefully made strong, that these affairs of death

  We all day may hold fiercely out. No man must rest, or breath;

  The bosoms of our targeteers must all be steeped in sweat;

  The lancer’s arm must fall dissolv’d; our chariot-horse with heat

  Must seem to melt. But if I find one soldier take the chace,

  Or stir from fight, or fight not still fix’d in his enemy’s face,

  Or hid a-ship-board, all the world, for force, nor price, shall save

  His hated life, but fowls and dogs be his abhorréd grave.”

  He said; and such a murmur rose, as on a lofty shore

  The waves make, when the south wind comes, and tumbles them before

  Against a rock, grown near the strand which diversely beset

  Is never free, but, here and there, with varied uproars beat.

  All rose then, rushing to the fleet, perfum’d their tents, and eat;

  Each off’ring to th’ immortal gods, and praying to ‘scape the heat

  Of war and death. The king of men an ox of five years’ spring

  T’ almighty Jove slew, call’d the peers; first Nestor; then the king

  Idomenëus; after them th’ Ajaces; and the son

  Of Tydeus; Ithacus the sixth, in counsel paragon

  To Jove himself. All these he bade; but at-a-martial-cry

  Good Menelaus, since he saw his brother busily

  Employ’d at that time, would not stand on invitation,

  But of himself came. All about the off’ring over-thrown

  Stood round, took salt-cakes, and the king himself thus pray’d for all:

  “O Jove, most great, most glorious, that, in that starry hall,

  Sitt’st drawing dark clouds up to air, let not the sun go down,

  Darkness supplying it, till my hands the palace and the town

  Of Priam overthrow and burn; the arm, on Hector’s breast

  Dividing, spoiling with my sword thousands, in interest

  Of his bad quarrel, laid by him in dust, and eating earth.”

  He pray’d; Jove heard him not, but made more plentiful the birth

  Of his sad toils, yet took his gifts. Pray’rs past, cakes on they threw;

  The ox then, to the altar drawn, they kill’d, and from him drew

  His hide, then cut him up, his thighs; in two hewn, dubb’d with fat,

  Prick’d on the sweetbreads, and with wood, leaveless, and kindled at

  Apposéd fire, they burn the thighs; which done, the inwards, slit,

  They broil’d on coals and eat; the rest, in giggots cut, they spit,

  Roast cunningly, draw, sit, and feast; nought lack’d to leave allay’d

  Each temp’rate appetite; which serv’d, Nestor began and said:

  “Atrides, most grac’d king of men, now no more words allow,

  Nor more defer the deed Jove vows. Let heralds summon now

  The brazen-coated Greeks, and us range ev’rywhere the host,

  To stir a strong war quickly up.” This speech no syllable lost;

  The high-voic’d heralds instantly he, charg’d to call to arms

  The curl’d-head Greeks; they call’d; the Greeks straight answer’d their alarms.

  The Jove-kept kings, about the king all gather’d, with their aid

  Rang’d all in tribes and nations. With them the gray-eyed Maid

  Great Ægis (Jove’s bright shield) sustain’d, that can be never old,

  Never corrupted, fring’d about with serpents forg’d of gold,

  As many all suffic’d to make an hundred fringes, worth

  An hundred oxen, ev’ry snake all sprawling, all set forth

  With wondrous spirit. Through the host with this the Goddess ran,

  In fury casting round her eyes, and furnish’d ev’ry man

  With strength, exciting all to arms, and fight incessant. None

  Now lik’d their lov’d homes like the wars. And as a fire upon

  A huge wood, on the heights of hills, that far off hurls his light;

  So the divine brass shin’d on these thus thrusting on for fight,

  Their splendour through the air reach’d heav’n. And as about the flood

  Caïster, in an Asian mead, flocks of the airy brood,

  Cranes, geese, or long-neck’d swans, here, there, proud of their pinions fly,

  And in their falls layout such throats, that with their spiritful cry

  The meadow shrieks again; so here, these many-nation’d men

  Flow’d over the Scamandrian field, from tents and ships; the din

  Was dreadful that the feet of men and horse beat out of earth.

  And in the flourishing mead they stood, thick as the odorous birth

  Of flow’rs, or leaves bred in the spring; or thick as swarms of flies

  Throng then to sheep-cotes, when each swarm his erring wing applies
r />   To milk dew’d on the milk-maid’s pails; all eagerly dispos’d

  To give to ruin th’ Ilians. And as in rude heaps clos’d,

  Though huge goatherds are at their food, the goatherds eas’ly yet

  Sort into sundry herds; so here the chiefs in battle set

  Here tribes, here nations, ord’ring all. Amongst whom shin’d the king,

  With eyes like lightning-loving Jove, his forehead answering,

  In breast like Neptune, Mars in waist. And as a goodly bull

  Most eminent of all a herd, most wrong, most masterful,

  So Agamemnon, Jove that day made overheighten clear

  That heav’n-bright army, and preferr’d to all th’ heroës there.

  Now tell me, Muses, you that dwell in heav’nly roofs, (for you

  Are Goddesses, are present here, are wise, and all things know,

  We only trust the voice of fame, know nothing,) who they were

  That here were captains of the Greeks, commanding princes here.

  The multitude exceed my song, though fitted to my choice

  Ten tongues were, harden’d palates ten, a breast of brass, a voice

  Infract and trump-like; that great work, unless the seed of Jove,

  The deathless Muses, undertake, maintains a pitch above

  All mortal pow’rs. The princes then, and navy that did bring

  Those so inenarrable troops, and all their soils, I sing.

  THE CATALOGUE OF THE GRECIAN SHIPS AND CAPTAINS

  Peleüs, and Leitus, all that Bœotia bred,

  Arcesilaus, Clonius, and Prothoenor led;

  Th’ inhabitants of Hyria, and stony Aulida,

  Schæne, Scole, the hilly Eteon, and holy Thespia,

  Of Græa, and great Mycalesse, that hath the ample plain,

  Of Harma, and Ilesius, and all that did remain

  In Eryth, and in Eleon, in Hylen, Peteona,

  In fair Ocalea, and, the town well-builded, Medeona,

  Copas, Eutresis, Thisbe, that for pigeons doth surpass,

  Of Coroneia, Haliart, that hath such store of grass,

  All those that in Platæa dwelt, that Glissa did possess,

  And Hypothebs, whose well-built walls are rare and fellowless,

  In rich Onchestus’ famous wood, to wat’ry Neptune vow’d,

  And Arne, where the vine-trees are with vig’rous bunches bow’d,

  With them that dwelt in Midea, and Nissa most divine,

  All those whom utmost Anthedon did wealthily confine.

  From all these coasts, in general, full fifty sail were sent;