The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman

by George Chapman

  His harvest-bailiffs underneath an oak a feast prepar’d

  And having kill’d a mighty ox, stood there to see him shar’d

  Which women for their harvest folks (then come to sup) had dress’d,

  And many white wheat-cakes bestow’d, to make it up a feast.

  He set near this a vine of gold, that crack’d beneath the weight

  Of bunches black with being ripe; to keep which at the height,

  A silver rail ran all along, and round about it flow’d

  An azure moat, and to this guard, a quickset was bestow’d

  Of tin, one only path to all, by which the pressmen came

  In time of vintage. Youths and maids, that bore not yet the flame

  Of manly Hymen, baskets bore, of grapes and mellow fruit.

  A lad that sweetly touch’d a harp, to which his voice did suit,

  Center’d the circles of that youth, all whose skill could not do

  The wanton’s pleasure to their minds, that danc’d, sung, whistled too.

  A herd of oxen then he carv’d, with high rais’d heads, forg’d all

  Of gold and tin, for colour mix’d, and bellowing from their stall

  Rush’d to their pastures at a flood, that echo’d all their throats,

  Exceeding swift, and full of reeds; and all in yellow coats

  Four herdsmen follow’d; after whom, nine mastiffs went. In head

  Of all the herd, upon a bull, that deadly bellowéd,

  Two horrid lions rampt, and seiz’d, and tugg’d off bellowing still;

  Both men and dogs came; yet they tore the hide, and lapp’d their fill

  Of black blood, and the entrails ate. In vain the men assay’d

  To set their dogs on; none durst pinch, but cur-like stood and bay’d

  In both the faces of their kings, and all their onsets fled.

  Then in a passing pleasant vale, the famous Artsman fed,

  Upon a goodly pasture ground, rich flocks of white-fleec’d sheep,

  Built stables, cottages, and cotes, that did the shepherds keep

  From wind and weather. Next to these, he cut a dancing place,

  All full of turnings, that was like the admirable maze

  For fair-hair’d Ariadne made, by cunning Dædalus;

  And in it youths and virgins danc’d, all young and beauteous,

  And glewéd in another’s palms. Weeds that the wind did toss

  The virgins wore; the youths wov’n coats, that cast a faint dim gloss

  Like that of oil. Fresh garlands too, the virgins’ temples crown’d;

  The youths gilt swords wore at their thighs, with silver bawdrics bound.

  Sometimes all wound close in a ring, to which as fast they spun

  As any wheel a turner makes, being tried how it will run,

  While he is set; and out again, as full of speed they wound,

  Not one left fast, or breaking hands. A multitude stood round,

  Delighted with their nimble sport; to end which two begun,

  Mids all, a song, and turning sung the sports conclusión,

  All this he circled in the shield, with pouring round about,

  In all his rage, the Ocean, that it might never out.

  This shield thus done, he forg’d for him, such curets as outshin’d

  The blaze of fire. A helmet then (through which no steel could find

  Forc’d passage) he compos’d, whose hue a hundred colours took,

  And in the crest a plume of gold, that each breath stirr’d, he stuck.

  All done, he all to Thetis brought, and held all up to her.

  She took them all, and like t’ the hawk, surnam’d the osspringer,

  From Vulcan to her mighty son, with that so glorious show,

  Stoop’d from the steep Olympian hill, hid in eternal snow.

  THE END OF THE EIGHTEENTH BOOK.

  THE NINETEENTH BOOK OF HOMER’S ILIADS

  THE ARGUMENT

  Thetis presenting armour to her son,

  He calls a court, with full reflection

  Of all his wrath; takes of the king of men

  Free-offer’d gifts. All take their breakfast then;

  He only fasting, arms, and brings abroad

  The Grecian host, and (hearing the abode

  Of his near death by Xanthus prophesied)

  The horse, for his so bold presage, doth chide.

  ANOTHER ARGUMENT

  Ταυ̑ gives the anger period,

  And great Achilles comes abroad.

  The morn arose, and from the ocean, in her saffron robe,

  Gave light to all, as well to Gods, as men of th’ under globe.

  Thetis stoop’d home, and found the prostrate person of her son

  About his friend, still pouring out himself in passión;

  A number more being heavy consorts to him in his cares.

  Amongst them all Thetis appear’d and, sacred comforters,

  Made these short words: “Though we must grieve, yet bear it thus, my son,

  It was no man that prostrated, in this sad fashión,

  Thy dearest friend; it was a God that first laid on his hand,

  Whose will is law. The Gods’ decrees, no human must withstand.

  Do thou embrace this fabric of a God, whose hand before

  Ne’er forg’d the like; and such as yet, no human shoulder wore.”

  Thus, setting down, the precious metal of the arms was such

  That all the room rung with the weight of every slend’rest touch.

  Cold tremblings took the Myrmidons; none durst sustain, all fear’d

  T’ oppose their eyes; Achilles yet, as soon as they appear’d,

  Stern Anger enter’d. From his eyes, as if the day-star rose,

  A radiance terrifying men did all the state enclose.

  At length he took into his hands the rich gift of the God,

  And, much pleas’d to behold the art that in the shield he show’d,

  He brake forth into this applause: “O mother, these right well

  Show an immortal finger’s touch; man’s hand must never deal

  With arms again. Now I will arm; yet, that no honour make

  My friend forgotten, I much fear, lest with the blows of flies

  His brass-inflicted wounds are fil’d; life gone, his person lies

  All apt to putrefactión.” She bade him doubt no harm

  Of those offences, she would care, to keep the petulant swarm

  Of flies, that usually taint the bodies of the slain,

  From his friend’s person. Though a year, the earth’s top should sustain

  His slaughter’d body, it should still rest sound, and rather hold

  A better state than worse, since time that death first made him cold.

  And so bade call a council, to dispose of new alarms,

  Where, to the king, that was the pastor of that flock in arms,

  He should depose all anger, and put on a fortitude

  Fit for his arms. All this his pow’rs with dreadful strength indued.

  She, with her fair hand, still’d into the nostrils of his friend

  Red nectar and ambrosia; with which she did defend

  The corse from putrefactión. He trod along the shore,

  And summon’d all th’ heroic Greeks, with all that spent before

  The time in exercise with him, the masters, pilots too,

  Vict’lers, and all. All, when they saw Achilles summon so,

  Swarm’d to the council, having long left the laborious wars.

  To all these came two halting kings, true servitors of Mars,

  Tydides and wise Ithacus, both leaning on their spears,

  Their wounds still painful; and both these sat first of all the peers.

  The last come was the king of men, sore wounded with the lance

  Of Coon Antenorides. All set, the first in utterance

  Was Thetis’ son, who rose and said: “Atrides, had not this


  Conferr’d most profit to us both, when both our enmities

  Consum’d us so, and for a wench, whom, when I choos’d for prise,

  In laying Lyrnessus’ ruin’d walls amongst our victories,

  I would to heav’n, as first she set her dainty foot aboard,

  Diana’s hand had tumbled off, and with a jav’lin gor’d!

  For then th’ unmeasurable earth had not so thick been gnawn,

  In death’s convulsions, by our friends, since my affects were drawn

  To such distemper. To our foe, and to our foe’s chief friend,

  Our jar brought profit; but the Greeks will never give an end

  To thought of what it prejudic’d them. Past things yet past our aid;

  Fit grief for what wrath rul’d in them, must make th’ amends repaid

  With that necessity of love, that now forbids our ire;

  Which I with free affects obey. ’Tis for the senseless fire

  Still to be burning, having stuff; but men must curb rage still,

  Being fram’d with voluntary pow’rs, as well to check the will

  As give it reins. Give you then charge, that for our instant fight

  The Greeks may follow me to field, to try if still the night

  Will bear out Trojans at our ships. I hope there is some one,

  Amongst their chief encouragers, will thank me to be gone,

  And bring his heart down to his knees in that submissión.”

  The Greeks rejoic’d to hear the heart of Peleus’ mighty son

  So qualified. And then the king (not rising from his throne

  For his late hurt) to get good ear, thus order’d his reply:

  “Princes of Greece, your states shall suffer no indignity,

  If, being far off, ye stand and hear; nor fits it such as stand

  At greater distance, to disturb the council now in hand

  By uproar, in their too much care of hearing. Some, of force,

  Must lose some words; for hard it is, in such a great concourse

  (Though hearers’ ears be ne’er so sharp) to touch at all things spoke;

  And in assemblies of such thrust, how can a man provoke

  Fit pow’r to hear, or leave to speak? Best auditors may there

  Lose fittest words, and the most vocal orator fit ear.

  My main end then, to satisfy Pelides with reply,

  My words shall prosecute; to him my speech especially

  Shall bear direction. Yet I wish, the court in general

  Would give fit ear; my speech shall need attentión of all.

  Oft have our peers of Greece much blam’d my forcing of the prise

  Due to Achilles; of which act, not I, but destinies,

  And Jove himself, and black Erinnys (that casts false mists still

  Betwixt us and our actions done, both by her pow’r and will)

  Are authors. What could I do then? The very day and hour

  Of our debate, that Fury stole in that act on my pow’r.

  And more; all things are done by strife; that ancient seed of Jove,

  Ate, that hurts all, perfects all, her feet are soft, and move

  Not on the earth, they bear her still aloft men’s heads, and there

  The harmful hurts them. Nor was I alone her prisoner,

  Jove, best of men and Gods, hath been; not he himself hath gone

  Beyond her fetters, no, she made a woman put them on;

  For when Alcmena was to vent the force of Hercules

  In well-wall’d Thebes, thus Jove triumph’d: ‘Hear, Gods and

  Goddesses,

  The words my joys urg’d: In this day, Lucina, bringing pain

  To labouring women, shall produce into the light of men

  A man that all his neighbour kings shall in his empire hold,

  And vaunt that more than manly race whose honour’d veins enfold

  My eminent blood.’ Saturnia conceiv’d a present sleight,

  And urg’d confirmance of his vaunt t’ infringe it; her conceit

  In this sort urg’d: ‘Thou wilt not hold thy word with this rare man;

  Or, if thou wilt, confirm it with the oath Olympian,

  That whosoever falls this day betwixt a woman’s knees,

  Of those men’s stocks that from thy blood derive their pedigrees,

  Shall all his neighbour towns command.’ Jove, ignorant of fraud,

  Took that great oath, which his great ill gave little cause t’ applaud.

  Down from Olympus’ top she stoop’d, and quickly reach’d the place

  In Argos where the famous wife of Sthenelus, whose race

  He fetch’d from Jove by Perseus, dwelt. She was but sev’n months gone

  With issue, yet she brought it forth; Alcmena’s matchless son

  Delay’d from light, Saturnia repress’d the teeming throes

  Of his great mother. Up to heav’n she mounts again, and shows,

  In glory, her deceit to Jove. ‘Bright-light’ning Jove,’ said she,

  ‘Now th’ Argives have an emperor; a son deriv’d from thee

  Is born to Persean Sthenelus, Eurystheus his name,

  Noble and worthy of the rule thou swor’st to him.’ This came

  Close to the heart of Jupiter; and Ate, that had wrought

  This anger by Saturnia, by her bright hair he caught,

  Held down her head, and over her made this infallible vow:

  ‘That never to the cope of stars should reascend that brow,

  Being so infortunate to all.’ Thus, swinging her about,

  He cast her from the fi’ry heav’n; who ever since thrust out

  Her fork’d sting in th’ affairs of men. Jove ever since did grieve,

  Since his dear issue Hercules did by his vow achieve

  The unjust toils of Eurystheus. Thus fares it now with me,

  Since under Hector’s violence the Grecian progeny

  Fell so unfitly by my spleen; whose falls will ever stick

  In my griev’d thoughts: my weakness yet (Saturnius making sick

  The state my mind held) now recur’d, th’ amends shall make ev’n weight

  With my offence. And therefore rouse thy spirits to the fight

  With all thy forces; all the gifts, propos’d thee at thy tent

  Last day by royal Ithacus, my officers shall present.

  And, if it like thee, strike no stroke, though never so on thorns

  Thy mind stands to thy friend’s revenge, till my command adorns

  Thy tents and coffers with such gifts, as well may let thee know

  How much I wish thee satisfied.” He answer’d: “Let thy vow,

  Renown’d Atrides, at thy will be kept, as justice would,

  Or keep thy gifts; ’tis all in thee. The council now we hold

  Is for repairing our main field with all our fortitude.

  My fair show made brooks no retreat, nor must delays delude

  Our deed’s expectance. Yet undone the great work is. All eyes

  Must see Achilles in first fight depeopling enemies,

  As well as counsel it in court; that ev’ry man set on

  May choose his man to imitate my exercise upon.”

  Ulysses answer’d: “Do not yet, thou man made like the Gods,

  Take fasting men to field. Suppose, that whatsoever odds

  It brings against them with full men, thy boundless eminence

  Can amply answer, yet refrain to tempt a violence.

  The conflict wearing out our men was late, and held as long,

  Wherein, though most Jove stood for Troy, he yet made our part strong

  To bear that most. But ’twas to bear, and that breeds little heart.

  Let wine and bread then add to it; they help the twofold part,

  The soul and body, in a man, both force and fortitude.

  All day men cannot fight and fast, though never so indued

  With minds to fight, for, that suppos’d, there lurks yet secretlyr />
  Thirst, hunger, in th’ oppresséd joints, which no mind can supply.

  They take away a marcher’s knees. Men’s bodies throughly fed,

  Their minds share with them in their strength; and, all day combated,

  One stirs not, till you call off all. Dismiss them then to meat,

  And let Atrides tender here, in sight of all this seat,

  The gifts he promis’d. Let him swear before us all, and rise

  To that oath, that he never touch’d in any wanton wise

  The lady he enforc’d. Besides, that he remains in mind

  As chastely satisfied; not touch’d, or privily inclin’d

  With future vantages. And last, ’tis fit he should approve

  All these rites at a solemn feast in honour of your love,

  That so you take no mangled law for merits absolute.

  And thus the honours you receive, resolving the pursuit

  Of your friend’s quarrel, well will quit your sorrow for your friend.

  And thou, Atrides, in the taste of so severe an end,

  Hereafter may on others hold a juster government;

  Nor will it aught impair a king, to give a sound content

  To any subject soundly wrong’d.” “I joy,” replied the king,

  “O Laertiades, to hear thy lib’ral counselling;

  In which is all decorum kept, nor any point lacks touch

  That might be thought on to conclude a reconcilement such

  As fits example, and us two. My mind yet makes me swear,

  Not your impulsion; and that mind shall rest so kind and clear,

  That I will not forswear to God. Let then Achilles stay,

  Though never so inflam’d for fight, and all men here I pray

  To stay, till from my tents these gifts be brought here, and the truce

  At all parts finish’d before all. And thou of all I choose,

  Divine Ulysses, and command to choose of all your host

  Youths of most honour, to present, to him we honour most,

  The gifts we late vow’d, and the dames. Mean space about our tents

  Talthybius shall provide a boar, to crown these kind events

  With thankful sacrifice to Jove, and to the God of Light.”

  Achilles answer’d: “These affairs will show more requisite,

  Great king of men, some other time, when our more free estates

  Yield fit cessation from the war, and when my spleen abates;

  But now, to all our shames besides, our friends by Hector slain

  (And Jove to friend) lie unfetch’d off. Haste, then, and meat your men;