The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman
Page 147
From whence the town their choicest water fetch’d,
That ever overflow’d, and curious art
Was shown about it; in which three had part
Whose names Neritus and Polyctor were,
And famous Ithacus. It had a sphere
Of poplar, that ran round about the wall;
And into it a lofty rock let fall
Continual supply of cool clear stream.
On whose top, to the Nymphs that were supreme
In those parts’ loves, a stately altar rose,
Where ev’ry traveller did still impose
Devoted sacrifice. At this fount found
These silly travellers a man renown’d
For guard of goats, which now he had in guide,
Whose huge-stor’d herd two herdsmen kept beside,
For all herds it excell’d, and bred a feed
For Wooers only. He was Dolius’ seed,
And call’d Melanthius. Who casting eye
On these two there, he chid them terribly,
And so past mean, that ev’n the wretched fate
Now on Ulysses he did irritate.
His fume to this effect he did pursue:
“Why so,’tis now at all parts passing true,
That ill leads ill, good evermore doth train
With like his like. Why, thou unenvied swain,
Whither dost thou lead this same victless leaguer,
This bane of banquets, this most nasty beggar,
Whose sight doth make one sad, it so abhors?
Who, with his standing in so many doors,
Hath broke his back; and all his beggary tends
To beg base crusts, but to no manly ends,
As asking swords, or with activity
To get a caldron. Wouldst thou give him me,
To farm my stable, or to sweep my yard,
And bring browse to my kids, and that preferr’d
He should be at my keeping for his pains
To drink as much whey as his thirsty veins
Would still be swilling (whey made all his fees)
His monstrous belly would oppress his knees.
But he hath learn’d to lead base life about,
And will not work, but crouch among the rout
For broken meat to cram his bursten gut.
Yet this I’ll say, and he will find it put
In sure effect, that if he enters where
Ulysses’ roofs cast shade, the stools will there
About his ears fly, all the house will throw,
And rub his ragged sides with cuffs enow.”
Past these reviles, his manless rudeness spurn’d
Divine Ulysses; who at no part turn’d
His face from him, but had his spirit fed
With these two thoughts, if he should strike him dead
With his bestowéd staff, or at his feet
Make his direct head and the pavement meet.
But he bore all, and entertain’d a breast
That in the strife of all extremes did rest.
Eumæus, frowning on him, chid him yet,
And, lifting up his hands to heav’n, he set
This bitter curse at him: “O you that bear
Fair name to be the race of Jupiter,
Nymphs of these fountains! If Ulysses ever
Burn’d thighs to you, that, hid in fat, did never
Fail your acceptance, of or lamb or kid,
Grant this grace to me: Let the man thus hid
Shine through his dark fate, make some God his guide,
That, to thee, goatherd, this same palate’s pride, 1
Thou driv’st afore thee, he may come and make
The scatt’rings of the earth, and overtake
Thy wrongs, with forcing thee to ever err
About the city, hunted by his fear.
And in the mean space by some slothful swains
Let lousy sickness gnaw thy cattle’s veins.”
“O Gods!” replied Melanthius, “what a curse
Hath this dog bark’d out, and can yet do worse!
This man shall I have giv’n into my hands,
When in a well-built ship to far-off lands
I shall transport him, that, should I want here,
My sale of him may find me victuals there.
And, for Ulysses, would to heav’n his joy
The silver-bearing-bow God would destroy,
This day, within his house, as sure as he
The day of his return shall never see.”
This said, he left them going silent on;
But he out-went them, and took straight upon
The palace-royal, which he enter’d straight,
Sat with the Wooers, and his trencher’s freight
The carvers gave him of the flesh there vented,
But bread the rev’rend butleress presented.
He took against Eurymachus his place,
Who most of all the Wooers gave him grace.
And now Ulysses and his swain got near,
When round about them visited their ear
The hollow harp’s delicious-stricken string,
To which did Phemius, near the Wooers, sing.
Then by the hand Ulysses took his swain,
And said: “Eumæus, one may here see plain,
In many a grace, that Laertiades
Built here these turrets, and,’mongst others these,
His whole court arm’d with such a goodly wall,
The cornice, and the cope, majestical,
His double gates, and turrets, built too strong
For force or virtue ever to expugn.
I know the feasters in it now abound,
Their cates cast such a savour; and the sound
The harp gives argues an accomplish’d feast.
The Gods made music banquet’s dearest guest.”
“These things,” said he, “your skill may tell with ease,
Since you are grac’d with greater knowledges.
But now consult we how these works shall sort,
If you will first approach this praiséd court,
And see these Wooers, I remaining here;
Or I shall enter, and yourself forbear?
But be not you too tedious in your stay,
Lest thrust ye be and buffeted away.
Brain hath no fence for blows; look to ‘t I pray.”
“You speak to one that comprehends,” said he,
“Go you before, and here adventure me.
I have of old been us’d to cuffs and blows;
My mind is harden’d, having borne the throes
Of many a sour event in waves and wars,
Where knocks and buffets are no foreigners.
And this same harmful belly by no mean
The greatest abstinent can ever wean.
Men suffer much bane by the belly’s rage;
For whose sake ships in all their equipage
Are arm’d, and set out to th’ untamed seas,
Their bulks full-fraught with ills to enemies.”
Such speech they chang’d; when in the yard there lay
A dog, call’d Argus, which, before his way
Assum’d for Ilion, Ulysses bred,
Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead,
As being too young, but, growing to his grace,
Young men made choice of him for ev’ry chace,
Or of their wild goats, of their hares, or harts.
But his king gone, and he,
now past his parts,
Lay all abjectly on the stable’s store,
Before the oxstall, and mules’ stable door,
To keep the clothes cast from the peasants’ hands,
While they laid compass on Ulysses’ lands,
The dog, with ticks (unlook’d-to) overgrown.
But by this dog no sooner seen but known
Was wise Ulysses, who new-enter’d there,
Up went his dog’s laid ears, and, coming near,
Up he himself rose, fawn’d, and wagg’d his stern,
Couch’d close his ears, and lay so; nor discern 2
Could evermore his dear-lov’d lord again.
Ulysses saw it, nor had pow’r t’ abstain
From shedding tears; which (far-off seeing his swain)
He dried from his sight clean; to whom he thus
His grief dissembled: “’Tis miraculous,
That such a dog as this should have his lair
On such a dunghill, for his form is fair.
And yet, I know not, if there were in him
Good pace, or parts, for all his goodly limb;
Or he liv’d empty of those inward things,
As are those trencher-beagles tending kings,
Whom for their pleasure’s, or their glory’s, sake,
Or fashion, they into their favour take.”
“This dog,” said he, “was servant to one dead
A huge time since. But if he bore his head,
For form and quality, of such a height,
As when Ulysses, bound for th’ Ilion fight,
Or quickly after, left him, your rapt eyes
Would then admire to see him use his thighs
In strength and swiftness. He would nothing fly,
Nor anything let ‘scape. If once his eye
Seiz’d any wild beast, he knew straight his scent;
Go where he would, away with him he went.
Nor was there ever any savage stood
Amongst the thickets of the deepest wood
Long time before him, but he pull’d him down;
As well by that true hunting to be shown
In such vast coverts, as for speed of pace
In any open lawn. For in deep chace
He was a passing-wise and well-nos’d hound.
And yet is all this good in him uncrown’d
With any grace here now, nor he more fed
Than any errant cur. His king is dead,
Far from his country; and his servants are
So negligent they lend his hound no care.
Where masters rule not, but let men alone,
You never there see honest service done.
That man’s half-virtue Jove takes quite away,
That once is sun-burnt with the servile day.”
This said, he enter’d the well-builded-tow’rs,
Up bearing right upon the glorious Wooers,
And left poor Argus dead; his lord’s first sight
Since that time twenty years bereft his light.
Telemachus did far the first behold
Eumæus enter, and made signs he should
Come up to him. He, noting, came, and took
On earth his seat. And then the master-cook
Serv’d in more banquet; of which, part he set
Before the Wooers, part the prince did get,
Who sate alone, his table plac’d aside;
To which the herald did the bread divide.
After Eumæus, enter’d straight the king, 3
Like to a poor and heavy aged thing,
Bore hard upon his staff, and was so clad
As would have made his mere beholder sad.
Upon the ashen floor his limbs he spread,
And ‘gainst a cypress-threshold stay’d his head,
The tree wrought smooth, and in a line direct
Tried by the plumb and by the architect.
The prince then bade the herdsman give him bread,
The finest there, and see that prostrated
At-all-parts plight of his giv’n all the cheer
His hands could turn to: “Take,” said he, “and bear
These cates to him, and bid him beg of all
These Wooers here, and to their festival
Bear up with all the impudence he can;
Bashful behaviour fits no needy man.”
He heard, and did his will. “Hold guest,” said he,
“Telemachus commends these cates to thee,
Bids thee bear up, and all these Wooers implore.
Wit must make impudent whom Fate makes poor.”
“O Jove,” said he, “do my poor pray’rs the grace
To make him blessed’st of the mortal race,
And ev’ry thought now in his gen’rous heart
To deeds that further my desires convert.”
Thus took he in with both his hands his store,
And in the uncouth scrip, that lay before
His ill-shod feet, repos’d it; whence he fed
All time the music to the feasters play’d.
Both jointly ending, then began the Wooers
To put in old act their tumultuous pow’rs;
When Pallas standing close did prompt her friend,
To prove how far the bounties would extend
Of those proud Wooers; so, to let him try
Who most, who least, had learn’d humanity.
However, no thought touch’d Minerva’s mind,
That anyone should’scape his wreak design’d.
He handsomely became all, crept about
To ev’ry Wooer, held a forc’d hand out,
And all his work did in so like a way,
As he had practis’d begging many a day.
And though they knew all beggars could do this,
Yet they admir’d it as no deed of his;
Though far from thought of other, us’d expence
And pity to him, who he was, and whence,
Inquiring mutually. Melanthius then:
“Hear me, ye Wooers of the far-fam’d queen,
About this beggar. I have seen before
This face of his; and know for certain more,
That this swain brought him hither. What he is,
Or whence he came, flies me.” Reply to this
Antinous made, and mock’d Eumæus thus:
“O thou renownéd herdsman, why to us
Brought’st thou this beggar? Serves it not our hands;
That other land-leapers, and cormorands,
Profane poor knaves, lie on us, unconducted,
But you must bring them? So amiss instructed
Art thou in course of thrift, as not to know
Thy lord’s goods wrack’d in this their overflow?
Which think’st thou nothing, that thou call’st in these?”
Eumæus answer’d: “Though you may be wise,
You speak not wisely. Who calls in a guest
That is a guest himself? None call to feast
Other than men that are of public use,
Prophets, or poets, whom the Gods produce,
Physicians for men’s ills, or architects.
Such men the boundless earth affords respects
Bounded in honour, and may call them well.
But poor men who calls? Who doth so excell
In others’ good to do himself an ill?
But all Ulysses’ servants have been still
Eyesores in your way more than all that woo,
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And chiefly I. But what care I for you,
As long as these roofs hold as thralls to none
The wise Penelope and her god-like son?”
“Forbear,” said he, “and leave this tongue’s bold ill.
Antinous uses to be crossing still,
And give sharp words; his blood that humour bears,
To set men still together by the ears.
But,” turning then t’ Antinous, “O,” said he,
“You entertain a father’s care of me,
To turn these eating guests out. ’Tis advice
Of needful use for my poor faculties,
But God doth not allow this; there must be
Some care of poor men in humanity.
What you yourselves take, give; I not envy,
But give command that hospitality
Be giv’n all strangers. Nor shall my pow’rs fear,
If this mood in me reach my mother’s ear;
Much less the servants’, that are here to see
Ulysses’ house kept in his old degree.
But you bear no such mind, your wits more cast
To fill yourself than let another taste.”
Antinous answer’d him: “Brave-spoken man!
Whose mind’s free fire see check’d no virtue can.
If all we Wooers here would give as much
As my mind serves, his 4 largess should be such
As would for three months serve his far-off way
From troubling your house with more cause of stay.”
This said, he took a stool up, that did rest,
Beneath the board, his spangled feet at feast,
And offer’d at him; but the rest gave all,
And fill’d his fulsome scrip with festival.
And so Ulysses for the present was,
And for the future, furnish’d, and his pass
Bent to the door to eat. Yet could not leave
Antinous so, but said: “Do you too give,
Lov’d lord; your presence makes a show to me
As you not worst were of the company,
But best, and so much that you seem the king,
And therefore you should give some better thing
Than bread, like others. I will spread your praise
Through all the wide world, that have in my days
Kept house myself, and trod the wealthy ways
Of other men ev’n to the title Blest;
And often have I giv’n an erring guest
(How mean soever) to the utmost gain
Of what he wanted, kept whole troops of men,
And had all other comings in, with which
Men live so well, and gain the fame of rich.