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 withal.
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 every 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 to the rare son of his matchless sire –
His goodliness, his beauty, and his fire
Of soul aspired 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 suf
f
’
rance freed
Beneath thine own roo
f
! 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 every man had vengeance capital,
Settled like Irus at the gates, his head
Every 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,
Tomorrow than today 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 every 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 returned bones,
Fame saying that Troy trains up approved sons
In deeds of arms, brave putters-off of shafts,
For winging lances masters of their crafts,
Unmatched 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 abhorred 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 given ’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 every 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
Changed 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 several 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 her 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 marketstead,
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, every 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 usage 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 glistering 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 every 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 every 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 ev’n.
Or lastly, if the guide of earth and heav’n
Should stir stern war up, either here or there,