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another’s cost, ‭ Past measure, and the civil rights of men, ‭ My mother’s Wooers, my repulse maintain.” ‭ Thus spake he praying; when close to him came ‭ Pallas, resembling Mentor both in frame ‭ Of voice and person, and advis’d him thus: ‭ “Those Wooers well might know, Telemachus, ‭ Thou wilt not ever weak and childish be, ‭ If to thee be instill’d the faculty ‭ Of mind and body that thy father grac’d; ‭ And if, like him, there be in thee enchac’d ‭ Virtue to give words works, and works their end. ‭ This voyage, that to them thou didst commend, ‭ Shall not so quickly, as they idly ween, ‭ Be vain, or giv’n up, for their opposite spleen. ‭ But, if Ulysses nor Penelope ‭ Were thy true parents, I then hope in thee ‭ Of no more urging thy attempt in hand; ‭ For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand, ‭ Are like their parents, many that are worse, ‭ And most few better. Those then that the nurse ‭ Or mother call true-born yet are not so, ‭ Like worthy sires much less are like to grow. ‭ But thou show’st now that in thee fades not quite ‭ Thy father’s wisdom; and that future light ‭ Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise, ‭ Or touch’d with stain of bastard cowardice. ‭ Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end ‭ Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend. ‭ But for the foolish Wooers, they bewray ‭ They neither counsel have nor soul, since they ‭ Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs ‭ Rest ignorant how black above their heads ‭ Fate hovers holding Death, that one sole day ‭ Will make enough to make them all away. ‭ For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more ‭ Fly thee a step; I, that have been before ‭ Thy father’s friend, thine likewise now will be, ‭ Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee. ‭ Go thou then home, and sooth each Wooer’s vein, ‭ But under hand fit all things for the main; ‭ Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can, ‭ And meal, the very marrow of a man, ‭ Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see ‭ That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree. ‭ I from the people straight will press for you ‭ Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow ‭ Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new ‭ And old-built; all which I’ll exactly view, ‭ And choose what one soever most doth please; ‭ Which rigg’d, we’ll straight launch, and assay the seas.” ‭ This spake Jove’s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard, ‭ No more Telemachus her charge deferr’d, ‭ But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see ‭ Amidst his hall th’ insulting Wooers flea ‭ Goats, and roast swine. ’Mongst whom, Antinous ‭ Careless, discov’ring in Telemachus ‭ His grudge to see them, laugh’d, met, took his hand, ‭ And said: “High-spoken, with the mind so mann’d! ‭ Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits ‭ With these low trifles, nor our loving merits ‭ In gall of any hateful purpose steep, ‭ But eat egregiously, and drink as deep. ‭ The things thou think’st on, all at full shall be ‭ By th’ Achives thought on, and perform’d to thee; ‭ Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land ‭ Thy hasty fleet on heav’nly Pylos’ sand, ‭ And at the fame of thy illustrious sire.” ‭ He answer’d: “Men, whom pride did so inspire, ‭ Are not fit consorts for an humble guest; ‭ Nor are constrain’d men merry at their feast. ‭ Is ’t not enough, that all this time ye have ‭ Op’d in your entrails my chief goods a grave, ‭ And, while I was a child, made me partake? ‭ My now more growth more grown my mind doth make, ‭ And, hearing speak more judging men than you, ‭ Perceive how much I was misgovern’d now. ‭ I now will try if I can bring ye home ‭ An ill Fate to consort you; if it come ‭ From Pylos, or amongst the people here. ‭ But thither I resolve, and know that there ‭ I shall not touch in vain. Nor will I stay, ‭ Though in a merchant’s ship I steer my way; ‭ Which shows in your sights best; since me ye know ‭ Incapable of ship, or men to row.” ‭ This said, his hand he coyly snatch’d away ‭ From forth Antinous’ hand. The rest the day ‭ Spent through the house with banquets; some with jests, ‭ And some with railings, dignifying their feasts. ‭ To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began: ‭ “Telemachus will kill us ev’ry man. ‭ From Sparta, to the very Pylian sand, ‭ He will raise aids to his impetuous hand. ‭ O he affects it strangely! Or he means ‭ To search Ephyra’s fat shores, and from thence ‭ Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls ‭ Will make a general shipwrack of our souls.” ‭ Another said: “Alas, who knows but he ‭ Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea, ‭ May perish like him, far from aid of friends, ‭ And so he makes us work? For all the ends ‭ Left of his goods here we shall share, the house ‭ Left to his mother and her chosen spouse.” ‭ Thus they; while he a room ascended, high ‭ And large, built by his father, where did lie ‭ Gold and brass heap’d up, and in coffers were ‭ Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there ‭ Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall, ‭ Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all ‭ Ulysses’ old heart, if he turn’d again ‭ From labours fatal to him to sustain. ‭ The doors of plank were, their close exquisite, ‭ Kept with a double key, and day and night ‭ A woman lock’d within; and that was she ‭ Who all trust had for her sufficiency, ‭ Old Euryclea, one of Opis’ race, ‭ Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace ‭ With grey Minerva; her the prince did call, ‭ And said: “Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all ‭ The wine thou keep’st; next that which for my sire ‭ Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire. ‭ Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well. ‭ Then into well-sew’d sacks of fine ground meal ‭ Pour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone ‭ But thee thyself, let this design be known. ‭ All this see got together; I it all ‭ In night will fetch off, when my mother shall ‭ Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare. ‭ Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care ‭ To find my father.” Out Euryclea cried, ‭ And ask’d with tears: “Why is your mind applied. ‭ Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go? ‭ So far off leave us, and belovéd so, ‭ So only? And the sole hope of your race? ‭ Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace ‭ Of his kind country, in a land unknown ‭ Is dead; and, you from your lov’d country gone, ‭ The Wooers will with some deceit assay ‭ To your destruction, making then their prey ‭ Of all your goods. Where, in your own y’are strong, ‭ Make sure abode. It fits not you so young ‭ To suffer so much by the aged seas, ‭ And err in such a wayless wilderness.” ‭ “Be cheer’d, lov’d nurse,” said he, “for, not without ‭ The will of God, go my attempts about. ‭ Swear therefore, not to wound my mother’s ears ‭ With word of this, before from heav’n appears ‭ Th’ elev’nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please ‭ To ask of me, or hears me put to seas, ‭ Lest her fair body with her woe be wore.” ‭ To this the great oath of the Gods she swore; ‭ Which having sworn, and of it every due ‭ Perform’d to full, to vessels wine she drew, ‭ And into well-sew’d sacks pour’d foody meal. ‭ In mean time he, with cunning to conceal ‭ All thought of this from others, himself bore ‭ In broad house, with the Wooers, as before. ‭ Then grey-eyed Pallas other thoughts did own, ‭ And like Telemachus trod through the town, ‭ Commanding all his men in th’ even to be ‭ Aboard his ship. Again then question’d she ‭ Noënon, fam’d for aged Phronius’ son, ‭ About his ship; who all things to be done ‭ Assur’d her freely should. The sun then set, ‭ And sable shadows slid through ev’ry street, ‭ When forth they launch’d, and soon aboard did bring ‭ All arms, and choice of ev’ry needful thing ‭ That fits a well-rigg’d ship. The Goddess then ‭ Stood in the port’s extreme part, where her men, ‭ Nobly appointed, thick about her came, ‭ Whose ev’ry breast she did with spirit enflame. ‭ Yet still fresh projects laid the grey-eyed Dame. ‭ Straight to the house she hasted, and sweet sleep ‭ Pour’d on each Wooer; which so laid in steep ‭ Their drowsy temples, that each brow did nod, ‭ As all were drinking, and each hand his load, ‭ The cup, let fall. All start up, and to bed, ‭ Nor more would watch, when sleep so surfeited ‭ Their leaden eye-lids. Then did Pallas call ‭ Telemachus, in body, voice, and all, ‭ Resembling Mentor, from his native nest, ‭ And said, that all his arm’d men were addrest ‭ To use their oars, and all expected now ‭ He should the spirit of a soldier show. ‭ “Come then,” said she, “no more let us defer ‭ Our honour’d action.” Then she took on her ‭ A ravish’d spirit, and led as she did leap; ‭ And he her most haste took out step by step. ‭ Arrived at sea and ship, they found ashore ‭