Their horse from coach, or say they must dispose
Their way to some such house, as may embrace
Their known arrival with more welcome grace?”
He, angry, answer’d: “Thou didst never show
Thyself a fool, Boethides, till now;
But now, as if turn’d child, a childish speech
Vents thy vain spirits. We ourselves now reach
Our home by much spent hospitality
Of other men; nor know if Jove will try
With other after-wants our state again;
And therefore from our feast no more detain
Those welcome guests, but take their steeds from coach,
And with attendance guide in their approach.”
This said, he rush’d abroad, and call’d some more
Tried in such service, that together bore
Up to the guests, and took their steeds that swet
Beneath their yokes from coach; at mangers set,
Wheat and white barley gave them mix’d; and plac’d
Their chariot by a wall so clear, it cast
A light quite through it. And then they led
Their guests to the divine house; which so fed
Their eyes at all parts with illustrious sights,
That admiration seiz’d them. Like the lights
The sun and moon gave, all the palace threw
A lustre through it. Satiate with whose view,
Down to the king’s most bright-kept baths they went,
Where handmaids did their services present,
Bath’d, balm’d them, shirts and well-napt weeds put on,
And by Atrides’ side set each his throne.
Then did the handmaid-royal water bring,
And to a laver, rich and glittering,
Of massy gold, pour’d; which she plac’d upon
A silver caldron, into which might run
The water as they wash’d. Then set she near
A polish’d table, on which all the cheer
The present could afford a rev’rend dame,
That kept the larder, set. A cook then came,
And divers dishes, borne thence, serv’d again;
Furnish’d the board with bowls of gold. And then,
His right hand giv’n the guests, Atrides said:
“Eat, and be cheerful. Appetite allay’d,
I long to ask, of what stock ye descend;
For not from parents whose race nameless end
We must derive your offspring. Men obscure
Could get none such as you. The portraiture
Of Jove-sustain’d and sceptre-bearing kings
Your either person in his presence brings.”
An ox’s fat chine then they up did lift,
And set before the guests; which was a gift,
Sent as an honour to the king’s own taste.
They saw yet ’twas but to be eaten plac’d,
And fell to it. But food and wine’s care past,
Telemachus thus prompted Nestor’s son,
(His ear close laying, to be heard of none): [3]
“Consider, thou whom most of my mind esteems,
The brass-work here, how rich it is in beams,
And how, besides, it makes the whole house sound;
What gold, and amber, silver, ivory, round
Is wrought about it. Out of doubt, the hall
Of Jupiter Olympius hath of all
This state the like. How many infinites
Take up to admiration all men’s sights!”
Atrides over-heard, and said: “Lov’d son,
No mortal must affect contentión
With Jove, whose dwellings are of endless date.
Perhaps of men some one may emulate,
Or none, my house, or me; for I am one
That many a grave extreme have undergone,
Much error felt by sea, and till th’ eighth year,
Had never stay, but wander’d far and near,
Cyprus, Phœnicia, and Sidonia,
And fetch’d the far-off Æthiopia,
Reach’d the Erembi of Arabia,
And Lybia, where with horns ewes yean their lambs,
Which ev’ry full year ewes are three times dams,
Where neither king, nor shepherd, want comes near
Of cheese, or flesh, or sweet milk; all the year
They ever milk their ewes. And here while I
Err’d, gath’ring means to live, one, murd’rously,
Unwares, unseen, bereft my brother’s life,
Chiefly betray’d by his abhorréd wife.
So hold I, not enjoying, what you see.
And of your fathers, if they living be,
You must have heard this, since my suff’rings were
So great and famous; from this palace here
(So rarely-well-built, furnishéd so well,
And substancéd with such a precious deal
Of well-got treasure) banish’d by the doom
Of Fate, and erring as I had no home.
And now I have, and use it, not to take
Th’ entire delight it offers, but to make
Continual wishes, that a triple part
Of all it holds were wanting, so my heart
Were eas’d of sorrows, taken for their deaths
That fell at Troy, by their revivéd breaths.
And thus sit I here weeping, mourning still
Each least man lost; and sometimes make mine ill,
In paying just tears for their loss, my joy.
Sometimes I breathe my woes, for in annoy
The pleasure soon admits satiety.
But all these men’s wants wet not so mine eye,
Though much they move me, as one sole man’s miss,
For which my sleep and meat ev’n loathsome is
In his renew’d thought, since no Greek hath won