With any God’s fear, or observéd love!
We Cyclops care not for your goat-fed Jove,
Nor other Bless’d ones; we are better far.
To Jove himself dare I bid open war,
To thee, and all thy fellows, if I please.
But tell me, where’s the ship, that by the seas
Hath brought thee hither? If far off, or near,
Inform me quickly.’ These his temptings were;
But I too much knew not to know his mind,
And craft with craft paid, telling him the wind
(Thrust up from sea by Him that shakes the shore)
Had dash’d our ships against his rocks, and tore
Her ribs in pieces close upon his coast,
And we from high wrack sav’d, the rest were lost.
He answer’d nothing, but rush’d in, and took
Two of my fellows up from earth, and strook
Their brains against it. Like two whelps they flew
About his shoulders, and did all embrue
The blushing earth. No mountain lion tore
Two lambs so sternly, lapp’d up all their gore
Gush’d from their torn-up bodies, limb by limb
(Trembling with life yet) ravish’d into him.
Both flesh and marrow-stufféd bones he eat,
And ev’n th’ uncleanséd entrails made his meat.
We, weeping, cast our hands to heav’n, to view
A sight so horrid. Desperation flew,
With all our after lives, to instant death,
In our believ’d destruction. But when breath
The fury of his appetite had got,
Because the gulf his belly reach’d his throat,
Man’s flesh, and goat’s milk, laying lay’r on lay’r,
Till near chok’d up was all the pass for air,
Along his den, among’st his cattle, down
He rush’d, and streak’d him. ‘When my mind was grown
Desp’rate to step in, draw my sword, and part
His bosom where the strings about the heart
Circle the liver, and add strength of hand.
But that rash thought, more stay’d, did countermand,
For there we all had perish’d, since it past
Our pow’rs to lift aside a log so vast,
As barr’d all outscape; and so sigh’d away
The thought all night, expecting active day.
Which come, he first of all his fire enflames,
Then milks his goats and ewes, then to their dams
Lets in their young, and, wondrous orderly,
With manly haste dispatch’d his housewif’ry.
Then to his breakfast, to which other two
Of my poor friends went; which eat, out then go
His herds and fat flocks, lightly putting by
The churlish bar, and clos’d it instantly;
For both those works with ease as much he did,
As you would ope and shut your quiver lid.
With storms of whistlings then his flock he drave
Up to the mountains; and occasion gave
For me to use my wits, which to their height
I striv’d to screw up, that a vengeance might
By some means fall from thence, and Pallas now
Afford a full ear to my neediest vow.
This then my thoughts preferr’d: A huge club lay
Close by his milk-house, which was now in way
To dry and season, being an olive-tree
Which late he fell’d, and, being green, must be
Made lighter for his manage. ’Twas so vast,
That we resembled it to some fit mast,
To serve a ship of burthen that was driv’n
With twenty oars, and had a bigness giv’n
To bear a huge sea. Full so thick, so tall,
We judg’d this club; which I, in part, hew’d small,
And cut a fathom off. The piece I gave
Amongst my soldiers, to take down, and shave;
Which done, I sharpen’d it at top, and then,
Harden’d in fire, I hid it in the den
Within a nasty dunghill reeking there,
Thick, and so moist it issued ev’rywhere.
Then made I lots cast by my friends to try
Whose fortune serv’d to dare the bor’d-out eye
Of that man-eater; and the lot did fall
On four I wish’d to make my aid of all,
And I the fifth made, chosen like the rest.
Then came the even, and he came from the feast
Of his fat cattle, drave in all; nor kept
One male abroad; if, or his memory slept
By Gods’ direct will, or of purpose was
His driving in of all then, doth surpass
My comprehension. But he clos’d again
The mighty bar, milk’d, and did still maintain
All other observation as before.
His work all done, two of my soldiers more
At once he snatch’d up, and to supper went.
Then dar’d I words to him, and did present
A bowl of wine, with these words: ‘Cyclop! take
A bowl of wine, from my hand, that may make
Way for the man’s flesh thou hast eat, and show
What drink our ship held; which in sacred vow
I offer to thee to take ruth on me
In my dismission home. Thy rages be
Now no more sufferable. How shall men,
Mad and inhuman that thou art, again
Greet thy abode, and get thy actions grace,
If thus thou ragest, and eat’st up their race.’
He took, and drunk, and vehemently joy’d
To taste the sweet cup; and again employ’d
My flagon’s pow’rs, entreating more, and said:
῾Good guest, again afford my taste thy aid,
And let me know thy name, and quickly now,
That in thy recompense I may bestow
A hospitable gift on thy desert,
And such a one as shall rejoice thy heart.
For to the Cyclops too the gentle earth
Bears gen’rous wine, and Jove augments her birth,
In store of such, with show’rs; but this rich wine
Fell from the river, that is mere divine,
Of nectar and ambrosia.’ This again
I gave him, and again; nor could the fool abstain,
But drunk as often. When the noble juice
Had wrought upon his spirit, I then gave use
To fairer language, saying: ‘Cyclop! now,
As thou demand’st, I’ll tell my name, do thou
Make good thy hospitable gift to me.
My name is No-Man; No-Man each degree
Of friends, as well as parents, call my name.’
He answer’d, as his cruel soul became:
‘No-Man! I’ll eat thee last of all thy friends;
And this is that in which so much amends
I vow’d to thy deservings, thus shall be
My hospitable gift made good to thee.’
This said, he upwards fell, but then bent round
His fleshy neck; and Sleep, with all crowns crown’d,
Subdued the savage. From his throat brake out
My wine, with man’s-flesh gobbets, like a spout,
When, loaded with his cups, he lay and snor’d;
And then took I the club’s end up, and gor’d
The burning coal-heap, that the point might heat;
Confirm’d my fellow’s minds, lest Fear should let
Their vow’d assay, and make them fly my aid.
Straight was the olive-lever, I had laid
Amidst the huge fire to get hard’ning, hot,
And glow’d extremely, though ’twas green; which got
From forth the cinders, close about me stood
My hardy friends; but that which did the good
Was God’s good inspiratión, that gave
A spirit beyond the spirit they us’d to have;
Who took the olive spar, made keen before,
And plung’d it in his eye, and up I bore,
Bent to the top close, and help’d pour it in,
With all my forces. And as you have seen
A ship-wright bore a naval beam, he oft
Thrusts at the auger’s froofe, works still aloft,
And at the shank help others, with a cord
Wound round about to make it sooner bor’d,
All plying the round still; so into his eye
The fiery stake we labour’d to imply.
Out gush’d the blood that scalded, his eye-ball
Thrust out a flaming vapour, that scorch’d all
His brows and eye-lids, his eye-strings did crack,
As in the sharp and burning rafter brake.
And as a smith, to harden any tool,
Broad axe, or mattock, in his trough doth cool
The red-hot substance, that so fervent is
It makes the cold wave straight to seethe and hiss;
So sod and hiss’d his eye about the stake.
He roar’d withal, and all his cavern brake
In claps like thunder. We did frighted fly,
Dispers’d in corners. He from forth his eye
The fixed stake pluck’d; after which the blood
Flow’d freshly forth; and, mad, he hurl’d the wood
About his hovel. Out he then did cry
For other Cyclops, that in caverns by
Upon a windy promontory dwell’d;
Who, hearing how impetuously he yell’d,
Rush’d ev’ry way about him, and inquir’d,
What ill afflicted him, that he exspir’d
Such horrid clamours, and in sacred Night
To break their sleeps so? Ask’d him, if his fright
Came from some mortal that his flocks had driv’n?
Or if by craft, or might, his death were giv’n?
He answer’d from his den: ‘By craft, nor might,
No-Man hath giv’n me death.’ They then said right,
‘If no man hurt thee, and thyself alone,
That which is done to thee by Jove is done;
And what great Jove inflicts no man can fly.
Pray to thy Father yet, a Deity,
And prove, from him if thou canst help acquire.’
Thus spake they, leaving him; when all-on-fire
My heart with joy was, that so well my wit
And name deceiv’d him; whom now pain did split,
And groaning up and down he groping tried
To find the stone, which found, he put aside;
But in the door sat, feeling if he could
(As his sheep issued) on some man lay hold;
Esteeming me a fool, that could devise
No stratagem to ‘scape his gross surprise.
But I, contending what I could invent
My friends and me from death so eminent
To get deliver’d, all my wiles I wove
(Life being the subject) and did this approve:
Fat fleecy rams, most fair, and great, lay there,
That did a burden like a violet bear. 8
These, while this learn’d-in-villainy did sleep,
I yok’d with osiers cut there, sheep to sheep,
Three in a rank, and still the mid sheep bore
A man about his belly, the two more
March’d on his each side for defence. I then,
Choosing myself the fairest of the den,
His fleecy belly under-crept, embrac’d
His back, and in his rich wool wrapt me fast
With both my hands, arm’d with as fast a mind.
And thus each man hung, till the morning shin’d;
Which come, he knew the hour, and let abroad
His male-flocks first, the females unmilk’d stood
Bleating and braying, their full bags so sore
With being unemptied, but their shepherd more
With being unsighted; which was cause his mind
Went not a milking. He, to wreak inclin’d,
The backs felt, as they pass’d, of those male dams,
Gross fool! believing, we would ride his rams!
Nor ever knew that any of them bore
Upon his belly any man before.
The last ram came to pass him, with his wool
And me together loaded to the full,
For there did I hang; and that ram he stay’d,
And me withal had in his hands, my head
Troubled the while, not causelessly, nor least.
This ram he grop’d, and talk’d to: ‘Lazy beast!
Why last art thou now? Thou hast never us’d
To lag thus hindmost, but still first hast bruis’d
The tender blossom of a flow’r, and held
State in thy steps, both to the flood and field,
First still at fold at even, now last remain?
Dost thou not wish I had mine eye again,
Which that abhorr’d man No-Man did put out,
Assisted by his execrable rout,
When he had wrought me down with wine? But he
Must not escape my wreak so cunningly.
I would to heav’n thou knew’st, and could but speak,
To tell me where he lurks now! I would break
His brain about my cave, strew’d here and there,
To ease my heart of those foul ills, that were
Th’ inflictions of a man I priz’d at nought.’
Thus let he him abroad; when I, once brought
A little from his hold, myself first los’d,
And next my friends. Then drave we, and dispos’d,
His straight-legg’d fat fleece-bearers over land,
Ev’n till they all were in my ship’s command;
And to our lov’d friends show’d our pray’d-for sight,
Escap’d from death. But, for our loss, outright
They brake in tears; which with a look I stay’d,
And bade them take our boot in. They obey’d,
And up we all went, sat, and us’d our oars.
But having left as far the savage shores
As one might hear a voice, we then might see
The Cyclop at the haven; when instantly
I stay’d our oars, and this insultance us’d:
῾Cyclop! thou shouldst not have so much abus’d
Thy monstrous forces, to oppose their least
Against a man immartial, and a guest,
And eat his fellows. Thou mightst know there were
Some ills behind, rude swain, for thee to bear,
That fear’d not to devour thy guests, and break
All laws of humans. Jove sends therefore wreak,
And all the Gods, by me.’ This blew the more
His burning fury; when the top he tore
From off a huge rock, and so right a throw
&nbs
p; Made at our ship, that just before the prow
It overflew and fell, miss’d mast and all
Exceeding little; but about the fall
So fierce a wave it rais’d, that back it bore
Our ship so far, it almost touch’d the shore.
A bead-hook then, a far-extended one,
I snatch’d up, thrust hard, and so set us gone
Some little way; and straight commanded all
To help me with their oars, on pain to fall
Again on our confusion. But a sign
I with my head made, and their oars were mine
In all performance. When we off were set,
(Then first, twice further) my heart was so great,
It would again provoke him, but my men
On all sides rush’d about me, to contain,
And said: ‘Unhappy! why will you provoke
A man so rude, that with so dead a stroke,
Giv’n with his rock-dart, made the sea thrust back
Our ship so far, and near hand forc’d our wrack?
Should he again but hear your voice resound,
And any word reach, thereby would be found
His dart’s direction, which would, in his fall,
Crush piece-meal us, quite split our ship and all;
So much dart wields the monster.’ Thus urg’d they
Impossible things, in fear; but I gave way
To that wrath which so long I held deprest,
By great necessity conquer’d, in my breast:
‘Cyclop! if any ask thee, who impos’d 9
Th’ unsightly blemish that thine eye enclos’d,
Say that Ulysses, old Laertes’ son,
Whose seat is Ithaca, and who hath won
Surname of City-razer, bor’d it out.’
At this, he bray’d so loud, that round about
He drave affrighted echoes through the air,
And said: ‘O beast! I was premonish’d fair,
By aged prophecy, in one that was
A great and good man, this should come to pass;
And how ’tis prov’d now! Augur Telemus,
Surnam’d Eurymides (that spent with us
His age in augury, and did exceed
In all presage of truth) said all this deed
Should this event take, author’d by the hand
Of one Ulysses, who I thought was mann’d
With great and goodly personage, and bore
A virtue answerable; and this shore
Should shake with weight of such a conqueror;
When now a weakling came, a dwarfy thing,
A thing of nothing; who yet wit did bring,
That brought supply to all, and with his wine
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 128
