Of frolic nuptials may imagine here.
And this perform we, lest the massacre
Of all our Wooers be divulg’d about
The ample city, ere ourselves get out
And greet my father in his grove of trees,
Where, after, we will prove what policies
Olympius shall suggest to overcome
Our latest toils, and crown our welcome home.”
This all obey’d; bath’d, put on fresh attire
Both men and women did. Then took his lyre
The holy singer, and set thirst on fire
With songs and faultless dances; all the court
Rung with the footings that the numerous sport
From jocund men drew and fair-girdled dames;
Which heard abroad, thus flew the common fames:
“This sure the day is when the much-woo’d Queen
Is richly wed. O wretch! That hath not been
So constant as to keep her ample house
Till th’ utmost hour had brought her foremost spouse.”
Thus some conceiv’d, but little knew the thing.
And now Eurynomé had bath’d the King,
Smooth’d him with oils, and he himself attir’d
In vestures royal. Her part then inspir’d
The Goddess Pallas, deck’d his head and face
With infinite beauties, gave a goodly grace
Of stature to him, a much plumper plight
Through all his body breath’d, curls soft and bright
Adorn’d his head withal, and made it show
As if the flow’ry hyacinth did grow
In all his pride there, in the gen’ral trim
Of ev’ry lock and ev’ry curious limb.
Look how a skilful artizan, well-seen
In all arts metalline, as having been
Taught by Minerva and the God of fire,
Doth gold with silver mix so that entire
They keep their self-distinction, and yet so
That to the silver from the gold doth flow
A much more artificial lustre than his own,
And thereby to the gold itself is grown
A greater glory than if wrought alone,
Both being stuck off by either’s mixtion;
So did Minerva her’s and his combine,
He more in her, she more in him, did shine.
Like an Immortal from the bath he rose,
And to his wife did all his grace dispose,
Encount’ring this her strangeness: “Cruel dame
Of all that breathe, the Gods past steel and flame
Have made thee ruthless. Life retains not one
Of all dames else that bears so overgrown
A mind with abstinence, as twenty years
To miss her husband drown’d in woes and tears,
And at his coming keep aloof, and fare
As of his so long absence and his care
No sense had seiz’d her. Go, nurse, make a bed,
That I alone may sleep; her heart is dead
To all reflection!” To him thus replied
The wise Penelope: “Man half-deified,
’Tis not my fashion to be taken straight
With bravest men, nor poorest use to sleight.
Your mean appearance made not me retire,
Nor this your rich show makes me now admire,
Nor moves at all; for what is all to me
If not my husband? All his certainty
I knew at parting; but, so long apart,
The outward likeness holds no full desert
For me to trust to. Go, nurse, see addrest
A soft bed for him, and the single rest
Himself affects so. Let it be the bed
That stands within our bridal chamber-sted,
Which he himself made. Bring it forth from thence,
And see it furnish’d with magnificence.”
This said she to assay him, and did stir
Ev’n his establish’d patience; and to her
Whom thus he answer’d: “Woman! your words prove
My patience strangely. Who is it can move
My bed out of his place? It shall oppress
Earth’s greatest understander; and, unless
Ev’n God himself come, that can eas’ly grace
Men in their most skills, it shall hold his place;
For man he lives not that (as not most skill’d,
So not most young) shall easily make it yield,
If, building on the strength in which he flows,
He adds both levers too and iron crows:
For in the fixture of the bed is shown
A master-piece, a wonder; and ’twas done
By me, and none but me, and thus was wrought:
There was an olive-tree that had his grought
Amidst a hedge, and was of shadow proud,
Fresh, and the prime age of his verdure show’d,
His leaves and arms so thick that to the eye
It show’d a column for solidity.
To this had I a comprehension
To build my bridal bow’r; which all of stone,
Thick as the tree of leaves, I rais’d, and cast
A roof about it nothing meanly grac’d,
Put glued doors to it, that op’d art enough,
Then from the olive ev’ry broad-leav’d bough
I lopp’d away; then fell’d the tree; and then
Went over it both with my axe and plane,
Both govern’d by my line, And then I hew’d
My curious bedstead out; in which I shew’d
Work of no common hand. All this begun,
I could not leave till to perfection
My pains had brought it; took my wimble, bor’d
The holes, as fitted, and did last afford
The varied ornament, which show’d no want
Of silver, gold, and polish’d elephant.
An ox-hide dyed in purple then I threw
Above the cords. And thus to curious view
I hope I have objected honest sign
To prove I author nought that is not mine.
But if my bed stand unremov’d or no,
O woman, passeth human wit to know.”
This sunk her knees and heart, to hear so true
The signs she urg’d; and first did tears ensue
Her rapt assurance; then she ran and spread
Her arms about his neck, kiss’d oft his head,
And thus the curious stay she made excus’d:
“Ulysses! Be not angry that I us’d
Such strange delays to this, since heretofore
Your suff’ring wisdom hath the garland wore
From all that breathe; and ’tis the Gods that, thus
With mutual miss so long afflicting us,
Have caus’d my coyness; to our youths envied
That wish’d society that should have tied
Our youths and years together; and since now
Judgment and Duty should our age allow
As full joys therein as in youth and blood,
See all young anger and reproof withstood
For not at first sight giving up my arms,
My heart still trembling lest the false alarms
That words oft strike-up should ridiculize me.
Had Argive Helen known credulity
Would bring such plagues with it, and her again,
As authoress of them all, with that foul
stain
To her and to her country, she had stay’d
Her love and mixture from a stranger’s bed;
But God impell’d her to a shameless deed,
Because she had not in herself decreed,
Before th’ attempt, that such acts still were shent
As simply in themselves as in th’ event
By which not only she herself sustains,
But we, for her fault, have paid mutual pains.
Yet now, since these signs of our certain bed
You have discover’d, and distinguishéd
From all earth’s others, no one man but you
Yet ever getting of it th’ only show,
Nor one of all dames but myself and she
My father gave, old Actor’s progeny,
Who ever guarded to ourselves the door
Of that thick-shaded chamber, I no more
Will cross your clear persuasion, though till now
I stood too doubtful and austere to you,”
These words of hers, so justifying her stay,
Did more desire of joyful moan convey
To his glad mind than if at instant sight
She had allow’d him all his wishes’ right.
He wept for joy, t’ enjoy a wife so fit
For his grave mind, that knew his depth of wit,
And held chaste virtue at a price so high,
And as sad men at sea when shore is nigh,
Which long their hearts have wish’d, their ship quite lost
By Neptune’s rigour, and they vex’d and tost
‘Twixt winds and black waves, swimming for their lives,
A few escap’d, and that few that survives,
All drench’d in foam and brine, crawl up to land,
With joy as much as they did worlds command;
So dear to this wife was her husband’s sight,
Who still embrac’d his neck, and had, till light
Display’d her silver ensign, if the Dame,
That bears the blue sky intermix’d with flame
In her fair eyes, had not infix’d her thought
On other joys, for loves so hardly brought
To long’d-for meeting; who th’ extended night
Withheld in long date, nor would let the light
Her wing-hoov’d horse join — Lampus, Phaeton —
Those ever-colts that bring the morning on
To worldly men, but, in her golden chair,
Down to the ocean by her silver hair
Bound her aspirings. Then Ulysses said:
“O wife! Nor yet are my contentions stay’d.
A most unmeasur’d labour long and hard
Asks more performance; to it being prepar’d
By grave Tiresiás, when down to hell
I made dark passage, that his skill might tell
My men’s return and mine. But come, and now
Enjoy the sweet rest that our Fates allow.”
“The place of rest is ready,” she replied,
“Your will at full serve, since the Deified
Have brought you where your right is to command.
But since you know, God making understand
Your searching mind, inform me what must be
Your last set labour; since ‘twill fall to me,
I hope, to hear it after, tell me now.
The greatest pleasure is before to know.”
“Unhappy!” said Ulysses; “To what end
Importune you this labour? It will lend
Nor you nor me delight, but you shall know
I was commanded yet more to bestow
My years in travel, many cities more
By sea to visit; and when first for shore
I left my shipping, I was will’d to take
A naval oar in hand, and with it make
My passage forth till such strange men I met
As knew no sea, nor ever salt did eat
With any victuals, who the purple beaks
Of ships did never see, nor that which breaks
The waves in curls, which is a fan-like oar,
And serves as wings with which a ship doth soar.
To let me know, then, when I was arriv’d
On that strange earth where such a people liv’d,
He gave me this for an unfailing sign:
When any one that took that oar of mine,
Borne on my shoulder, for a corn-cleanse fan,
I met ashore, and show’d to be a man
Of that land’s labour, there had I command
To fix mine oar, and offer on that strand
T’ imperial Neptune, whom I must implore,
A lamb, a bull, and sow-ascending boar;
And then turn home, where all the other Gods
That in the broad heav’n made secure abodes
I must solicit — all my curious heed
Giv’n to the sev’ral rites they have decreed —
With holy hecatombs; and then, at home,
A gentle death should seize me that would come
From out the sea, and take me to his rest
In full ripe age, about me living blest
My loving people; to which, he presag’d,
The sequel of my fortunes were engag’d.”
“If then,” said she, “the Gods will please t’ impose
A happier being to your fortune’s close
Than went before, your hope gives comfort strength
That life shall lend you better days at length.”
While this discourse spent mutual speech, the bed
Eurynomé and nurse had made, and spread
With richest furniture, while torches spent
Their parcel-gilt thereon. To bed then went
The aged nurse; and, where their sov’reigns were,
Eurynomé, the chambermaid, did bear
A torch, and went before them to their rest;
To which she left them and for her’s addrest.
The King and Queen then now, as newly-wed,
Resum’d the old laws of th’ embracing bed.
Telemachus and both his herdsmen then
Dissolv’d the dances both to maids and men;
Who in their shady roofs took timely sleep.
The bride and bridegroom having ceas’d to keep
Observéd love-joys, from their fit delight
They turn’d to talk. The Queen then did recite
What she had suffer’d by the hateful rout
Of harmful Wooers, who had eat her out
So many oxen and so many sheep,
How many tun of wine their drinking deep
Had quite exhausted. Great Ulysses then
Whatever slaughters he had made of men,
Whatever sorrows he himself sustain’d,
Repeated amply; and her ears remain’d
With all delight attentive to their end,
Nor would one wink sleep till he told her all,
Beginning where he gave the Cicons fall;
From thence his pass to the Lotophagi;
The Cyclop’s acts, the putting out his eye,
And wreak of all the soldiers he had eat,
No least ruth shown to all they could entreat;
His way to Æolus; his prompt receit
And kind dismission; his enforc’d retreat
By sudden tempest to the fishy main,
And quite distraction from his course again;
His landing at the Læstrigonian port,
Where ships and men in miserable sort
Met all their spoils, his ship and he alone
Got off from the abhorr’d confusión;
His pass to Circe, her deceits and arts;
His thence descension to th’ Infernal parts;
His life’s course of the Theban prophet learn’d,
Where all the slaughter’d Grecians he discern’d,
And lovéd mother; his astonish’d ear
With what the Siren’s voices made him hear;
His ‘scape from th’ erring rocks, which Scylla was,
And rough Charybdis, with the dang’rous pass
Of all that touch’d there; his Sicilian
Offence giv’n to the Sun; his ev’ry man
Destroy’d by thunder vollied out of heav’n,
That split his ship; his own endeavours driv’n
To shift for succours on th’ Ogygian shore,
Where Nymph Calypso such affection bore
To him in his arrival, that with feast
She kept him in her caves, and would have blest
His welcome life with an immortal state
Would he have stay’d and liv’d her nuptial mate,
All which she never could persuade him to;
His pass to the Phæacians spent in woe;
Their hearty welcome of him, as he were
A God descended from the starry sphere;
Their kind dismission of him home with gold,
Brass, garments, all things his occasions would.
This last word us’d, sleep seiz’d his weary eye
That salves all care to all mortality.
In mean space Pallas entertain’d intent
That when Ulysses thought enough time spent
In love-joys with his wife, to raise the day,
And make his grave occasions call away.
The morning rose and he, when thus he said:
“O Queen, now satiate with afflictions laid
On both our bosoms, — you oppresséd here
With cares for my return, I ev’rywhere
By Jove and all the other Deities tost
Ev’n till all hope of my return was lost, —
And both arriv’d at this sweet haven, our bed,
Be your care us’d to see administ’red
My house-possessions left. Those sheep, that were
Consum’d in surfeits by your Wooers here,
I’ll forage to supply with some; and more
The suff’ring Grecians shall be made restore,
Ev’n till our stalls receive their wonted fill.
“And now, to comfort my good father’s ill
Long suffer’d for me, to the many-tree’d
The Complete Poetical Works of George Chapman Page 160
