_Eum._ Antinous, Thou speak’st not fair, lord tho’ thou be; that here Set at another’s board wouldst judge and grudge The spending of thy host. I know that thou Art like the world, who bid unto their tables 1680 But such as can repay them well in kind, Or by some service or amusement made; And none will ever ask a beggar-man To help him eat. Thou too wast always hard Above all here to all, and most to me. But I care not, while my dear gracious mistress Dwells with the prince, my master. _Tel._ (_aside to Eum._). Hush, Eumæus; Truth is the hardest taunt to bear. _Ant._ Thou hind! Answerest thou me? _Tel._ I laugh, Antinous, To have thee play the master in this house. 1690 Bid me dismiss my guest? The gods forfend! Thee rather bid I help to entertain him. Lo! thou hast feasted well: give off thy plate Thy leavings to this beggar. Go, old man,— These lords can of their surplus well afford To furnish thee a supper,—go, I charge thee, And take what each may give. _Ant._ By Zeus in heaven, Thou bear’st me hard. If all but give as I, He shall not make the round. _Ul._ (_coming to Ant._). Sir, give me somewhat. Thou comest, I warrant, of no common stock, 1700 But of some great house: thou’rt featured like a king: Thou wilt not stint thy hand: and, treat me well, It lies in chance I yet may make return. For I too once had my own house, and lived In state, nor e’er turned any from my doors, Whoever he might be, whate’er his need. I had my slaves and thralls, and all in plenty, That rich men have; but Zeus made nought of all: For his will surely ’twas, who sent me forth With wandering pirates, sailing up the river 1710 Of Egypt, a long voyage—and to my ruin: For tarrying there, my crews in mutiny Brake from me, and doing bloody violence Unto the people of the king, were slain, And I enslaved. But of the king’s good pleasure, With whom I lacked not favour, I was sent In time to Cyprus ... _Ant._ Plague thee and thy lies! Stand off, back from my table; lest thou come To a bitter Egypt, and a mournful Cyprus. Begone, I say. _Ul._ Lo! now I see thou lackest 1720 Wisdom unto thy beauty. Of thine own Thou wouldst not give away a pinch of salt, Since thou withholdest here what costs thee nothing. _Ant._ Then take what I would give thee ere thou go. [_Strikes him._ _Ul._ Ha! wilt thou strike me!—Why, and even a blow Thou giv’st not well. _Amph._ Shame, shame! _Eur._ Enough, Antinous.