Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 4Bridges, Robert
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Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Volume 4
Bridges, Robert
English drama; English poetry
_Pen._ Well, my lords,
’Tis an untoward ending. Shall I think
Ye will not, or ye cannot?
_Eur._ Be content
To wait but till to-morrow, we beseech thee.—
Bring round the wine.
_Tel._ (_who has entered unperceived with Eum. and
neatherd_). Ho! men, take round the wine.
_Eum._ Will they not need it?
_Ant._ Thou impertinent swineherd,
Go to thy pigs.
_Eum._ Ay, ay, my lord.
_Ul._ Hear me,
Ye warriors, wooers of Ulysses’ queen, 2510
And you, Antinous and Eurymachus
In chief! ’Tis well ye urge to stay the contest,
And pour libations, that the archer god
To-morrow may grant strength to whom he will.
But first give me the bow, that I may gauge
My strength with yours, to see if yet remains
Some muscle lithe of what once clothed my limbs,
Or if ’tis withered all with age and want.
_Wooers._ Ho! ho! The beggar thinks that he
Shall win the fair Penelope. 2520
_Ant._ Thou wretched fool, thou hast even less wit than hairs:
Art not content in our high company
To sit at ease, and have thy share, and hear
Our talk, and see our pleasure ’gainst our will?
The unwonted wine dilates what brains thou hast,
To make thee think thou canst contend with us.
_Pen._ Antinous, I forbid this disrespect
Before me of my guest: and by my life
Thou dost him wrong. To me he seems as tall
And strongly built as thou; he boasts to be 2530
No less well born:—I grant him place and speech.
Thinkest thou if he string Ulysses’ bow
That I should wed him?—Nay, nor he thinks that.
Fret not yourselves, beseech you, with such fears.
_Eur._ Far be the thought, O wise Penelope:
And since he hath nought to gain, let him not try it:
Lest if he string it, men should say hereafter,
Naming our names, _The great bow of Ulysses
These could not handle, but a beggar strung it_. 2539
_Pen._ Look ye to future times for fair renown?
That hath been forfeit long. Stick not at this.
Give him the bow; he too shall have his prize.
A king’s son is he: ay, and like a king
From this house shall he issue clad and armed
From head to foot, as are the best of you.
I say, give him the bow.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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