Wake, merchant, wake, awake; whoe’er thou beest, That sleepest thus so nigh the public road: Arouse thee, man, and guard thy store: Look to it! Ay, if some passer-by have not already Filched from thee a sad loan of bronze or iron. For though we reverence Zeus, thou giv’st occasion To make a thief even of an honest man. 51 _ULYSSES_ (_awaking_). Hail, friend, whom first my waking eyes behold Here in this land: and since thou speakest friendly, Prove now my friend, and show how best to save These few things, ay, and save myself, being here Without thee friendless. And, I prithee, tell me What land is this? What people dwell herein? Is it an island, or some mainland shore That from its fertile plains shelves to the deep? _Ath._ What hast thou asked, man? Couldst thou hither come, 60 Not shipwrecked, as is plain, and yet not know Our famous isle? Not so am I deceived. Thyself tell rather who thou art and whence, Else learn’st thou nought of me: And speak but truth. Ill speeds entreaty on a lying tongue. _Ul._ Indeed I speak but truth, friend, when I say I know not where I stand; as thou must grant At hearing how I came: for from wide Crete Have I fared over sea with these my goods— Where to my sons I left as much again, 70 When thence I fled in fear, because I slew The noble and swift-footed prince of Crete, Orsilochus, son of Idomeneus; Who threatened to despoil me of the wealth I won at Troy, suffering for many years The woes of that long war; and all his grudge Was that I had not served the king his father, But kept my own retainers—for which thing He would have robbed me: but I smote him dead.— _Ath._ Ah, king of ready wile, what tale is this 80 Of Crete and of thy sons, which when I bid thee Speak truth, trips on thy tongue? Dost thou not know Thy goddess, great Athena? Was’t not I Who stirred the hearts of those Phæacian men To bring thee hither? Wherefore in my ears Pourest thou fables? _Ul._ ’Tis thy voice indeed, Which tho’ my eyes were blinded, well I knew. Voice of Athena, dearest of the gods! Now with my soul I grasp thee, now I see, And worship thee, divine one, and thy knees 90 Embrace: but in this darkness and disguise Not even a god had known thee; blame me not. _Ath._ Nor for thy false tale to a stranger spoken? _Ul._ Since thou who lackest cause hast more deceived. And I—where were I now without my guile, Without thy help? _Ath._ If I should help thee still, What wouldst thou ask?