_Ul._ In all my wanderings never have I found A kinder host. But since thou sayest thy master, Whose absence makes thee masterless, was one Who fought at Troy, I too was in that war; 400 If thou wouldst tell his name, I may know somewhat To cheer his wife and child. _Eum._ Try not that talk, Old man. No more of him shall traveller hither Come bringing tidings that may win their ear. Lightly indeed for welcome’s sake will vagrants Speak false, nor have they cause to wish for truth. Nay, and there’s none strays to this isle, but goes Seeking my mistress, and there spins his lie; While she with tender care asks of each thing, And from her sorrowing eyes the tears fall fast, 410 Hearing the name she doth not dare to speak. And soon enough wouldst thou too coin thy tale, Couldst thou but win a blanket for thy back: The while for him vultures and wolves are like To have stripped his bones of flesh—ay, ay, he is dead— Or fish have preyed upon him, and his ribs Bleach on the sea-shore, sunk in drifting sand. Such fate is his, grievous to all who loved him, And most to me; who ne’er shall find again So kind a lord, wherever I may go: 420 Not even again if home to father and mother I should return, where I was bred and born. Nor are my tears for them, yearn as I do With these eyes to behold them, and my country; But my desire is for Ulysses gone: Speaking whose name, stranger, tho’ far from hearing I do obeisance (_towards Ul._); for he loved me well; And worshipful I call him, be he dead. _Ul._ If ’tis Ulysses, friend, whom thou lamentest, I know he lives. _Eum._ Try not that tale, I say. 430 _Ul._ Now, sir, tho’ thou deny it and think I lie, Ulysses will return, and on that day Give me my due; since I dare call on Zeus, First of the gods, and by this friendly table Swear, and his dear home whither I be come, This thing shall be, and with the running year He shall return. _Eum._ Nay, ’tis not I shall pay Thy recompense. Content thee, man, and drink. Why wouldst thou force persuasion? Tell me rather Thy own true story, who thou art and whence. 440 _Ul._ Would then that thou couldst give me food and wine, Ay, and the gods fair sunshine and no toil, The while my tale should last: for on this bench Would I take comfort of thee many a day. But of thy lord ... _Eum._ Wilt thou not cease from that!