Made way, and said: “Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes’ son, Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run? Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends, If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends Have clos’d your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home. Go to these people, use no stay, with fair terms overcome Their foul endeavour, not a man a flying sail let hoice.” Thus spake she; and Ulysses knew ’twas Pallas by her voice, Ran to the runners, cast from him his mantle, which his man And herald, grave Eurybates, the Ithacensian That follow’d him, took up. Himself to Agamemnon went, His incorrupted sceptre took, his sceptre of descent, And with it went about the fleet. What prince, or man of name, He found flight-giv’n, he would restrain with words of gentlest blame: “Good sir, it fits not you to fly, or fare as one afraid, You should not only stay yourself, but see the people staid. You know not clearly, though you heard the king’s words, yet his mind; He only tries men’s spirits now, and, whom his trials find Apt to this course, he will chastise, Nor you, nor I, heard all He spake in council; nor durst press too near our General, Lest we incens’d him to our hurt. The anger of a king Is mighty; he is kept of Jove, and from Jove likewise spring His honours, which, out of the love of wise Jove, he enjoys.” Thus he the best sort us’d; the worst, whose spirits brake out in noise, He cudgell’d with his sceptre, chid, and said: “Stay, wretch, be still, And hear thy betters; thou art base, and both in pow’r and skill Poor and unworthy, without name in council or in war. We must not all be kings. The rule is most irregular, Where many rule. One lord, one king, propose to thee; and he, To whom wise Saturn’s son, hath giv’n both law and empery To rule the public, is that king.” Thus ruling, he restrain’d The host from flight; and then again the Council was maintain’d With such a concourse, that the shore rung with the tumult made; As when the far-resounding sea doth in its rage invade His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involvéd wave, And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave. Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder’d store Of words he foolishly pour’d out, of which his mind held more Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure To touch no kings; t’ oppose their states becomes not jesters’ parts. But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts In Troy’s brave siege; he was squint-ey’d, and lame of either foot; So crook-back’d, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did shoot (Here and there spers’d) thin mossy hair. He most of all envíed Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide. Nor could the sacred King himself avoid his saucy vein; Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain, Being angry for Achilles’ wrong, he cried out, railing thus: