“Atrides, why complain’st thou now? What would’st thou more of us? Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are thine, With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign To our invasion. Want’st thou then, besides all this, more gold From Troy’s knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold I or some other Greek must take? Or would’st thou yet again Force from some other lord his prise, to soothe the lusts that reign In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy, And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, fly Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys, And try if we help’d him or not; he wrong’d a man that weighs Far more than he himself in worth; he forc’d from Thetis’ son, And keeps his prise still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won The style of wrathful worthily; he’s soft, he’s too remiss; Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries.” Thus he the people’s Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim, This bitter check gave: “Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst restrain, With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree; For not a worse, of all this host, came with our King than thee, To Troy’s great siege; then do not take into that mouth of thine The names of kings, much less revile the dignities that shine In their supreme states, wresting thus this motion for our home, To soothe thy cowardice; since ourselves yet know not what will come Of these designments, if it be our good to stay, or go. Nor is it that thou stand’st on; thou revil’st our Gen’ral so, Only because he hath so much, not giv’n by such as thou But our heroës. Therefore this thy rude vein makes me vow (Which shall be curiously observ’d) if ever I shall hear This madness from thy mouth again, let not Ulysses bear This head, nor be the father call’d of young Telemachus, If to thy nakedness I take and strip thee not, and thus Whip thee to fleet from council; send, with sharp stripes, weeping hence This glory thou affect’st to rail.” This said, his insolence He settled with his sceptre; strook his back and shoulders so That bloody wales rose. He shrunk round; and from his eyes did flow Moist tears, and, looking filthily, he sate, fear’d, smarted, dried His blubber’d cheeks; and all the prease, though griev’d to be denied Their wish’d retreat for home, yet laugh’d delightsomely, and spake Either to other: “O ye Gods, how infinitely take Ulysses’ virtues in our good! Author of counsels, great In ord’ring armies, how most well this act became his heat, To beat from council this rude fool! I think his saucy spirit, Hereafter, will not let his tongue abuse the sov’reign merit, Exempt from such base tongues as his.” Thus spake the people; then