Who neither deign with decency to woo, Nor yet to seek their homes, but boldly waste His substance, shameless, now, and sparing nought. Jove ne'er hath giv'n us yet the night or day When with a single victim, or with two They would content them, and his empty jars Witness how fast the squand'rers use his wine. Time was, when he was rich indeed; such wealth No Hero own'd on yonder continent, Nor yet in Ithaca; no twenty Chiefs 120 Could match with all their treasures his alone; I tell thee their amount. Twelve herds of his The mainland graze;[62] as many flocks of sheep; As many droves of swine; and hirelings there And servants of his own seed for his use, As many num'rous flocks of goats; his goats, (Not fewer than eleven num'rous flocks) Here also graze the margin of his fields Under the eye of servants well-approved, And ev'ry servant, ev'ry day, brings home 130 The goat, of all his flock largest and best. But as for me, I have these swine in charge, Of which, selected with exactest care From all the herd, I send the prime to them. He ceas'd, meantime Ulysses ate and drank Voracious, meditating, mute, the death Of those proud suitors. His repast, at length, Concluded, and his appetite sufficed, Eumæus gave him, charged with wine, the cup From which he drank himself; he, glad, received 140 The boon, and in wing'd accents thus began. My friend, and who was he, wealthy and brave As thou describ'st the Chief, who purchased thee? Thou say'st he perish'd for the glory-sake Of Agamemnon. Name him; I, perchance, May have beheld the Hero. None can say But Jove and the inhabitants of heav'n That I ne'er saw him, and may not impart News of him; I have roam'd through many a clime. To whom the noble swine-herd thus replied. 150 Alas, old man! no trav'ler's tale of him Will gain his consort's credence, or his son's; For wand'rers, wanting entertainment, forge Falsehoods for bread, and wilfully deceive. No wand'rer lands in Ithaca, but he seeks With feign'd intelligence my mistress' ear; She welcomes all, and while she questions each Minutely, from her lids lets fall the tear Affectionate, as well beseems a wife Whose mate hath perish'd in a distant land. 160 Thou could'st thyself, no doubt, my hoary friend! (Would any furnish thee with decent vest And mantle) fabricate a tale with ease; Yet sure it is that dogs and fowls, long since, His skin have stript, or fishes of the Deep Have eaten him, and on some distant shore Whelm'd in deep sands his mould'ring bones are laid. So hath he perish'd; whence, to all his friends, But chiefly to myself, sorrow of heart;