They squander, heedless, viands not their own. To whom Ulysses while he slow retired. Gods! how illib'ral with that specious form! Thou wouldst not grant the poor a grain of salt From thy own board, who at another's fed So nobly, canst thou not spare a crust to me. 550 He spake; then raged Antinoüs still the more, And in wing'd accents, louring, thus replied. Take such dismission now as thou deserv'st, Opprobrious! hast thou dared to scoff at me? So saying, he seized his stool, and on the joint Of his right shoulder smote him; firm as rock He stood, by no such force to be displaced, But silent shook his brows, and dreadful deeds Of vengeance ruminating, sought again His seat the threshold, where his bag full-charged 560 He grounded, and the suitors thus address'd. Hear now, ye suitors of the matchless Queen, My bosom's dictates. Trivial is the harm, Scarce felt, if, fighting for his own, his sheep Perchance, or beeves, a man receive a blow. But me Antinoüs struck for that I ask'd Food from him merely to appease the pangs Of hunger, source of num'rous ills to man. If then the poor man have a God t' avenge His wrongs, I pray to him that death may seize 570 Antinoüs, ere his nuptial hour arrive! To whom Antinoüs answer thus return'd, Son of Eupithes. Either seated there Or going hence, eat, stranger, and be still; Lest for thy insolence, by hand or foot We drag thee forth, and thou be flay'd alive. He ceased, whom all indignant heard, and thus Ev'n his own proud companions censured him. Antinoüs! thou didst not well to smite The wretched vagabond. O thou art doom'd 580 For ever, if there be a God in heav'n;[77] For, in similitude of strangers oft, The Gods, who can with ease all shapes assume, Repair to populous cities, where they mark The outrageous and the righteous deeds of men. So they, for whose reproof he little cared. But in his heart Telemachus that blow Resented, anguish-torn, yet not a tear He shed, but silent shook his brows, and mused Terrible things. Penelope, meantime, 590 Told of the wand'rer so abused beneath Her roof, among her maidens thus exclaim'd. So may Apollo, glorious archer, smite Thee also. Then Eurynome replied, Oh might our pray'rs prevail, none of them all Should see bright-charioted Aurora more. Her answer'd then Penelope discrete. Nurse! they are odious all, for that alike All teem with mischief; but Antinoüs' looks Remind me ever of the gloom of death. 600 A stranger hath arrived who, begging, roams The house, (for so his penury enjoins) The rest have giv'n him, and have fill'd his bag With viands, but Antinoüs hath bruised