Even the virtuous of her sex are shamed. Thus they, beneath the vaulted roof obscure Of Pluto's house, conferring mutual stood. Meantime, descending from the city-gates, Ulysses, by his son and by his swains Follow'd, arrived at the delightful farm Which old Laertes had with strenuous toil 250 Himself long since acquired. There stood his house Encompass'd by a bow'r in which the hinds Who served and pleased him, ate, and sat, and slept. An ancient woman, a Sicilian, dwelt There also, who in that sequester'd spot Attended diligent her aged Lord. Then thus Ulysses to his followers spake. Haste now, and, ent'ring, slay ye of the swine The best for our regale; myself, the while, Will prove my father, if his eye hath still 260 Discernment of me, or if absence long Have worn the knowledge of me from his mind. He said, and gave into his servants' care His arms; they swift proceeded to the house, And to the fruitful grove himself as swift To prove his father. Down he went at once Into the spacious garden-plot, but found Nor Dolius there, nor any of his sons Or servants; they were occupied elsewhere, And, with the ancient hind himself, employ'd 270 Collecting thorns with which to fence the grove. In that umbrageous spot he found alone Laertes, with his hoe clearing a plant; Sordid his tunic was, with many a patch Mended unseemly; leathern were his greaves, Thong-tied and also patch'd, a frail defence Against sharp thorns, while gloves secured his hands From briar-points, and on his head he bore A goat-skin casque, nourishing hopeless woe. No sooner then the Hero toil-inured 280 Saw him age-worn and wretched, than he paused Beneath a lofty pear-tree's shade to weep. There standing much he mused, whether, at once, Kissing and clasping in his arms his sire, To tell him all, by what means he had reach'd His native country, or to prove him first. At length, he chose as his best course, with words Of seeming strangeness to accost his ear, And, with that purpose, moved direct toward him. He, stooping low, loosen'd the earth around 290 A garden-plant, when his illustrious son Now, standing close beside him, thus began. Old sir! thou art no novice in these toils Of culture, but thy garden thrives; I mark In all thy ground no plant, fig, olive, vine, Pear-tree or flow'r-bed suff'ring through neglect. But let it not offend thee if I say That thou neglect'st thyself, at the same time Oppress'd with age, sun-parch'd and ill-attired. Not for thy inactivity, methinks, 300 Thy master slights thee thus, nor speaks thy form Or thy surpassing stature servile aught