Ulysses meets amids the field His swain Eumæus: who doth yield Kind guest-rites to him, and relate Occurrents of his wrong’d estate. ANOTHER ARGUMENT _Ξι̑._ Ulysses fains For his true good: His pious swain’s Faith understood. But he the rough way took from forth the port, Through woods and hill-tops, seeking the resort Where Pallas said divine Eumæus liv’d; Who of the fortunes, that were first achiev’d By God-like Ithacus in household rights, Had more true care than all his prosylites.[1] He found him sitting in his cottage door, Where he had rais’d to ev’ry airy blore A front of great height, and in such a place That round ye might behold, of circular grace A walk so wound about it; which the swain (In absence of his far-gone sovereign) Had built himself, without his queen’s supply, Or old Laertes’, to see safely lie His houséd herd. The inner part he wrought Of stones, that thither his own labours brought, Which with an hedge of thorn he fenc’d about, And compass’d all the hedge with pales cleft out Of sable oak, that here and there he fix’d Frequent and thick. Within his yard he mix’d Twelve styes to lodge his herd; and ev’ry stye Had room and use for fifty swine to lie; But those were females all. The male swine slept Without doors ever; nor was their herd kept Fair like the females, since they suffer’d still Great diminution, he being forc’d to kill And send the fattest to the dainty feasts Affected by th’ ungodly wooing guests. Their number therefore but three hundred were And sixty. By them mastiffs, as austere As savage beasts, lay ever, their fierce strain Bred by the herdsman, a mere prince of men, Their number four. Himself was then applied In cutting forth a fair-hued ox’s hide, To fit his feet with shoes. His servants held Guard of his swine: three, here and there, at field, The fourth he sent to city with a sow, Which must of force be offer’d to the vow The Wooers made to all satiety, To serve which still they did those off’rings ply. The fate-born-dogs-to-bark took sudden view[2] Of Odyssëus, and upon him flew With open mouth. He, cunning to appall A fierce dog’s fury, from his hand let fall His staff to earth, and sat him careless down. And yet to him had one foul wrong been shown Where most his right lay, had not instantly The herdsman let his hide fall, and his cry (With frequent stones flung at the dogs) repell’d This way and that their eager course they held; When through the entry past, he thus did mourn: “O father! How soon had you near been torn By these rude dogs, whose hurt had branded me With much neglect of you! But Deity Hath giv’n so many other sighs and cares To my attendant state, that well unwares You might be hurt for me, for here I lie Grieving and mourning for the Majesty That, God-like, wonted to be ruling here, Since now I fat his swine for others’ cheer, Where he, perhaps, errs hungry up and down, In countries, nations, cities, all unknown; If any where he lives yet, and doth see The sun’s sweet beams.