Of God by some means) that sad death hath reft The ruler here, will never suffer left Their unjust wooing of his wife, nor take Her often answer, and their own roofs make Their fit retreats, but (since uncheck’d they may) They therefore will make still his goods their prey, Without all spare or end. There is no day, Nor night, sent out from God, that ever they Profane with one beast’s blood, or only two, But more make spoil of; and the wrongs they do In meat’s excess to wine as well extend, Which as excessively their riots spend, Yet still leave store, for sure his means were great, And no heroë, that hath choicest seat Upon the fruitful neighbour-continent, Or in this isle itself, so opulent Was as Ulysses; no, nor twenty such, Put altogether, did possess so much. Whose herds and flocks I’ll tell to ev’ry head: Upon the continent he daily fed Twelve herds of oxen, no less flocks of sheep, As many herds of swine, stalls large and steep, And equal sorts of goats, which tenants there, And his own shepherds, kept. Then fed he here Eleven fair stalls of goats, whose food hath yield In the extreme part of a neighbour-field. Each stall his herdsman hath, an honest swain, Yet ev’ry one must ev’ry day sustain The load of one beast (the most-fat, and best Of all the stall-fed) to the Wooers’ feast. And I, for my part, of the swine I keep (With four more herdsmen) ev’ry day help steep The Wooers’ appetites in blood of one, The most select our choice can fall upon.” To this Ulysses gave good ear, and fed, And drunk his wine, and vex’d, and ravishéd His food for mere vexation. Seeds of ill His stomach sow’d, to hear his goods go still To glut of Wooers. But his dinner done, And stomach fed to satisfactión, He drunk a full bowl, all of only wine, And gave it to the guardian of his swine, Who took it, and rejoic’d; to whom he said: “O friend, who is it that, so rich, hath paid Price for thy service, whose commended pow’r, Thou sayst, to grace the Grecian conquerour, At Ilion perish’d? Tell me. It may fall I knew some such. The great God knows, and all The other deathless Godheads, if I can, Far having travell’d, tell of such a man.” Eumæus answer’d: “Father, never one, Of all the strangers that have touch’d upon This coast, with his life’s news could ever yet Of queen, or lov’d son, any credit get. These travellers, for clothes, or for a meal, At all adventures, any lie will tell. Nor do they trade for truth. Not any man That saw the people Ithacensian, Of all their sort, and had the queen’s supplies, Did ever tell her any news, but lies. She graciously receives them yet, inquires Of all she can, and all in tears expires. It is th’ accustom’d law, that women keep, Their husbands elsewhere dead, at home to weep. But do thou quickly, father, forge a tale, Some coat, or cloak, to keep thee warm withal, Perhaps some one may yield thee; but for him, Vultures and dogs have torn from ev’ry limb His porous skin, and forth his soul is fled,