His corse at sea to fishes forfeited, Or on the shore lies hid in heaps of sand, And there hath he his ebb, his native strand With friends’ tears flowing. But to me past all Were tears created, for I never shall Find so humane a royal master more, Whatever sea I seek, whatever shore. Nay, to my father, or my mother’s love Should I return, by whom I breathe and move, Could I so much joy offer; nor these eyes (Though my desires sustain extremities For their sad absence) would so fain be blest With sight of their lives, in my native nest, As with Ulysses dead; in whose last rest, O friend, my soul shall love him. He’s not here Nor do I name him like a flatterer, But as one thankful for his love and care To me a poor man; in the rich so rare. And be he past all shores where sun can shine, I will invoke him as a soul divine.” “O friend,” said he, “to say, and to believe, He cannot live, doth too much licence give To incredulity; for, not to speak At needy randon, but my breath to break In sacred oath, Ulysses shall return. And when his sight recomforts those that mourn In his own roofs, then give me cloak, and coat, And garments worthy of a man of note. Before which, though need urg’d me never so, I’ll not receive a thread, but naked go. No less I hate him than the gates of hell, That poorness can force an untruth to tell. Let Jove then (Heav’n’s chief God) just witness bear, And this thy hospitable table here, Together with unblam’d Ulysses’ house, In which I find receipt so gracious, What I affirm’d of him shall all be true. This instant year thine eyes ev’n here shall view Thy lord Ulysses. Nay, ere this month’s end, Return’d full-home, he shall revenge extend To ev’ry one, whose ever deed hath done Wrong to his wife and his illustrious son.” “O father,” he replied, “I’ll neither give Thy news reward, nor doth Ulysses live. But come, enough of this, let’s drink and eat, And never more his memory repeat. It grieves my heart to be remember’d thus By anyone of one so glorious. But stand your oath in your assertion strong, And let Ulysses come, for whom I long, For whom his wife, for whom his agéd sire, For whom his son consumes his god-like fire, Whose chance I now must mourn, and ever shall. Whom when the Gods had brought to be as tall As any upright plant, and I had said, He would amongst a court of men have sway’d In counsels, and for form have been admir’d Ev’n with his father, some God misinspir’d, Or man took from him his own equal mind, And pass’d him for the Pylian shore to find His long-lost father. In return from whence, The Wooers’ pride way-lays his innocence, That of divine Arcesius all the race May fade to Ithaca, and not the grace Of any name left to it. But leave we His state, however, if surpris’d he be, Or if he scape. And may Saturnius’ hand Protect him safely to his native land. Do thou then, father, show your griefs, and cause Of your arrival here; nor break the laws That truth prescribes you, but relate your name,