Be vain, or giv’n up, for their opposite spleen. But, if Ulysses nor Penelope Were thy true parents, I then hope in thee Of no more urging thy attempt in hand; For few, that rightly bred on both sides stand, Are like their parents, many that are worse, And most few better. Those then that the nurse Or mother call true-born yet are not so, Like worthy sires much less are like to grow. But thou show’st now that in thee fades not quite Thy father’s wisdom; and that future light Shall therefore show thee far from being unwise, Or touch’d with stain of bastard cowardice. Hope therefore says, that thou wilt to the end Pursue the brave act thou didst erst intend. But for the foolish Wooers, they bewray They neither counsel have nor soul, since they Are neither wise nor just, and so must needs Rest ignorant how black above their heads Fate hovers holding Death, that one sole day Will make enough to make them all away. For thee, the way thou wishest shall no more Fly thee a step; I, that have been before Thy father’s friend, thine likewise now will be, Provide thy ship myself, and follow thee. Go thou then home, and sooth each Wooer’s vein, But under hand fit all things for the main; Wine in as strong and sweet casks as you can, And meal, the very marrow of a man, Which put in good sure leather sacks, and see That with sweet food sweet vessels still agree. I from the people straight will press for you Free voluntaries; and, for ships, enow Sea-circled Ithaca contains, both new And old-built; all which I’ll exactly view, And choose what one soever most doth please; Which rigg’d, we’ll straight launch, and assay the seas.” This spake Jove’s daughter, Pallas; whose voice heard, No more Telemachus her charge deferr’d, But hasted home, and, sad at heart, did see Amidst his hall th’ insulting Wooers flea Goats, and roast swine. ’Mongst whom, Antinous Careless, discov’ring in Telemachus His grudge to see them, laugh’d, met, took his hand, And said: “High-spoken, with the mind so mann’d! Come, do as we do, put not up your spirits With these low trifles, nor our loving merits In gall of any hateful purpose steep, But eat egregiously, and drink as deep. The things thou think’st on, all at full shall be By th’ Achives thought on, and perform’d to thee; Ship, and choice oars, that in a trice will land Thy hasty fleet on heav’nly Pylos’ sand, And at the fame of thy illustrious sire.” He answer’d: “Men, whom pride did so inspire, Are not fit consorts for an humble guest; Nor are constrain’d men merry at their feast. Is ’t not enough, that all this time ye have Op’d in your entrails my chief goods a grave, And, while I was a child, made me partake? My now more growth more grown my mind doth make, And, hearing speak more judging men than you, Perceive how much I was misgovern’d now. I now will try if I can bring ye home An ill Fate to consort you; if it come From Pylos, or amongst the people here. But thither I resolve, and know that there I shall not touch in vain.