Nor will I stay, Though in a merchant’s ship I steer my way; Which shows in your sights best; since me ye know Incapable of ship, or men to row.” This said, his hand he coyly snatch’d away From forth Antinous’ hand. The rest the day Spent through the house with banquets; some with jests, And some with railings, dignifying their feasts. To whom a jest-proud youth the wit began: “Telemachus will kill us ev’ry man. From Sparta, to the very Pylian sand, He will raise aids to his impetuous hand. O he affects it strangely! Or he means To search Ephyra’s fat shores, and from thence Bring deathful poisons, which amongst our bowls Will make a general shipwrack of our souls.” Another said: “Alas, who knows but he Once gone, and erring like his sire at sea, May perish like him, far from aid of friends, And so he makes us work? For all the ends Left of his goods here we shall share, the house Left to his mother and her chosen spouse.” Thus they; while he a room ascended, high And large, built by his father, where did lie Gold and brass heap’d up, and in coffers were Rich robes, great store of odorous oils, and there Stood tuns of sweet old wines along the wall, Neat and divine drink, kept to cheer with all Ulysses’ old heart, if he turn’d again From labours fatal to him to sustain. The doors of plank were, their close exquisite, Kept with a double key, and day and night A woman lock’d within; and that was she Who all trust had for her sufficiency, Old Euryclea, one of Opis’ race, Son to Pisenor, and in passing grace With grey Minerva; her the prince did call, And said: “Nurse! Draw me the most sweet of all The wine thou keep’st; next that which for my sire Thy care reserves, in hope he shall retire. Twelve vessels fill me forth, and stop them well. Then into well-sew’d sacks of fine ground meal Pour twenty measures. Nor, to anyone But thee thyself, let this design be known. All this see got together; I it all In night will fetch off, when my mother shall Ascend her high room, and for sleep prepare. Sparta and Pylos I must see, in care To find my father.” Out Euryclea cried, And ask’d with tears: “Why is your mind applied. Dear son, to this course? Whither will you go? So far off leave us, and belovéd so, So only? And the sole hope of your race? Royal Ulysses, far from the embrace Of his kind country, in a land unknown Is dead; and, you from your lov’d country gone, The Wooers will with some deceit assay To your destruction, making then their prey Of all your goods. Where, in your own y’are strong, Make sure abode. It fits not you so young To suffer so much by the aged seas, And err in such a wayless wilderness.” “Be cheer’d, lov’d nurse,” said he, “for, not without The will of God, go my attempts about. Swear therefore, not to wound my mother’s ears With word of this, before from heav’n appears Th’ elev’nth or twelfth light, or herself shall please To ask of me, or hears me put to seas, Lest her fair body with her woe be wore.”