To live and leave posterity his name?” “I know not,” he replied, “if th’ humour came From current of his own instinct, or flow’d From others’ instigations; but he vow’d Attempt to Pylos, or to see descried His sire’s return, or know what death he died.” This said, he took him to Ulysses’ house After the Wooers; the Ulyssean spouse, Run through with woes, let Torture seize her mind, Nor in her choice of state chairs stood inclin’d To take her seat, but th’ abject threshold chose Of her fair chamber for her loath’d repose, And mourn’d most wretch-like. Round about her fell Her handmaids, join’d in a continuate yell. From ev’ry corner of the palace, all Of all degrees tun’d to her comfort’s fall Their own dejections; to whom her complaint She thus enforc’d: “The Gods, beyond constraint Of any measure, urge these tears on me; Nor was there ever dame of my degree So past degree griev’d. First, a lord so good, That had such hardy spirits in his blood, That all the virtues was adorn’d withall, That all the Greeks did their superior call, To part with thus, and lose! And now a son, So worthily belov’d, a course to run Beyond my knowledge; whom rude tempests have Made far from home his most inglorious grave! Unhappy wenches, that no one of all (Though in the reach of ev’ry one must fall His taking ship) sustain’d the careful mind, To call me from my bed, who this design’d And most vow’d course in him had either stay’d, How much soever hasted, or dead laid He should have left me. Many a man I have, That would have call’d old Dolius my slave, (That keeps my orchard, whom my father gave At my departure) to have run, and told Laertes this; to try if he could hold From running through the people, and from tears, In telling them of these vow’d murderers; That both divine Ulysses’ hope, and his, Resolv’d to end in their conspiracies.” His nurse then, Euryclea, made reply: “Dear sov’reign, let me with your own hands die, Or cast me off here, I’ll not keep from thee One word of what I know. He trusted me With all his purpose, and I gave him all The bread and wine for which he pleas’d to call. But then a mighty oath he made me swear, Not to report it to your royal ear Before the twelfth day either should appear, Or you should ask me when you heard him gone. Impair not then your beauties with your moan, But wash, and put untear-stain’d garments on, Ascend your chamber with your ladies here, And pray the seed of goat-nurs’d Jupiter, Divine Athenia, to preserve your son, And she will save him from confusión, Th’ old king, to whom your hopes stand so inclin’d For his grave counsels, you perhaps may find Unfit affected, for his age’s sake. But heav’n-kings wax not old, and therefore make Fit pray’rs to them; for my thoughts never will Believe the heav’nly Pow’rs conceit so ill The seed of righteous Arcesiades, To end it utterly, but still will please In some place evermore some one of them To save, and deck him with a diadem, Give him possession of erected tow’rs,