And pray both kings and subjects to assist.” Euryalus an open brawl began, And said: “I take you, sir, for no such man As fits these honour’d strifes. A number more Strange men there are that I would choose before. To one that loves to lie aship-board much, Or is the prince of sailors; or to such As traffic far and near, and nothing mind But freight, and passage, and a foreright wind; Or to a victualler of a ship; or men That set up all their pow’rs for rampant gain; I can compare, or hold you like to be: But, for a wrastler, or of quality Fit for contentions noble, you abhor From worth of any such competitor.” Ulysses, frowning, answer’d: “Stranger, far Thy words are from the fashions regular Of kind, or honour. Thou art in thy guise Like to a man that authors injuries.[4] I see, the Gods to all men give not all Manly addiction, wisdom, words that fall, Like dice, upon the square still. Some man takes Ill form from parents, but God often makes That fault of form up with observ’d repair Of pleasing speech, that makes him held for fair, That makes him speak securely, makes him shine In an assembly with a grace divine. Men take delight to see how ev’nly lie His words asteep in honey modesty. Another, then, hath fashion like a God, But in his language he is foul and broad. And such art thou. A person fair is giv’n, But nothing else is in thee sent from heav’n; For in thee lurks a base and earthy soul, And t’ hast compell’d me, with a speech most foul, To be thus bitter. I am not unseen In these fair strifes, as thy words overween, But in the first rank of the best I stand; At least I did, when youth and strength of hand Made me thus confident, but now am worn With woes and labours, as a human born To bear all anguish. Suffer’d much I have. The war of men, and the inhuman wave, Have I driv’n through at all parts. But with all My waste in suff’rance, what yet may fall In my performance, at these strifes I’ll try. Thy speech hath mov’d, and made my wrath run high.” This said, with robe and all, he grasp’d a stone, A little graver than was ever thrown By these Phæacians in their wrastling rout, More firm, more massy; which, turn’d round about, He hurried from him with a hand so strong It sung, and flew, and over all the throng, That at the others’ marks stood, quite it went; Yet down fell all beneath it, fearing spent The force that drave it flying from his hand, As it a dart were, or a walking wand; And far past all the marks of all the rest His wing stole way; when Pallas straight imprest A mark at fall of it, resembling then One of the navy-giv’n Phæacian men, And thus advanc’d Ulysses: “One, though blind, O stranger, groping, may thy stone’s fall find, For not amidst the rout of marks it fell, But far before all. Of thy worth think well, And stand in all strifes. No Phæacian here This bound can either better or come near.” Ulysses joy’d to hear that one man yet Us’d him benignly, and would truth abet In those contentions; and then thus smooth