And now, Phæacians, you that bear your heads And feet with best grace in enamouring dance, Enflame our guest here, that he may advance Our worth past all the world’s to his home-friends, As well for the unmatch’d grace that commends. Your skill in footing of a dance, as theirs That fly a race best. And so, all affairs, At which we boast us best, he best may try, As sea-race, land-race, dance, and poesy. Some one with instant speed to court retire, And fetch Demodocus’s soundful lyre.” This said the God-grac’d king; and quick resort Pontonous made for that fair harp to court. Nine of the lot-choos’d public rulers rose, That all in those contentions did dispose, Commanding a most smooth ground, and a wide, And all the people in fair game aside. Then with the rich harp came Pontonous, And in the midst took place Demodocus. About him then stood forth the choice young men,[6] That on man’s first youth made fresh entry then, Had art to make their natural motion sweet, And shook a most divine dance from their feet, That twinkled star-like, mov’d as swift, and fine, And beat the air so thin, they made it shine. Ulysses wonder’d at it, but amaz’d He stood in mind to hear the dance so phras’d. For, as they danc’d, Demodocus did sing, The bright-crown’d Venus’ love with Battle’s King; As first they closely mix’d in th’ house of fire. What worlds of gifts won her to his desire, Who then the night-and-day-bed did defile Of good king Vulcan. But in little while The Sun their mixture saw, and came and told. The bitter news did by his ears take hold Of Vulcan’s heart. Then to his forge he went, And in his shrewd mind deep stuff did invent. His mighty anvil in the stock he put, And forg’d a net that none could loose or cut, That when it had them it might hold them fast. Which having finish’d, he made utmost haste Up to the dear room where his wife he woo’d, And, madly wrath with Mars, he all bestrow’d The bed, and bed-posts, all the beam above That cross’d the chamber; and a circle strove Of his device to wrap in all the room. And ’twas as pure, as of a spider’s loom The woof before ’tis wov’n. No man nor God Could set his eye on it, a sleight so odd His art show’d in it. All his craft bespent About the bed, he feign’d as if he went To well-built Lemnos, his most lovéd town Of all towns earthly; nor left this unknown To golden-bridle-using Mars, who kept No blind watch over him, but, seeing stept His rival so aside, he hasted home With fair-wreath’d Venus’ love stung, who was come New from the court of her most mighty Sire. Mars enter’d, wrung her hand, and the retire Her husband made to Lemnos told, and said; “Now, love, is Vulcan gone, let us to bed, He’s for the barbarous Sintians.” Well appay’d Was Venus with it; and afresh assay’d Their old encounter. Down they went; and straight About them cling’d the artificial sleight Of most wise Vulcan; and were so ensnar’d, That neither they could stir their course prepar’d In any limb about them, nor arise.