the blue-eyed DeityMade way, and said: "Thou wisest Greek, divine Laertes' son,
Thus fly ye homewards to your ships? Shall all thus headlong run?
Glory to Priam thus ye leave, glory to all his friends,
If thus ye leave her here, for whom so many violent ends
Have clos'd your Greek eyes, and so far from their so loved home.
Go to these people, use no stay, with fair terms overcome
Their foul endeavour, not a man a flying sail let hoice."
Thus spake she; and Ulysses knew 'twas Pallas by her voice,
Ran to the runners, cast from him his mantle, which his man
And herald, grave Eurybates, the Ithacensian
That follow'd him, took up. Himself to Agamemnon went,
His incorrupted sceptre took, his sceptre of descent,
And with it went about the fleet. What prince, or man of name,
He found flight-giv'n, he would restrain with words of gentlest
blame:
"Good sir, it fits not you to fly, or fare as one afraid,
You should not only stay yourself, but see the people staid.
You know not clearly, though you heard the king's words, yet his
mind;
He only tries men's spirits now, and, whom his trials find
Apt to this course, he will chastise, Nor you, nor I, heard all
He spake in council; nor durst press too near our General,
Lest we incens'd him to our hurt. The anger of a king
Is mighty; he is kept of Jove, and from Jove likewise spring
His honours, which, out of the love of wise Jove, he enjoys."
Thus he the best sort us'd; the worst, whose spirits brake out in
noise,
He cudgell'd with his sceptre, chid, and said: "Stay, wretch, be
still,
And hear thy betters; thou art base, and both in pow'r and skill
Poor and unworthy, without name in council or in war.
We must not all be kings. The rule is most irregular,
Where many rule. One lord, one king, propose to thee; and he,
To whom wise Saturn's son, hath giv'n both law and empery
To rule the public, is that king." Thus ruling, he restrain'd
The host from flight; and then again the Council was maintain'd
With such a concourse, that the shore rung with the tumult made;
As when the far-resounding sea doth in its rage invade
His sandy confines, whose sides groan with his involvéd wave,
And make his own breast echo sighs. All sate, and audience gave.
Thersites only would speak all. A most disorder'd store
Of words he foolishly pour'd out, of which his mind held more
Than it could manage; any thing, with which he could procure
Laughter, he never could contain. He should have yet been sure
To touch no kings; t' oppose their states becomes not jesters'
parts.
But he the filthiest fellow was of all that had deserts
In Troy's brave siege; he was squint-ey'd, and lame of either foot;
So crook-back'd, that he had no breast; sharp-headed, where did
shoot
(Here and there spers'd) thin mossy hair. He most of all envíed
Ulysses and Æacides, whom still his spleen would chide.
Nor could the sacred King himself avoid his saucy vein;
Against whom since he knew the Greeks did vehement hates sustain,
Being angry for Achilles' wrong, he cried out, railing thus:
"Atrides, why complain'st thou now? What would'st thou more of us?
Thy tents are full of brass; and dames, the choice of all, are
thine,
With whom we must present thee first, when any towns resign
To our invasion. Want'st thou then, besides all this, more gold
From Troy's knights to redeem their sons, whom to be dearly sold
I or some other Greek must take? Or would'st thou yet again
Force from some other lord his prise, to soothe the lusts that
reign
In thy encroaching appetite? It fits no prince to be
A prince of ill, and govern us, or lead our progeny
By rape to ruin. O base Greeks, deserving infamy,
And ills eternal! Greekish girls, not Greeks, ye are! Come, fly
Home with our ships; leave this man here to perish with his preys,
And try if we help'd him or not; he wrong'd a man that weighs
Far more than he himself in worth; he forc'd from Thetis' son,
And keeps his prise still. Nor think I that mighty man hath won
The style of wrathful worthily; he's soft, he's too remiss;
Or else, Atrides, his had been thy last of injuries."
Thus he the people's Pastor chid; but straight stood up to him
Divine Ulysses, who, with looks exceeding grave and grim,
This bitter check gave: "Cease, vain fool, to vent thy railing vein
On kings thus, though it serve thee well; nor think thou canst
restrain,
With that thy railing faculty, their wills in least degree;
For not a worse, of all this host, came with our King than thee,
To Troy's great siege; then do not take into
