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‭ Hast thou not heard, how all men did adore

       ‭ Divine Orestes, after he had slain

       ‭ Ægisthus murd’ring by a treach’rous train

       ‭ His famous father? Be then, my most lov’d,

       ‭ Valiant and manly, ev’ry way approv’d

       ‭ As great as he. I see thy person fit,

       ‭ Noble thy mind, and excellent thy wit,

       ‭ All giv’n thee so to use and manage here

       ‭ That ev’n past death they may their memories bear.

       ‭ In meantime I’ll descend to ship and men,

       ‭ That much expect me. Be observant then

       ‭ Of my advice, and careful to maintain

       ‭ In equal acts thy royal father’s reign.”

       ‭ Telemachus replied: “You ope, fair guest,

       ‭ A friend’s heart in your speech, as well exprest

       ‭ As might a father serve t’ inform his son;

       ‭ All which sure place have in my memory won.

       ‭ Abide yet, though your voyage calls away,

       ‭ That, having bath’d, and dignified your stay

       ‭ With some more honour, you may yet beside

       ‭ Delight your mind by being gratified

       ‭ With some rich present taken in your way,

       ‭ That, as a jewel, your respect may lay

       ‭ Up in your treasury, bestow’d by me,

       ‭ As free friends use to guests of such degree.”

       ‭ “Detain me not,” said she, “so much inclin’d

       ‭ To haste my voyage. What thy loved mind

       ‭ Commands to give, at my return this way,

       ‭ Bestow on me, that I directly may

       ‭ Convey it home; which more of price to me

       ‭ The more it asks my recompense to thee.”

       ‭ This said, away grey-eyed Minerva flew,

       ‭ Like to a mounting lark; and did endue

       ‭ His mind with strength and boldness, and much more

       ‭ Made him his father long for than before;

       ‭ And weighing better who his guest might be,

       ‭ He stood amaz’d, and thought a Deity

       ‭ Was there descended; to whose will he fram’d

       ‭ His pow’rs at all parts, and went so inflam’d

       ‭ Amongst the wooers, who were silent set,

       ‭ To hear a poet sing the sad retreat

       ‭ The Greeks perform’d from Troy; which was from thence

       ‭ Proclaim’d by Pallas, pain of her offence.

       ‭ When which divine song was perceiv’d to bear

       ‭ That mournful subject by the list’ning ear

       ‭ Of wise Penelope, Icarius’ seed,

       ‭ Who from an upper room had giv’n it heed,

       ‭ Down she descended by a winding stair,

       ‭ Not solely, but the state in her repair

       ‭ Two maids of honour made. And when this queen

       ‭ Of women stoop’d so low, she might be seen

       ‭ By all her wooers. In the door, aloof,

       ‭ Ent’ring the hall grac’d with a goodly roof,

       ‭ She stood, in shade of graceful veils, implied

       ‭ About her beauties; on her either side,

       ‭ Her honour’d women. When, to tears mov’d, thus

       ‭ She chid the sacred singer: “Phemiüs,

       ‭ You know a number more of these great deeds

       ‭ Of Gods and men, that are the sacred seeds,

       ‭ And proper subjects, of a poet’s song,

       ‭ And those due pleasures that to men belong,

       ‭ Besides these facts that furnish Troy’s retreat,

       ‭ Sing one of those to these, that round your seat

       ‭ They may with silence sit, and taste their wine;

       ‭ But cease this song, that through these ears of mine

       ‭ Conveys deserv’d occasion to my heart

       ‭ Of endless sorrows, of which the desert

       ‭ In me unmeasur’d is past all these men,

       ‭ So endless is the memory I retain,

       ‭ And so desertful is that memory,

       ‭ Of such a man as hath a dignity

       ‭ So broad it spreads itself through all the pride

       ‭ Of Greece and Argos.” To the queen replied

       ‭ Inspir’d Telemachus: “Why thus envies

       ‭ My mother him that fits societies [9]

       ‭ With so much harmony, to let him please

       ‭ His own mind in his will to honour these?

       ‭ For these ingenious and first sort of men, [10]

       ‭ That do immediately from Jove retain

       ‭ Their singing raptures, are by Jove as well

       ‭ Inspir’d with choice of what their songs impell,

       ‭ Jove’s will is free in it, and therefore theirs.

       ‭ Nor is this man to blame, that the repairs

       ‭ The Greeks make homeward sings; for his fresh muse

       ‭ Men still most celebrate that sings most news.

       ‭ And therefore in his note your ears employ:

       ‭ For not Ulysses only lost in Troy

       ‭ The day of his return, but numbers more

       ‭ The deadly ruins of his fortunes bore.

       ‭ Go you then in, and take your work in hand,

       ‭ Your web, and distaff; and your maids command

       ‭ To ply their fit work. Words to men are due,

       ‭ And those reproving counsels you pursue,

       ‭ And most to me of all men, since I bear

       ‭ The rule of all things that are manag’d here.”

       ‭ She went amaz’d away, and in her heart

       ‭ Laid up the wisdom Pallas did impart

       ‭ To her lov’d son so lately, turn’d again

       ‭ Up to her chamber, and no more would reign

       ‭ In manly counsels. To her women she

       ‭ Applied her sway; and to the wooers he

       ‭ Began new orders, other spirits bewray’d

       ‭ Than those in spite of which the wooers sway’d.

       ‭ And (whiles his mother’s tears still wash’d her eyes,

       ‭ Till grey Minerva did those tears surprise

       ‭ With timely sleep, and that her wooers did rouse

       ‭ Rude tumult up through all the shady

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