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The English Works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury; Now First Collected and Edited by Sir William Molesworth, Bart., (London: Bohn, 1839-45). 11 vols. Vol. 10.

Author: Homer
Translator: Thomas Hobbes
Editor: Sir William Molesworth

Part of: The English Works of Thomas Hobbes, 11 vols.

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LIB. XXIII.

Ulysses maketh himself known to Penelope, tells her his adventures briefly, and in the morning goes to Laertes and makes himself known to him.
Th’ old woman to the upper rooms ascended,
To wake Penelope, and let her know
Her husband was return’d. Her joy amended
Much had her pace, and well she ambled now;
5And standing at her head, Rise, child, said she;

The Gods at last have granted you your wishes.
Come down into the hall, where you shall see
The so long by you wish’d-for man, Ulysses.
The suitors he has killed ev’ry one,
10Who needs the stewards of his house would be,

In despite of Telemachus, his son;
And live upon his substance lavishly.
To her again Penelope thus spake:
The Gods, Euryclea, sure have made you mad.
15The Gods can wise men fools, and fools wise make.

The Gods have done you hurt, more wit you had.
You do me wrong, that know how little sleep
I have enjoyed since he went to Troy.
I never so well slept since, but still weep,
20And now you come and wake me with a toy.

Be gone, if’t had been any maid but you,
I should have sent her not well pleas’d away,
But to your age some more respect is due;
Go down again into the house you may.
25Dear child, said she, I mock not, for ’tis true.

Ulysses is i’ th’ house. That stranger’s he.
Telemachus and no man else him knew;
And known to others would not let him be,
Till they these proud and naughty men had kill’d.
30Penelope then starting from the bed

Embrac’d the nurse; her eyes with tears were fill’d.
And, as yet doubtful, still she questioned.
Euryclea, is all this true you say?
Is he indeed come home? Be serious.
35How could he the proud suitors all destroy,

He being but one, they many in the house?
Nor saw, nor ask’d I, but I heard the groans
Of dying men; for up we were all shut
Within our doors, and lock’d up all at once,
40And of our lives into a fear were put,

Till me, your son, Telemachus, call’d out
To come t’ Ulysses. In the hall he stood,
And there in heaps the slain lay him about,
That like a lion stood besmear’d with blood;
Ulysses makes himself known to Penelope.
45You would have joy’d to see him. Now they lie

In th’ court all in one heap. But busy he
Is airing of the house, a great fire by,
And for to call you hither has sent me.
But come, that in each other you may joy,
50For now at last your wishes granted be.

Ulysses come, your son is past a boy,
And their revenge upon the woo’rs they see.
Nurse, answered she, triumph not out of season.
For to be glad to see him in the house,
55You know there none is that have so much reason

As I have, and our son, Telemachus.
But ’tis not truth you tell me. What you say
Will come at last to nothing else but this,
It was some God that did the suitors slay,
60Hating the sight of what they did amiss.

There never man came to them that can boast
He parted from them without injuries;
So by their wickedness their lives they lost;
Ulysses may have perish’d for all this.
65Euryclea to this again replied,

Dear child, what words are these that from you come?
Ulysses stands i’ th’ hall at the fire’s side,
And yet you say he never will come home.
But well, I’ll tell you now a surer sign:
70When I was washing of his legs and feet,

I saw where th’ wound was giv’n him by the swine;
And had then told you had he thought it meet;
But with his hand, for that cause, stopp’d my breath.
Come, I will lay my life on’t willingly;
75If it be false, put me to cruel death.

To this Penelope did then reply:
The purpose of the Gods, wise though you be,
You know not, nurse; but I’ll go to my son,
And there upon the place with him I’ll see
80What men are slain, and who the deed has done.

Then down she went, consulting in her breast,
Whether at distance it were best to try,
Or else directly go unto the guest,
And there receive and kiss him presently.
85But when into the hall she enter’d was,

Where sitting was Ulysses, in the light
Of a good fire, she went and took a place
That was to where he sat just opposite.
Ulysses look’d o’ th’ ground, expecting what
90His wife would say, but long time she spake not;

But gazing on her husband, mute she sate,
As one that’s in a trance, and has no thought:
But by-and-bye, surveying him, she thought
’Twas he; but seeing him so ill-array’d,
95Her mind was chang’d; she thought that he ’twas not.

Telemachus his mother chid, and said,
Mother, hard-hearted mother, and unkind,
Why sit you at such distance from my father,
And have so little care to know his mind?
100When many questions you should ask him rather.

Another woman would not keep off so
From her own hushand that away had staid
Twenty years long, and suffer’d so much woe,
But at their meeting somewhat would have said.
105Son, said she then, I am astonish’d so,

I cannot speak, nor look him in the face;
But whether he Ulysses be or no,
I shall be certain in a little space,
For we have signs between us of our own,
110Which we shall soon know one another by,

That to none living but ourselves are known.
Ulysses to his son then smilingly
Said, Let, Telemachus, your mother try me,
Perhaps she know me better will anon.
115The cause why now so little she sets by me,

Is that I have ill-favour’d garments on.
But now let you and I look well about.
Who kills one man, unless great friends he have,
Must leave his kin and country, and go out;
120But we have kill’d both many men and brave,

Therefore, consider what is to be done.
Father, said he, let that be your own care;
So wise as you are, men say there is none.
Our hands to do your pleasure ready are.
125Why then, I’ll tell you what is best to do:

Put on your coats, and let the women all
Into the hall in their best garments go;
The minstrel play; and they to dancing fall;
That he that stands without, or dwelleth nigh
130Unto the house, or travelleth that way,

When he shall hear such mirth and melody,
May think, This surely is the wedding-day.
That so before this slaughter Fame have spread,
Depart we may from hence into the field,
135And ’gainst the people of the town make head,

And take such counsel more as Jove shall yield.
When this was said, the men their coats put on;
The damsels dress themselves, the minstrel sung
And played upon his fiddle, and each one
140To dancing fell, with it the palace rung.

And one that heard this as he stood without,
Said to another by him, She is married.
Fie, fie, she could no longer now hold out.
So, said he, ignorant how things were carried.
145Meanwhile Ulysses bath’d and ointed is

B’ Eurynome, and also richly clad
With a fair robe and coat; and beside this,
Taller and greater Pallas made him had,
And varnished with black his curled head.
150As one by Vulcan and Athena taught,

Gold upon silver skilfully had spread,
So Pallas on Ulysses’ beauty wrought.
Then from the bath he like a God came in,
And sat him down before his wife again;
155And with her to discourse did thus begin:

Woman, said he, to speak to you is vain;
Above all women harden’d is your heart.
What woman else that had her husband seen
After twice ten years’ absence, thus apart
160From him to sit, contented would have been?

Make me a bed, nurse; what should I do here?
Man, said Penelope, nor mightily
I magnify nor scorn you; what you were
When you went hence, full well remember I:
165But go, nurse, make for him the bed that he

Himself fram’d, by the chamber-door without.
Thus said she, but to try if that were he,
Yet griev’d him to the heart, and made him doubt.
Woman, said he, who has remov’d my bed?
170It cannot be but by a force divine.

With my own hands ’twas wrought and finished,
To th’ end thereby it might be known for mine.
I’ th’ court an olive-tree stood great and tall,
Thick as a pillar. I about it made
175A chamber. Of good stone I made the wall;

And cutting off the boughs the roof I laid;
And in the wall a good strong door I form.
When this was done, I cut up by the root,
And smooth’d with iron tools a lusty corm,
180And setting it upright, fix’d the bed to ’t,

And pierc’d the wood with wimbles where ’twas meet;
And laid on silver, gold, and ivory.
A purple thong unto the door I fit.
This is the sign for you to know me by.
185Whether it still remain I cannot tell,

Or ta’en away and down be cut the tree.
This said, and she the sign rememb’ring well,
The tears roll’d from her eyes. Thus weeping, she
Acknowledgeth and runneth to Ulysses;
190About his neck her milk-white arms she lays,

And both his shoulders and his head she kisses,
And, O Ulysses, be not angry, says,
The Gods have giv’n you wisdom, but denied
To satisfy our youth with mutual joy:
Ulysses relates his adventures briefly.
195Take it not ill I have you thus far tried;

Since horror hath possess’d my mind alway,
Lest some deceitful man (for such there be
Too many in the world) should hither come,
And flatt’ring, bring me into infamy.
200Helen of Argos would have staid at home,

And not gone with th’ adulterer of Troy,
Had she consider’d that th’ Achæan lords
Might chance to come and fetch her thence away
Again into her country with their swords.
205This speech inflam’d his love, and wet his eyes.

As a man shipwreck’d swimming for his life,
Rejoiceth when the land he near him spies;
So welcome was Ulysses to his wife.
She hung upon him still, nor had let go
210Till morning, but for Pallas, who would not

Let Phäeton and Iampus, th’ horses two
That draw the Morn, be set to the chariot.
Then said Ulysses to Penelope,
O wife! my troubles ended are not yet;
215For still there many more remaining be;

Long time ’twill be ere to the end I get.
Tiresius did tell me this in hell,
When I went thither of his ghost to know,
Whether I with my mates should come home well,
220Or not to Ithaca again, and how.

But come, ’tis bedtime, let us satisfy
Ourselves with sleep. Then said Penelope,
Your bed made ready shall be presently:
But since you mention’d have the prophecy,
225Tell me what said Tiresias. I know

You’ll tell it me one time or other, why,
If you will, may you not tell me it now?
To this Ulysses did again reply:
Because you long to know ’t, I tell you then;
230Tiresias advised me to go

With oar on shoulder to a place where men
Inhabit, that the briny sea not know,
Nor ever mingle salt with what they eat,
Nor ever saw the ship with crimson face,
235Nor yet those wings which do the water beat

(Called oars), to make the good ship go apace.
Now mark me well. When you shall meet a man,
Just at the end of Neptune’s utmost bound,
Bearing upon his shoulder a corn-fan,
240Stick down your lusty oar upon the ground;

There sacrifice to the world’s admiral,
For new admittance, a ram, boar, and bull;
Then home again, and offer unto all
The Gods by name a hundred oxen full.
245Your death will not ungentle be, for which

Age shall prepare you, and your soul unglue
Insensibly. Your people shall be rich
Which round about you dwell. All this is true
Then, said Penelope. If this be all,
250Since your old age the Gods will happy make,

The sorrow yet to come can be but small.
Whilst thus this couple t’one another spake,
Meanwhile their bed with cov’rings soft was clad;
The maids, returned i’ th’ hall, before them stand;
255Eurynome a torch to light them had,

And carried it before them in her hand,
Then parting, left them under marriage-law.
Telemachus and the good servants two,
When they had to the dancers said Hola,
260Unto their beds within the palace go.

Ulysses and Penelope their joy
Converted had into a new content;
She to Ulysses telleth the annoy
She suffer’d from her suitors impudent;
265What havoc they had made of cows and sheep,

And many barrels of her wine had wasted.
And he to her, what hurt o’ th’ land and deep
He done and suffer’d had. While his tale lasted
Well pleas’d she was, and had no list to sleep.
270He told her how the Cicons he had beaten;

How Lote from love of home his men did keep;
How Cyclops his companions had eaten;
And in revenge how he had made him blind;
How, to convey him home he did obtain
275Of Æolus a leather-bag of wind,

Which breaking prison blew him back again;
And how in Læstrigonia he lost
His good ships all but one, in which he was;
Told her the wiles of Circe; what the Ghost
280In Hell said to him of Tiresias,

To whom he went his fortune for to know,
In a black ship; and with his mother there
Discoursed; and saw many a one laid low
That in the Argive host had been his peer;
285And how he heard the tempting Sirens sing

In concert, and scap’d safely by; and how
By th’ shifting rocks, Charybdis vomiting,
And Scylla’s clutches he did safely row;
How to Ogygia he came, and how
290Calypso kept him in a cave, where she

To be his wife did promise to bestow
Upon him youth and immortality.
How to Phæacia he came, where he
Much honour’d was, and thence by sea did come
295Enrich’d by public liberality

With brass and gold and costly vestures home.
And at these words sleep seized on his eyes.
When Pallas thought Ulysses satisfied
With bed and sleep, she makes the morning rise,
300And day from mortals now no longer hide.

Ulysses rose, and speaking to his wife,
We have, said he, both of us had much woe;
You for my absence weeping out your life,
And I, because the Gods would have it so.
305But since we now again united be,

Look to the goods within. My folds I’ll fill
Partly with booty from the enemy,
And many also my friends give me will.
Now to my grieved father I must go,
310And therefore with your maids go up again;

For ere the sun be up, the town will know
That in my house the suitors all are slain.
Do not so much as look out, or inquire.
This said, he put on arms. To arm also
315His son and his two men he did require.

Then they got up, and there stood armed too.
Then open’d they the door and forth they went.
Ulysses led the way. Daylight was spread.
But Pallas out of town them safely sent
320Into the field, and undiscovered.

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LIB. XXIII. - Homer, The English Works, vol. X (Iliad and Odyssey) [1839]

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Part of: The English Works of Thomas Hobbes, 11 vols.

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LIB. XXIII.