_Eur._ ’Tis well spoke, my lords. Consent ye all?
_Eur._ Then be it so. What saith our honoured lady?
_Pen._ Well, my lords, ’Tis an untoward ending. Shall I think Ye will not, or ye cannot?
_Eur._ Be content To wait but till to-morrow, we beseech thee.— Bring round the wine.
_Tel._ (_who has entered unperceived with Eum. and neatherd_). Ho! men, take round the wine.
_Ant._ Thou impertinent swineherd, Go to thy pigs.
_Ul._ Hear me, Ye warriors, wooers of Ulysses’ queen, 2510 And you, Antinous and Eurymachus In chief! ’Tis well ye urge to stay the contest, And pour libations, that the archer god To-morrow may grant strength to whom he will. But first give me the bow, that I may gauge My strength with yours, to see if yet remains Some muscle lithe of what once clothed my limbs, Or if ’tis withered all with age and want.
_Wooers._ Ho! ho! The beggar thinks that he Shall win the fair Penelope. 2520
_Ant._ Thou wretched fool, thou hast even less wit than hairs: Art not content in our high company To sit at ease, and have thy share, and hear Our talk, and see our pleasure ’gainst our will? The unwonted wine dilates what brains thou hast, To make thee think thou canst contend with us.
_Pen._ Antinous, I forbid this disrespect Before me of my guest: and by my life Thou dost him wrong. To me he seems as tall And strongly built as thou; he boasts to be 2530 No less well born:—I grant him place and speech. Thinkest thou if he string Ulysses’ bow That I should wed him?—Nay, nor he thinks that. Fret not yourselves, beseech you, with such fears.
_Eur._ Far be the thought, O wise Penelope: And since he hath nought to gain, let him not try it: Lest if he string it, men should say hereafter, Naming our names, _The great bow of Ulysses These could not handle, but a beggar strung it_. 2539
_Pen._ Look ye to future times for fair renown? That hath been forfeit long. Stick not at this. Give him the bow; he too shall have his prize. A king’s son is he: ay, and like a king From this house shall he issue clad and armed From head to foot, as are the best of you. I say, give him the bow.
_Tel._ Mother, the bow is mine: To give it or withhold it is my right, And mine alone, which none can gainsay here. And choose I now to give it to this beggar, ’Tis his to bear away for good and all. 2550 And what I will, that shall I do. To me Therefore leave this dispute: to-day the trial, Thou seest, is closed. Retire thou to thy chamber, And there at loom and distaff set thy maids their tasks. But this, which looks not like to be a lady’s matter, Is mine, for mine is lordship in this house.