No More Learning

whence? where born? and sprung from whom? 130
Then answer thus Ulysses, wise, return'd.
O Queen! uncensurable by the lips
Of mortal man! thy glory climbs the skies
Unrivall'd, like the praise of some great King
Who o'er a num'rous people and renown'd
Presiding like a Deity, maintains
Justice and truth. The earth, under his sway,
Her produce yields abundantly; the trees
Fruit-laden bend; the lusty flocks bring forth;
The Ocean teems with finny swarms beneath 140
His just controul, and all the land is blest.
Me therefore, question of what else thou wilt
In thy own palace, but forbear to ask
From whom I sprang, and of my native land,
Lest thou, reminding me of those sad themes,
Augment my woes; for I have much endured;
Nor were it seemly, in another's house,
To pass the hours in sorrow and in tears,
Wearisome when indulg'd with no regard
To time or place; thy train (perchance thyself) 150
Would blame me, and I should reproach incur
As one tear-deluged through excess of wine.
Him answer'd then Penelope discrete.
The immortal Gods, O stranger, then destroy'd
My form, my grace, my beauty, when the Greeks
Whom my Ulysses follow'd, sail'd to Troy.
Could he, returning, my domestic charge
Himself intend, far better would my fame
Be so secured, and wider far diffused.
But I am wretched now, such storms of woe 160
The Gods have sent me; for as many Chiefs
As hold dominion in the neighbour isles
Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown'd
Zacynthus; others, also, rulers here
In pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed,
Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume.
I therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed,
Nor public herald more, but with regret
Of my Ulysses wear my soul away.
They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art 170
I still procrastinate.
Some God the thought
Suggested to me, to commence a robe
Of amplest measure and of subtlest woof,
Laborious task; which done, I thus address'd them.
Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief
Ulysses is no more, enforce not now
My nuptials; wait till I shall finish first
A fun'ral robe (lest all my threads be marr'd)
Which for the ancient Hero I prepare
Laertes, looking for the mournful hour 180
When fate shall snatch him to eternal rest.
Else, I the censure dread of all my sex,
Should he, so wealthy, want at last a shroud.
Such was my speech; they, unsuspicious all,
With my request complied. Thenceforth, all day
I wove the ample web, and, by the aid
Of torches, ravell'd it again at night.
Three years by artifice I thus their suit
Eluded safe; but when the fourth arrived,
And the same season after many moons 190
And fleeting days return'd, passing my train
Who had neglected to release the dogs,
They came, surprized and reprimanded me.
Thus, through necessity, not choice, at last
I have perform'd it, in my own despight.
But no escape from marriage now remains,
Nor other subterfuge for me; meantime
My parents urge my nuptials, and my son
(Of age to note it) with disgust observes
His wealth consumed; for he is now become 200
Adult, and abler than myself to rule
The house, a Prince distinguish'd by the Gods,
Yet, stranger, after all, speak thy descent;
Say whence thou art; for not of fabulous birth
Art thou, nor from the oak, nor from the rock.
Her answer'd then Ulysses, ever-wise.
O spouse revered of Laertiades!
Resolv'st thou still to learn from whom I sprang?
Learn then; but know that thou shalt much augment
My present grief, natural to a man 210
Who hath, like me, long exiled from his home
Through various cities of the sons of men
Wander'd remote, and num'rous woes endured.
Yet, though it pain me, I will tell thee all.
There is a land amid the sable flood
Call'd Crete; fair, fruitful, circled by the sea.
Num'rous are her inhabitants, a race
Not to be summ'd, and ninety towns she boasts.