The English works of Thomas Hobbes of Malmesbury
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Bh ^ jBfflMpv ' ML1 !M1» m JP# Yj m $W3i ;«f *WIK <W~. 3MI fcfiV V i.'ri /*7 * >> ,<r d| ■■rtryffia i jflR M% ’ ; ,'JTftlWn »Sh '.-»»£♦■» T V m vSflH mamB ^1^,’ »i!^i' % '^i asa f«Rav tt*- . ? f&wPk. r fano Wk&L^ 'ni ** ’’i if' H? NUNC COGNOSCO EX PARTE TRENT UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Kahle/Austin Foundation https://archive.org/details/englishworksofth0010hobb THE ENGLISH WORKS THOMAS HOBBES OF MALMESBURY: NOW FIRST COLLECTED AND EDITED SIR WILLIAM MOLESWORTH, BART. VOL. X. Reprint of the edition 1844 SCIENTIA AALEN 1962 onulp ADVERTISEMENT. Tite translation of Homer was amongst the latest of Hobbes’ works ; a signal of retreat from those mathe¬ matical contests in which he had spent so much of his time : — “ Silentibus tandem adversariis, annum agens octogesimum septimum, Homeri Odysseam edidit.” — See A^ita Thoma? Hobbes. In 1673 appeared, “ The travels of Ulysses, as they were related by himself in Homer’s 9th, 10th, 11th, and 1 2th books of his Odysses, to Alcinous king of Pha*acia,” published by Wm. Crook, in 12mo. The date of 1674, given by Anthony Wood and others, seems to be a mistake ; they may perhaps have been misled by Hobbes’ telling us, that he translated the Odyssey in his 87th year. Whether Hobbes had at this time finished any other part of Homer, and put forth those four books of the Odyssey as a specimen of the performance, or to ascertain what reception might be expected from the public for the remainder of it, is unknown. In about a year afterwards (see A" it a) they were followed by the translation of the entire Iliad and Odyssey. Copies are to be found of various dates : 35799 ADVERTISEMENT. as 1676, 1677, 1684, 1686, and perhaps others: but there were but three editions, the second dated 1677, and the third, 1686. The biographers appear to have been mistaken in repeating one after the other, (see Biog. Britan., Brit. Biog., Gen. Diet., Aikin’s Biog.), that in the course of ten years this translation went through three large editions. Pope, in the preface to his translation, observes, that the poetry of Hobbes’ version is “ too mean for criticism.” Some, however, may possibly find the un¬ studied and unpretending language of Hobbes convey an idea less remote from the original, than the smooth and glittering lines of Pope and his coadjutors. Pope’s remark upon the habitual carelessness dis¬ played in the execution of the work, is well founded. It was possibly never meant for criticism, and may be fairly looked upon, as the translator has told us in his preface, as the amusement of his old age. The present edition is printed from that of 1677. THE ILIADS AND ODYSSES OF HOMER. TRANSLATED ODT OF GREEK INTO ENGLISH, BY THOMAS HOBBES OF MALMESBCRT. WITH A LARGE PREFACE CONCERNING THE VIRTUES OF AN HEROIC POEM ; WRITTEN BT THE TRANSLATOR. VOL. X. b TO THE READER, concerning Tin-: viktuks of an heroic poem. Tiif. virtues required in an heroic poem, and indeed in all writings published, are comprehended all in this one word — discretion. And discretion consisteth in tliis, that every part of the poem be conducing, and in good order placed to the end and design of the poet. And the design is not only to profit, but also to delight the reader. By profit, I intend not here any accession of wealth, either to the poet, or to the reader ; but accession of prudence, justice, and fortitude, by the example of such great and noble persons as he introduceth speaking, or describeth acting. For all men love to behold, though not to practise virtue. So that at last the work of an heroic poet is no more but to furnish an ingenuous reader, when his leisure abounds, with the diversion of an honest and delightful story, whether true or feigned. But because there be many men called critics, and wits, and virtuosi, that are accustomed to censure the poets, and most of them of divers judgments, how is it possible, you’ll say, to please them all ? Yes, very well ; if the poem be as it should be. For men can judge what is good, that know not what is best. For lie that can judge what is best, must have considered all those things, though they be almost in¬ numerable, that concur to make the reading of an heroic poem pleasant Whereof I’ll name as many as shall come into my mind. IV TO THE READER. And they are contained, first, in the choice of words. Secondly, in the construction. Thirdly, in the contrivance of the story or fiction. Fourthly, in the elevation of the fancy. Fifthly, in the justice and impartiality of the poet. Sixthly, in the clearness of descriptions. Seventhly, in the amplitude of the subject. And, to begin with words : the first indiscretion is, the use of such words as to the readers of poesy (which are commonly persons of the best quality) are not sufficiently known. For the work of an heroic poem is to raise admiration, principally, for three virtues, valour, beauty, and love ; to the reading whereof women no less than men have a just pretence, though their skill in language be not so universal; and there¬ fore foreign words, till by long use they become vulgar, arc imintelliffible to them. Also the names of instruments and O tools of artificers, and words of art, though of use in the Schools, are far from being fit to be spoken by a hero. lie may delight in the arts themselves, and have skill in some of them, but his glory lies not in that, but in courage, nobility, and other virtues of nature, or in the command he has over other men. Nor does Homer in any part of his poem attri¬ bute any praise to Achilles, or any blame to Alexander, for that they had both learnt to play upon the guitar. The character of words that become a hero are property and sig- nificancy, but without both the malice and lasciviousness of a satyr. Another virtue of an heroic poem is the perspicuity and the facility of construction, and consisteth in a natural con¬ texture of the words, so as not to discover the labour, but the natural ability of the poet ; and this is usually called a good style. For the order of words, when placed as they ought to be, carries a light before it, whereby a man may foresee the length of his period, as a torch in the night shows a man the stops and unevenness in his way. But when placed un¬ naturally, the reader will often find unexpected checks, and be forced to go back and hunt for the sense, and suffer such unease, as in a coach a man unexpectedly finds in passing TO THE READER. V over a furrow. And though the laws of verse (which have bound the Greeks and Latins to number of feet, and quan¬ tity of syllables, and the English and other nations to number of syllables and rhyme) put great constraint upon the natural course of language, yet the poet, having the liberty to depart from what is obstinate, and to choose somewhat else that is more obedient to such laws, and no less fit for his purpose, shall not be, neither by the measure, nor by the necessity of rhyme, excused ; though a translation often may. A third virtue lies in the contrivance. For there is dif¬ ference between a poem and a history in prose. For a history is wholly related by the writer ; but in an heroic poem the narration is, a great part of it, put upon some of the persons introduced by the poet. So Homer begins not his Iliad with the injury done by Paris, but makes it related by Mcnclaus, and very briefly, as a thing notorious ; nor begins he his Odysseys with the departure of Ulysses from Troy, but makes Ulysses himself relate the same to Alcinous, in the midst of his poem ; which I think much more pleasant and ingenious, than a too precise and close following of the time. A fourth is in the elevation of fancy, which is generally taken fur the greatest praise of heroic poetry; and is so, when governed by discretion. For men more generally affect and admire fancy than they do either judgment, or reason, or memory, or any other intellectual virtue, and for the pleasantness of it, give to it alone the name of wit, accounting reason and judgment but for a dull entertainment. For in fancy consistcth the sublimity of a poet, which is that poetical fury which the readers, for the most part, call for. It flies abroad swiftly to fetch in both matter and words ; but if there be not discretion at home to distinguish which are fit to be used and which not, which decent and which undecent for persons, times, and places, their delight and grace is lost. But if they be discreetly used, they are greater ornaments of a poem by much than any other. A metaphor also (which is a comparison contracted into a word) is not unpleasant ; but when they are sharp and extraordinary, VI TO THE READER. they are not fit for an heroic poet, nor for a public consulta¬ tion, but only for an accusation or defence at the bar. A fifth lies in the justice and impartiality of the poet, and belongeth as well to history as to poetry. For both the poet and the historian writeth only, or should do, matter of fact. And as far as the truth of fact can defame a man, so far they are allowed to blemish the reputation of persons. But to do the same upon report, or by inference, is below the dignity, not only of a hero, but of a man. For neither a poet nor a historian ought to make himself an absolute master of any man's good name. None of the Emperors of Home whom Tacitus, or any other writer, hath condemned, was ever sub¬ ject to the judgment of any of them ; nor were they ever heard to plead for themselves, which are things that ought to be antecedent to condemnation. Nor was, I think, Epicurus the philosopher, (who is transmitted to us by the Stoics for a man of evil and voluptuous life), ever called, conventcd, and lawfully convicted, as all men ought to be before they be defamed. Therefore it is a very great fault in a poet to speak evil of any man in their writings historical. A sixth virtue consists in the perfection and curiosity of descriptions, which the ancient writers of eloquence call icones, that is images. And an image is always a part, or rather a ground of the poetical comparison. As, for example, when Virgil would set before our eyes the fall of Troy, he describes perhaps the whole labour of many men together in the felling of some great tree, and with how much ado it fell. This is the image. To which if you but add these words, “ So fell Troy,” you have the comparison entire ; the grace whereof lieth in the lightsomeness, and is but the description of all, even the minutest, parts of the thing described ; that not only they that stand far off, but also they that stand near, and look upon it with the oldest spectacles of a critic, may approve it For a poet is a painter, and should paint actions to the understanding with the most decent words, as painters do persons and bodies with the choicest colours, to the eye ; which if not done nicely, will not be worthy to be placed in a cabinet. TO THE READER. Vll The seventh virtue, which lying in the amplitude of the subject, is nothing hut variety, and a thing without which a whole poem would be no pleasanter than an epigram, or one good verse ; nor a picture of a hundred figures better than any one of them asunder, if drawn with equal art. And these are the virtues which ought especially to be looked upon by the critics, in the comparing of the poets, Homer with Virgil, or Virgil with Lucan. For these only, for their excellency, I have read, or heard compared. If the comparison be grounded upon the first and second virtues, which consist in known words and style unforced, they arc all excellent in their own language, though perhaps the Latin than the Grerk is apter to dispose itself into an hexameter verse, as having both fewer monosyllables and fewer polysyllables. Amd this may make the Latin verse appear more grave and equal, which is taken for a kind of majesty ; though in truth there be no majesty in words, but then when they seem to proceed from a high and weighty employment of the mind. But neither Homer, nor Virgil, nor Lucan, nor any poet writing commendablv, though not excellently, was ever charged much with unknown words, or great constraint of style, as being a fault proper to trans¬ lators, when they hold themselves too superstitiously to their author’s words. In the third virtue, which is contrivance, there is no doubt but Homer excels them all. For their poems, except the introduction of their Gods, are but so many histories in verse : where Homer has woven so many histories together as contain the whole learning of his time (which the Greeks call cyclopivdia ), and furnished both the Greek and Latin stages with all the plots and arguments of their tragedies. The fourth virtue, which is the height of fancy, is almost proper to Lucan, and so admirable in him, that no heroic poem raises such admiration of the poet, as his hath done, though not so great admiration of the persons he introduceth. And though it be a mark of a great wit, yet it is fitter for a rhetorician than a poet, and rebelleth often against discre¬ tion, as when he says. vin TO THE READER. Victrix causa Diis placuit, scd victa Catoui. that is, The side that won the Gods approved most, But Cato better lik’d the side that lost. Than which nothing could be spoken more gloriously to the the exaltation of a man, nor more disgracefully to the de¬ pression of the Gods. Homer indeed maketh some Gods for the Greeks, and some for the Trojans, but always makes Jupiter impartial; and never prefers the judgment of a man before that of Jupiter, much less before the judgment of all the Gods together. The fifth virtue, which is the justice and impartiality of a poet, is very eminent in Homer and Virgil, but the contrary in Lucan. Lucan shows himself openly in the Pompeian faction, inveighing against Caisar throughout his poem, like Cicero against Cataline or Marc Antony, and is therefore justly reckoned by Quintilian as a rhetorician rather than a poet. And a great part of the delight of his readers pro- ceedeth from the pleasure which too many men take to hear great persons censured. But Homer and Virgil, especially Homer, do everywhere what they can to preserve the repu¬ tation of their heroes. If we compare Homer and Virgil by the sixth virtue, which is the clearness of images, or descriptions, it is mani¬ fest that Homer ought to be preferred, though Virgil himself were to be the judge. For there are very few images in Virgil besides those which he hath translated out of Homer; so that Virgil’s images are Homer’s praises. But what if he have added something to it of his own? Though he have, yet it is no addition of praise, because it is easy. But he hath some images which are not in Homer, and better than his. It may be so ; and so may other poets have which never durst compare themselves with Homer. Two or three fine sayings are not enough to make a wit. But where is that image of his better done by him than Homer, of those that have been done by them both ? Yes, Eustathius, as Mr. Ogilby hath observed, where they both describe the TO THE READER. IX falling of a tree, prefers Virgil’s description. But Eustathius is in that, I think, mistaken. The place of Homer is in the fourth of the Iliads , the sense whereof is this : As when a man hath fell’d a poplar tree, Tall, straight, and smooth, writh all the fair boughs on ; Of which he means a coach-wheel made shall be, And leaves it on the bank to dry i’ th’ sun ; So lay the comely Simoisius, Slain by great Ajax, son of Telamon. It is manifest that in this place Homer intended no more than to show how comely the body of Simoisius appeared as he lay dead upon the bank of Scamander, straight and tall, with a fair head of hair, and like a straight and high poplar with the boughs still on ; and not at all to describe the manner of his falling, which, when a man is wounded through the breast, as he was with a spear, is always sudden. The description of how a great tree falleth, when many men together hew it down, is in the second of Virgil’s sEneads. The sense of it, with the comparison, is in English this : And Troy, methought, then sunk in fire and smoke, And overturned was in every part : As when upon the mountain an old oak Is hewn about with keen steel to the heart, And plied by swains with many heavy blows, It nods and every way it threatens round, Till overcome with many wounds, it bows, And leisurely at last comes to the ground. And here again it is evident that Virgil meant to compare the manner how Troy, after many battles, and after the losses of many cities, conquered by the many nations under Agamemnon in a long war, and thereby weakened, and at last overthrown, with a great tree hewn round about, and then falling by little and little leisurely. So that neither these two descriptions, nor the two com¬ parisons can be compared together. The image of a man lying on the ground is one thing; the image of falling, especially of a kingdom, is another. This therefore gives no X TO THE READER. advantage to Virgil over Homer. It is true, that this de¬ scription of the felling and falling of a tree is exceeding trraceful, but is it therefore more than llomer could have done if need had been ? Or is there no description in Homer of somewhat else as good as this ? Yes, and in many of our English poets now alive. If it then be lawful for Julius Scaliger to say, that if Jupiter would have described the fall of a tree, he could not have mended this of Virgil ; it will be lawful for me to repeat an old epigram of Antipater, to the like purpose, in favour of Homer. The writer of the famous Trojan war, And of Ulysses’ life. 0 Jove make kuown, Who, whence he was ; for thine the verses arc, And he would have us think they are his own. The seventh and last commendation of an heroic poem consisteth in amplitude and variety; and iu this llomer exceedeth Virgil very much, and that not by superfluity of words, but by plenty of heroic matter, and multitude of descriptions and comparisons (whereof Virgil hath translated but a small part into his JEneads), such as arc the images of ship wracks, battles, single combats, beauty, passions of the mind, sacrifices, entertainments, and other tilings, whereof Virgil, abating what he borrows of Homer, has scarce the twentieth part. It is no wonder therefore if all the ancient learned men both of Greece and Rome have given the first place in poetry to Homer. It is rather strange that two or three, and of late time, and but learners of the Greek tongue, should dare to contradict so many competent judges both of language and discretion. But howsoever I defend Homer, I aim not thereby at any reflection upon the follow¬ ing translation. Why then did I write it ? Because I had nothing else to do. Why publish it ? Because I thought it might take off my adversaries from showing their folly upon my more serious writings, and set them upon my verses to show their wisdom. But why without annotations ? Because I had no hope to do it better than it is already done by Mr. Ogilby. T. Hobbes. THE LIFE OF HOME];, COLLECTED AND WRITTEN BY J. WALLET. IIomeu, whose proper name was Melesigenes, was bom in the country of JEolia, about 160 years after the siege of I roy, which was about the year of the world 3665, of Critheis, daughter of Melanopus and Omyris, who, after her father and mother s death, was left to a friend of her father’s at Cuma, who, when he found she was with child, in dis¬ pleasure he sent her away to a friend’s at a place nigh the River Meles ; where, at a feast among other young women, she was delivered of a son, whose name she called Melesigenes, from the place where he was born. Critheis went with her son to Ismenias, and after to Smyrna, where she dressed wool to get a livelihood for herself and son. Phemius, the schoolmaster, taking a fancy to her, married her, and took her son into the school, who by his sharpness of wit outwent all the school in wisdom and learning. In a short time after, his master dying, he taught the same school, and gained great reputation by his learning, not only at Smyrna, but all the countries round about; for the merchants that did fre¬ quent Smyrna, with corn, &c. did spread his fame about ; amongst which merchants, one Mentes, master of a ship of Leucadia, took that kindness for him, that he persuaded him to leave his school and travel with him, which he did, by whom he was maintained well and plentifully in his travels. XU THE LIFE OF HOMER. They went to Spain, from thence to Italy, and from Italy through several countries, and at last came to Ithaca, where a violent rheum fell into the eyes of Homer, that lie could not travel any further, so that Montes left him with a friend of his called Mentor, a person of great riches and honour in Ithaca, where Homer learned the principal matters relating to Ulysses’ life; hut Mentes the next year came hack the same way, and finding Homer recovered in his eyes, took him in his travels. They went through many countries till they came to Coloplien, where he fell into his old distemper of his eyes, and there grew quite blind ; after which lie addicted himself to poetry; hut being poor, he went to Smyrna, expecting to get better encouragement there ; hut being disappointed of Ills expectation, he went to Cuma, and as he went he rested at a town called New-wall, where he repeated some of his verses ; and one Tichio, a leather-seller, took such delight to hear them, that lie entertained him kindly for a long time. After, he proceeded on his journey to Cuma, and when he came there he was well received, and he had some friends in the senate that did propose to have had a maintenance settled on him for life, hut it could not he carried. At this place he first received the name of Homer, from his blindness. From Cuma be went to Phocaia, where lived one Thcs- torides, a schoolmaster, who invited Homer to live with him, and by that means he got some of his verses, and after went to Chios, where he taught them as his own verses, and got great reputation by them. When Homer heard that Thestorides had thus abused him, he followed him to Chios, and by the way, at a place called Bollisus, was taken up by a shepherd, as he was keeping his master’s sheep ; the shepherd did relieve him, and carried him to his master, ■where he lived some time, and taught his children ; yet he could not rest till he had been at Chios to discover the cheat of Thestorides, who when he heard of Homer’s coming, he left Chios, where Homer tarried some time, and taught a school, grew rich, married, and had two daughters, one of which died young, the other he married to the shep- THE LIFE OF HOMER. Xlll herd's master that took him in at Bollisus. When he grew old he left Chios, and went to Samos, where he staid some time sin<rin£ of verses at feasts and at new moons, at the chiefest men’s houses in all places where he was. From Samos lie was going to Athens, but fell sick at Ios, and there died, and was buried on the sea-shore. Long after, when his poems had gotten an universal applause, the people of Ios built him a sepulchre. HOMER’S ILIADS. TRANSLATED OUT OF GREEK THOMAS HOBBES OF MALMESBURY. I ' ILIAD. LIB. L O c.onorss sing -what woe the discontent Of Thetis’ son brought to the Greeks ; what souls Of heroes down to Erebus it sent, Leaving their bodies unto dogs and fowls ; 5 Whilst the two princes of the army strove, King Agamemnon and Achilles stout. That so it should be was the will of Jove, But who was he that made them first fall out ? Apollo ; who incensed by the wrong 10 To his priest Chryses by Atrides done, Sent a great pestilence the Greeks among ; Apace they died, and remedy was none. For Chryses came unto the Argive fleet, With treasure great his daughter to redeem ; J 5 And having in his hands the ensigns meet, That did the priestly dignity beseem, A golden sceptre and a crown of bays. Unto the princes all made his request ; But to the two Atrides chiefly prays, 20 "Who of the Argive army were the best. O sons of Atreus, may the Gods grant you A safe return from Troy with victory ; And you on me compassion may shew. Receive these gifts and set my daughter free ; 25 And have respect to Jove’s and Leto’s son. To this the princes all gave their consent, Except King Agamemnon. He alone, And with sharp language from the fleet him sent ; Old man, said he, let me not see you here 30 Now staying, or returning back again, For fear the golden sceptre which you bear, And chaplet hanging on it, prove but vain. Your daughter shall to Argos go far hence, And make my bed, and labour at the loom, 35 And take heed you no farther me incense, Lest you return not safely to your home. VOL. X. B LIB. I. The discontent and secession of AcltilJes. 2 ILIAD. LIB. I. Hie tluconteot ami secession of Achillas. Frighted with this, away the old man went ; And often as he walked on the sand, Ilis prayers to Apollo up he sent. 40 Hear me, Apollo, with thy bow in hand. That honour’d art in Tenedos and Chryse, And unto whom Cylla great honour bears. If thou accepted hast my sacrifice, Pay th’ Axgives with thy arrows for my tears. 45 His prayer was granted by the deity ; Who with his silver bow and arrows keen, Descended from Olympus silently In likeness of the .sable night unseen. His bow and quiver both behind him hang, 50 The arrows chink as often as he jogs. And as he shot the bow was heard to twang. And first his arrows Hew at mules and dogs. But when the plague into the army came. Perpetual was the fire of funerals; 55 And so nine days continued the same. Achilles on the tenth for counsel calls ; And Juno ’twos that put it in his head. Who for the Argive army was afraid • The lords to counsel being gathered, 60 Up stood Achilles, and thus to them said, We must, I think, Atrides, run from hence, Since war and plague consume us both at once. Let’s think on how to stay the pestilence. Or else at Troy resolve to leave our bones. 65 Let’s with some priest or prophet here advise, That knows the pleasure of the gods above, Or some that at expounding dreams are wise, For also dreams descend on men from Jove : That we may from him know Apollo’s mind, 70 If we for sacrifice be in arrear, Or if he will for lambs and goats be kind, And to destroy us from henceforth forbear. Achilles then sat down, and Chalchas rose, That was of great renown for augury, 75 And any thing was able to disclose, That had been, is, or should hereafter be ; And guided had the Greeks to Ilium ; Achilles, said he, since you me command To tell you why this plague is on us come, 80 Swear you will save me both with word and hand. Of all the Greeks it will offend the best ; Who though his anger for awhile he smother, Will not, I fear, long time contented rest, But will revenged be some time or other. 85 Chalchas, replied Achilles, do not fear, But what the god has told you bring to light: ILIAD. liy Phoebus, not a man shall hurt you here, As Ion" us I enjoy my life and sight ; 1 hough Agamemnon be the man you dread, 90 "Who is of all the army most obeyed. 1 he prophet by these words encouraged. Said what before to say he was afraid. ’Tis not neglect of vow or sacrifice I hat doth the God Apollo thus displease; 95 But that we do his priest so much despise, As not his child for ransom to release. And more, till she be to her father sent, And with a hecatomb, and ransomless, The anger of the god will not relent, 100 Nor will the sickness ’mongst the people cease. This said, he sat. The king look’d furiously. And anger flaming stood upon his eves. While many black thoughts on his heart did lie ; And to the prophet Chalchas thus replies: 105 Unlucky prophet, that didst never yet Good fortune prophecy to me, but ill. And ever with a mind against me set Inventest prophecies to cross my will ; And now again you fain would have it thought, 110 Because I would not let Chryseis go, The gifts refusing which her father brought, Therefore this plague was sent amongst us now. With Clytem nestra she may well contend, For person, or for beauty, or for art ; 1 15 Yet so, to send her home I do intend. For of our loss I bear the greatest part. But you must then some prize for me provide ; Shall no man unrewarded go but I ? This said, Achilles to the king replied, 120 Atrides, that on booty have your eye, You know divided is, or sold the prey Which never can resumed be again. But send her home. When we shall have sack’d Troy., Your loss shall be repaid with triple gain. 125 No, said Atrides, that I never meant; D’ye think 'tis fit that you your shares retain? And only mine unto the God be sent. That unrewarded none but I remain ? I thought it reason th’ Argives should collect 130 Amongst themselves the value (how they list) And give it me before they did expect This prize of mine should be by me dismist. If they’ll do that, ’tis well. If not, I ll go To your, or Ajax, or Ulysses’ tent, 135 And take his prize, and right myself will so. Wherewith I think he will not be content. B 2 3 LIB. I. Tile dinconlent and (y-cessiou of Achilles. 4 ILIAD. LIB. I. The discontent and secession id Achilles But since there’s time enough to speak of this, Let’s ready make a ship with able rowers. And tli’ hecatomb, to go with fair Chryseis, 140 And, to direct, one of the counsellors ; Ajax, Idomeneus, LTlysses, or Yourself may go, Achilles, if you please, And do the business you are pleading for. And, if you can, th’ offended God appease. 145 O impudence ! Achilles then replied, What other of th’ Actueans willingly, Will, when you only for yourself provide. Go where you bid, or tight with th’ enemy ? Against the Trojans I no quarrel have. 150 In Pthia plund’ring they were never seen. Nor ever thence my kine or horses drave, Nor could ; the sea and great hills are between. Only for yours and Menelaus’ sake, To honour gain for you we came to Troy, 155 Whereof no notice, dogs-head, now you take, But threaten me my prize to take away ; Which by my labour I have dearly bought, And by th’ Achseans given me has been. And when the city Troy we shall have got, 160 Your share will great, mine little be therein. For though my part be greatest in the pain, Yet when unto division we come. You will expect the greatest part o' th’ gain, And that with little I go weary home. 165 Then farewell Troy. To sea I’ll go again, And back to Pthia. Then it w ill be seen When you without me shall at Troy remain, What honour and what riches you shall win. Go when you will, said Agamemnon, fly, 170 Til not entreat you for my sake to stay. When you are gone more honour’d shall be I, Nor Jove, I hope, will with you go away. In you I shall but lose an enemy That only loves to quarrel and to fight. 175 The Gods have given you strength I not deny. Go ’mongst your myrmidons and use your might. I care not for you, nor your anger fear, For after I have sent away Chryseis, And satisfi’d the God, Til not forbear 180 To fetch away from you the fair Briseis, And that by force. For I would have you see How much to mine inferior is your might, And others fear t’ oppose themselves to me. This swell’d Achilles’ choler to the height, 185 And made him study what to do were best, To draw his sword and Agamemnon kill, ILIAI). 5 Or take some time Ii is anger to digest. His sword was drawn, yet doubtful was his will. But Juno, that of both of them took care, UlO Sent 1 ’alias down, who coining stood behind Achilles, and laid hold upon his hair. W hereat Achilles wond’ring in his mind, 1 urn’d hack, and by the terror of her eyes Knew her ; hut by none else perceiv’d was she. \i)o Come you, said he, to see the injuries That are by Agamemnon done to me ? So great, O Goddess Pallas, is his pride, As I believe it cost him will his life. 1 hither came, Athena then reply’d, 2(H) To put an end to this unlucky strife. From heaven I hither was by Juno sent, '1 hat loves you both, and of you both takes care, Drawing of swords and bloodshed to prevent. But as for evil words you need not spare. 20o For the wrong done you he shall trebly pay Another time. Hold then. Your sword forbear. I must then, said Achilles, you obey, Tho’ wrong’d. Who hearsnot Gods, the Gods not hear. This said, his mighty sword again he sheath’d, 210 Ami Pallas up unto Olympus dew. Achilles still nothing but choler breath’d, And Agamemnon thus revil’d anew. Dog’s-faee, and drunkard, coward ihat thou art, That hat’st to lead the people out to fight ; 21.5 Nor yet to lie in ambush hast the heart, And painfully watch in the field all night. But thou to take from other men their due, Safe lying in the camp, more pleasure hast. But fools they are that ruled are by you, 220 Or else this injury had been your last. But this I’ll say, and with an oath make good. (Now by this sceptre, which hath left behind The stock whereon it once grew in the wood, And never more shall have nor leaf nor rind, 225 And by Achaean princes now is borne By whom Jove’s law s to th’ people carried be.) You hear now what a great oath I have sworn : If ere the Acheans shall have need of me, And Agamemnon cannot them relieve, 230 When Hector fills the field with bodies slain, And Agamemnon only for them grieve, They my assistance wush for shall in vain. This said, Achilles threw the sceptre down That stuck all over was with nails of gold ; 325 And Nestor rose, of Pyle that w ore the crown, Wise and sweet orator and captain old. LIB. I. The discontent and secession of Achilles. 6 ILIAD. LIB. 1. The discontent and secession of Achilles. His words like honey dropped from his tongue. Two ages he in battle honour gain’d. For all that while he youthful was and strong, 240 And with the third age now in Fyle he reign’d. What grief t’ Achata coining is, said he, O Gods, what joy to Priam and his seed, How glad will all the Trojans be to see You two, that all the rest in pow’r exceed, 245 With your own hands shed one another’s blood ! I elder am, do then as I advise. For I conversed have with men as good. That yet my counsel never did despist Perithous and Dryas were great men, 250 And Polyphemus and Exadins, Such as for strength I ne’er shall see again ; And so were Caeneus, and Theseus, The strongest of mankind were these, and slew The strongest of wild beasts that haunt the wood. 255 These strong men I convers’d withal and knew ; And with them also I did what I could. With these no other could contend in fight. Yet they from Pyle thought fit to call me forth Far off ; nor ever did my counsel slight. 260 Think not therefore my counsel nothing worth. Atrides take not from him, though you can, The damsel which the Greeks have given him. Forbear the king, Pelides. For the man Whom Jove hath crown’d is made of Jove a limb. 265 Though you be strong, and on a Goddess got, Atrides is before you in command. Atrides, be but you to peace once brought, T’ appease Achilles I will take in hand, Who is (while we are lying here) our wall. 270 To this Atrides answered again, I nothing can deny of this at all. But he amongst us thinks he ought to reign, And give the law to all as he thinks fit. But I am certain that shall never be. 275 He well can fight ; the Gods have granted it. But they ne’er taught him words of infamy. Then interrupting him, Achilles said, I were a wretch and nothing worth indeed, If I whatever you command obey’d. 280 I will no more to what you say take heed. But this I tell you, if you take away The damsel which is mine by your own gift, I do not mean for that to make a fray Amongst the Greeks, or once my hand to lift. 285 Fetch her yourself, Atrides, but take heed Against my will you nothing else take there. ILIAD. 7 Try ; that th’ Aclucans may 6ee how you 6peed, And how your black blood shall run down iny spear. Thus in disorder the assembly ends. 290 Achilles to his own ships took his way, Patroclus w ith hi in and his other friends. And Agamemnon then without delay Launched a bark, and in go row’rs twice ten. Aboard the maid and th’ hecatomb they lay. 295 Ulysses went commander of the men. And swiftly then the ship cuts out her way. And then Atrides th’ army purifi'd, And threw' into the sea the purgament. Then sacrific’d o’ th’ sands by the sea side 300 A hecatomb. To heaven up went the scent, And busy were the people. But the king Still on his quarrel with Achilles thought. And how Briseis from his tent to brinm o ror what he threaten’d he had not forgot. 305 But sent Talthybius and Eurybates T’ Achilles’ tent to fetch Briseis thence. (Two public servants of the king were these, Ordained to carry liis commandments.) If he refuse, said he, to let her go, 310 I’ll thither go myself w ith greater force And take her thence, whether he will or no. "Which, angry as he is, will vex him worse. The messengers, though not well pleased, went LTnto the fleet o’ th’ Myrmidons, and there 315 They found Achilles sitting by his tent. Well pleas’d he was not. And they silent were, And stood still, struck with fear and reverence. Achilles seeing that, spake first, and said, Come near. To me you have done no offence. 320 Go you, Patroclus, and lead forth the maid, And give her to these men, that they may be To Gods and men, and to th’ unbridled man, My witnesses, when they have need of me To save th’ Achaeans, which he never can. 325 For what can he devise of any worth ? Or how can he the Greeks in battle save ? This said, Patroclus led Briseis forth, .And to Atrides’ messengers her gave. She with them went, though much against her heart. 330 Achilles from his friends went off and pray’d. And sitting with his face to the sea apart Weeping, unto his mother Thetis said, Mother, though Jove have given me so small A time of life, I could contented be, 335 Had I not been dishonoured withal, And forc’d to bear such open injury. LIB. I. The discontent and Hecesaioii of Achilles. 8 ILIAD. LIB. I. The discontent and secession of Achillea. Thetis in the inmost closets of the deep, Sat with the old God Nereus, and heard. And not enduring long to hear him weep, 340 Above the sea like to a mist appear’d, And by him sat, and strok’d his head, and said, Why weep you, child ? What is’t that grieves you so ? Tell me, speak out. Of what are you afraid ? Come, whatsoever ’tis let me it know. 345 Mother, said he, ’tis not to you unknown, When we took Thebe, and had brought away The captives and the riches of the town, Chrvseis fell t’ Atrides for his prey. And how her father Chryses came to th’ fleet 350 With ransom great his daughter to redeem. And having in his hands the ensigns meet Which did his priestly dignity beseem, A golden sceptre and a crown of bays. Unto the princes all made his request. 355 But to the two Atrides chiefly prays, Who of the Argive army were the best. O sons of Atreus, may the Gods grant you A safe return from Troy with victory ; And you on me compassion may shew, 360 Receive these gifts, and set my daughter free ; And have respect to Jove’s and Leto’s son. To this the princes all gave their consent, Except King Agamemnon. He alone. And with sharp language from the fleet him sent. 365 Away the old man goes, and as he went. Against the Greeks he to Apollo pray’d ; Who heard him, and the plague amongst them sent. Which daily multitudes of them destroy’d. Of which the prophet, being ask’d the cause, 370 Said, ’twas for th’ injury to Chryses done. I mov’d to send her back. Then angry was Atrides, though beside Atrides, none. And though he too has sent her now away, Yet what he threaten’d he has brought to pass. 375 His officers from me have forc’d my prey, And Agamemnon now Briseis has. And now, if ever, let me have your aid. If you have holpen Jove with word or deed ; (For in my father’s house you oft have said, 380 That heretofore you stood him in great stead, When other Gods to bind him had decreed, Juno and Neptune, Pallas and the rest. You to him came and from his bonds him freed. For up you fetch’d Briareus, the best 385 Of Titans all, whom men jEgaeon call, The gods Briareus, with a hundred hands, ILIAD. 9 And net him next to Jove. No God at all Alien durst to Jupiter approach with bonds); Put Jove in mind of this, and him intreat 390 The Trojan hands to fortify in fight, And to repel the Greeks with slaughter great, That in their goodly king they may delight. And Agamemnon count what he hath won By doing such dishonour to the best 395 Of th’ Argives, and that has such service done. Ay me, said Thetis, would you could here rest Unhurt, ungriev’d. For I have born you to Short life. And not far from you is your fate. And grievous ’tis to be dishonour’d too. 