“Had not the inglorious wound thy malice aim’d

Fall’n guiltless of the mark, my certain spear

Had made thee buy the brutal triumph dear:

Nor should thy sire a queen his daughter boast;

The suitor, now, had vanish’d in a ghost:

No more, ye lewd compeers, with lawless power

Invade my dome, my herds and flocks devour:

For genuine worth, of age mature to know,

My grape shall redden, and my harvest grow

Or, if each other’s wrongs ye still support,

With rapes and riot to profane my court;

What single arm with numbers can contend?

On me let all your lifted swords descend,

And with my life such vile dishonours end.”


A long cessation of discourse ensued,

By gentler Agelaus thus renew’d:


“A just reproof, ye peers! your rage restrain

From the protected guest, and menial train:

And, prince! to stop the source of future ill,

Assent yourself, and gain the royal will.

Whilst hope prevail’d to see your sire restored,

Of right the queen refused a second lord:

But who so vain of faith, so blind to fate,

To think he still survives to claim the state?

Now press the sovereign dame with warm desire

To wed, as wealth or worth her choice inspire:

The lord selected to the nuptial joys

Far hence will lead the long-contested prize:

Whilst in paternal pomp with plenty bless’d,

You reign, of this imperial dome possess’d.”


Sage and serene Telemachus replies:

“By him at whose behest the thunder flies,

And by the name on earth I most revere,

By great Ulysses and his woes I swear!

(Who never must review his dear domain;

Enroll’d, perhaps, in Pluto’s dreary train),

Whene’er her choice the royal dame avows,

My bridal gifts shall load the future spouse:

But from this dome my parent queen to chase!

From me, ye gods! avert such dire disgrace.”


But Pallas clouds with intellectual gloom

The suitors’ souls, insensate of their doom!

A mirthful frenzy seized the fated crowd;