The winter pinches, and with cold I die,

And die ashamed (O wisest of mankind),

The only fool who left his cloak behind.’


“He thought and answer’d: hardly waking yet,

Sprung in his mind a momentary wit

(That wit, which or in council or in fight,

Still met the emergence, and determined right).

‘Hush thee (he cried, soft whispering in my ear),

Speak not a word, lest any Greek may hear’—

And then (supporting on his arm his head),

‘Hear me, companions! (thus aloud he said:)

Methinks too distant from the fleet we lie:

E’en now a vision stood before my eye,

And sure the warning vision was from high:

Let from among us some swift courier rise,

Haste to the general, and demand supplies.’


“Up started Thoas straight, Andraemon’s son,

Nimbly he rose, and cast his garment down!

Instant, the racer vanish’d off the ground;

That instant in his cloak I wrapp’d me round:

And safe I slept, till brightly-dawning shone

The morn conspicuous on her golden throne.


“Oh were my strength as then, as then my age!

Some friend would fence me from the winter’s rage.

Yet, tatter’d as I look, I challenged then

The honours and the offices of men:

Some master, or some servant would allow

A cloak and vest—but I am nothing now!”


“Well hast thou spoke (rejoin’d the attentive swain):

Thy lips let fall no idle word or vain!

Nor garment shalt thou want, nor aught beside,

Meet for the wandering suppliant to provide.

But in the morning take thy clothes again,

For here one vest suffices every swain:

No change of garments to our hinds is known;

But when return’d, the good Ulysses’ son

With better hand shall grace with fit attires

His guest, and send thee where thy soul desires.”


The honest herdsman rose, as this he said,

And drew before the hearth the stranger’s bed;

The fleecy spoils of sheep, a goat’s rough hide

He spreads; and adds a mantle thick and wide;

With store to heap above him, and below,