Penelope.

Ye shameless men, and thou most shamed of all, Antinous—nay, never think I know not Because I hold aloof; or that I hear not Because ye see me not. I know you all, And none is there among you who more wrongs The hospitality ye all constrain, Than that Antinous:—doth he remember How once his sire Eupeithes to this house Fled from the people, when they would have slain him For joining in the Taphian piracies ’Gainst the Thesprotians, who were then our friends And good allies as now; but my Ulysses Took him, and by great favour won his life? And now his son against our noble son Plotteth to kill him: is all due regard For sacred ties ’twixt house and house so lost? That ye too here, who sit in idleness To waste the substance of my absent lord, Hark to such insolent and bloody malice, The while ye sue me for my hand? Pretence! I say: ye are constant lovers, but ’tis wine And meat ye love, and me ye only wrong.

Eur. And us thou wrongest, wise Penelope, Deeming thy son hath not such friends among us, As make his coming hither and his going And converse with us safe. If one had dared To plot his death, this spear, that now is bright, Were red to-day with blood: for me too, lady, Hath good Ulysses in the days gone by Set on his knee, and to my boyish lips Tendered the wine-cup: wherefore is his son Dear to my soul, and from no man that moves Within my reach, need he fear death or harm.

Ctes. (aside). Hark to him now!

Ant. (to Pen.). We all are bounden, lady, To serve thy house; and I above the rest Have shewn my zeal, sailing my galley forth To meet thy son with honour, and in safety To escort him home.

Pen. Standing but late above I overheard your council; look, I bid you Depart, lest on a sudden ye encounter Him whom ye willed to slay. The gods have brought him In safety home: he will be here; so ye Go to your lodges, nor to-morrow morn Come as your wont, unless ye bring in hand Each of you, for a pledge of truth and peace, Some gift of price. Strange suitors are ye, lying Here at my charges, feasting day by day, Nor ever make such offerings as a woman Must look for where she is loved or wooed: begone. My son hath passed the town. I have a message He will be here. (Voices without.) Ay, now, before ye go He is come. I hear him.

Enter Telemachus, spear in hand at back; the wooers throng round him as he presses forward.

Eur. Welcome, noble prince.

Amph. All hail, Telemachus!

Ant. The gods be praised.

Chor. Hail, noble offspring of a noble sire!— Most gracious son of a most gracious lady!— Dear to our eyes as is the light of morn— Welcome as softest rain to new-sown fields—

Ctes. (aside). Or like a frost in spring.