Telemachus.

See, dear father, All things as thou hast ordered have I done, And whatsoever more thou bidst me do I shall be glad and ready: fear me not; Nor doubt my courage, if my heart is foolish In asking one thing of thee.

Ul. Speak, my son.

Tel. I am sad for thee, father, that thy return Must be in battle, when thou shouldst have come In peace and merriment: and for my mother I grieve, that when her sorrow’s cause is fled, Her joy must break so sternly: and for these halls I mourn, that they must know the din of arms, And bear the stain of life-blood. But not least For these rash men I am sorry, who I know In part deserve to die, and yet not all: Being for the most of common parts, no ruder Nor worse than others are: while to the worst Forgiveness of their wrongs would be, methinks, Nobler revenge, and as a punishment Heavier than death.

Ul. What wouldst thou now, my son?

Tel. Reveal thyself, and bid them at the word Depart in shame. If then they should not fly, There were no help for it: fight.

Ul. The manliest hearts Are gentle; and thy speech, son, would convince My heart of malice, were my heart my guide: But as thou without question me obeyest, So I the goddess, in whose hands my life Till now hath lain.

Tel. And will there be no mercy Shown to thy servants, who have failed in trust?

Ul. Such justice only as shall separate The false from the innocent. If I should swerve Even in desire from what the goddess bade, She may desert me. Already hath my pity Strained my obedience: yestereve I gave Warning to fly to Lord Amphinomus; For which if I be blamed, what is our risk? At the hands of these wretches my death; or else Return denied me to my proper self, Condemned to live unrecognizable, A withered, age-stricken beggar, full of scorn.

Tel. Already I love thee, even as now thou art.

Ul. O son, this shame stifles me. Where’s Eumæus? I incline to tell him.

Tel. And there is one besides Whom we may trust, the neatherd. When time came To close the gate, I thought to take them with me.

Ul. Ay, do so, son; and order with them thus. When none of all the lords can string the bow, I will call for it: let Eumæus bring it: ’Twill rouse disorder; should thy mother tarry, Make that excuse to bid her to her chamber. When once she is gone, I shoot.

Tel. With them we are four.

Ul. Where be our arms?

Tel. They are hid beneath the stairs.

Ul. Keep we this side the hall, so shall our foes The sooner seek the door.

Tel. Hush! see, they come!

Enter Eurymachus, Antinous, Ctesippus (others following).