







 
   
     
       
         The first booke of Homer's Iliads Translated by Thomas Grantham, professor of the speedy way of teaching the Hebrew, Greek, and Latine tongues in London, at the Golden-Ball in Carter-Lane.
         Iliad. Book 1. English
         Homer.
      
       
         This text is an enriched version of the TCP digital transcription A86496 of text R230660 in the  English Short Title Catalog (Wing H2547C). Textual changes  and metadata enrichments aim at making the text more  computationally tractable, easier to read, and suitable for network-based collaborative curation by amateur and professional end users from many walks of life.  The text has been tokenized and linguistically annotated with  MorphAdorner. The annotation includes standard spellings that support the display of a text in a standardized format that preserves archaic forms ('loveth', 'seekest'). Textual changes aim at restoring the text the author or stationer meant to publish.  This text has not been fully proofread 
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         EarlyPrint Project
         Evanston,IL, Notre Dame, IN, St. Louis, MO
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         Wing H2547C
         ESTC R230660
         99896418
         99896418
         154201
         
           
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             The first booke of Homer's Iliads Translated by Thomas Grantham, professor of the speedy way of teaching the Hebrew, Greek, and Latine tongues in London, at the Golden-Ball in Carter-Lane.
             Iliad. Book 1. English
             Homer.
             Grantham, Thomas, d. 1664.
          
           [4], 13 [i.e. 17], [3] p.
           
             printed by T. Lock, for the author,
             London :
             1659.
          
           
             Page 17 misnumbered 13.
             Reproduction of original in the Folger Shakespeare Library.
          
        
      
    
     
       
         eng
      
    
       A86496  R230660  (Wing H2547C).  civilwar no The first booke of Homer's Iliads. Translated by Thomas Grantham, professor of the speedy way of teaching the Hebrew, Greek, and Latine tong Homer 1659    6011 6 0 0 0 0 0 10 C  The  rate of 10 defects per 10,000 words puts this text in the C category of texts with between 10 and 35 defects per 10,000 words. 
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           The
           FIRST
           BOOKE
           OF
           Homer's
           Iliads
           .
           Translated
           by
           
             THOMAS
             GRANTHAM
             ,
          
           Professor
           of
           the
           speedy
           way
           of
           teaching
           the
           
             Hebrew
             ,
             Greek
             ,
          
           and
           
             Latine
          
           tongues
           in
           
             LONDON
             ,
          
           at
           the
           Golden-Ball
           in
           
             Carter-Lane
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             LONDON
             ,
          
           Printed
           by
           
             T.
             Lock
             ,
          
           for
           the
           Author
           ,
           1659.
           
        
      
       
       
       
         
           To
           the
           Reader
           .
        
         
           
             Reader
             ,
          
        
         
           THE
           Sun
           is
           called
           the
           Heart
           of
           the
           Planets
           ,
           all
           receive
           their
           light
           and
           influence
           from
           him
           ;
           the
           Moon
           is
           dark
           and
           obscure
           ,
           but
           when
           the
           Sun
           shines
           upon
           her
           ,
           she
           shows
           so
           glorious
           ,
           that
           men
           worship
           her
           as
           a
           goddess
           ;
           her
           influence
           is
           over
           sea
           and
           land
           ,
           over
           men
           ,
           (
           whom
           God
           himself
           calls
           gods
           )
           witness
           the
           
             Lunatick
             .
             Homer
          
           he
           is
           the
           heart
           ,
           the
           sun
           ,
           the
           light
           of
           all
           the
           Poets
           ,
           without
           him
           they
           are
           like
           Dials
           without
           the
           Sun
           ;
           like
           candles
           unlighted
           .
           He
           is
           painted
           vomiting
           ,
           and
           all
           the
           poets
           lapping
           like
           little
           Dogs
           what
           comes
           from
           him
           .
           
             Ovid
          
           brings
           him
           in
           attended
           with
           all
           the
           Muses
           .
        
         
           
             
               Homer
            
             with
             all
             the
             Muses
             grac'd
             ,
             if
             poor
          
           
             He
             chance
             to
             come
             ,
             they
             'l
             thrust
             him
             out
             of
             door
             .
          
        
         
           But
           whilst
           I
           am
           commending
           
             Homer
             ,
          
           I
           remember
           
             Ulysses
          
           pleading
           for
           the
           Armour
           of
           
             Achilles
          
           against
           
             Ajax
             ,
          
           he
           sets
           out
           all
           his
           valiant
           actions
           in
           what
           lustre
           ,
           and
           shadows
           ,
           and
           colours
           he
           can
           possible
           ;
           but
           when
           he
           came
           at
           last
           to
           the
           stealing
           of
           the
           Image
           of
           
             Pallas
             ,
          
           he
           sayes
           
           little
           or
           nothing
           at
           all
           of
           that
           ,
           but
           pulls
           it
           out
           of
           his
           bosome
           before
           all
           the
           Army
           ,
           he
           knew
           that
           would
           speak
           for
           it self
           ;
           For
           there
           was
           a
           Prophesie
           ,
           
             Troy
          
           should
           never
           be
           conquered
           till
           that
           was
           stolne
           out
           of
           the
           Temple
           .
           
             Homer
          
           is
           here
           present
           to
           speak
           for
           himself
           ,
           and
           it
           becomes
           me
           to
           sit
           silent
           in
           admiration
           .
        
      
    
     
       
       
         
           The
           FIRST
           BOOKE
           OF
           Homer's
           Iliads
           .
        
         
           
             The
             ARGUMENT
             :
          
           
             
               The
               Prayers
               and
               Gifts
               of
               
                 Chryses
              
               this
               Book
               sings
               ,
            
             
               The
               Plague
               that
               Phaebus
               sent
               ,
               the
               wrath
               of
               Kings
               .
            
          
        
         
           
             AChilles
             son
             of
             
               Peleus
            
             Goddes
             sing
             ,
          
           
             His
             baneful
             wrath
             which
             to
             the
             Greeks
             did
             bring
             ,
          
           
             Unnumbred
             greifs
             ,
             brave
             souls
             to
             hel
             did
             send
             ,
          
           
             Their
             noble
             bodyes
             Fouls
             and
             Dogs
             did
             rend
             ;
          
           
             
               Jove
            
             will'd
             all
             this
             ,
             he
             these
             to
             strife
             did
             bring
             ,
          
           
             God-like
             
               Achilles
            
             and
             
               Atreides
            
             King
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             Which
             of
             the
             gods
             enflamed
             these
             to
             fight
             ?
          
           
             
               Phoebus
               (
               Jove's
            
             Son
             )
             did
             owe
             the
             King
             ▪
             spight
             ,
          
           
             And
             made
             a
             Plague
             through
             all
             the
             Army
             flie
             ,
             
          
           
             'Cause
             
               Chryses
            
             his
             own
             Priest
             he
             did
             defie
             ,
          
           
             Who
             to
             the
             Fleet
             unvalued
             Presents
             brought
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             the
             freedom
             of
             his
             Daughter
             sought
             ;
          
           
             With
             
               Phoebus
            
             Crown
             and
             Scepter
             in
             his
             hands
             ,
          
           
             He
             prayed
             the
             
               Greeks
               ,
            
             and
             those
             that
             bore
             Commands
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Oh
             Princes
             !
             Oh
             ye
             
               Greeks
            
             with
             glorious
             Arms
             !
             
          
           
             Let
             gods
             in
             Heaven
             but
             listen
             to
             my
             Charms
             ,
          
           
             And
             send
             ye
             home
             ,
             when
             ye
             have
             rais'd
             the
             Town
          
           
             Of
             
               Priam
               ;
            
             onely
             grant
             me
             what
             's
             mine
             own
             ,
          
           
             Mine
             own
             dear
             Daughter
             ;
             yee
             the
             Son
             of
             
               Jove
            
          
           
             Worship
             ,
             by
             taking
             tokens
             of
             my
             love
             .
          
        
         
           
             The
             
               Greeks
            
             (
             with
             Acclamations
             )
             all
             embrace
          
           
             These
             Gifts
             ,
             and
             think
             them
             a
             sufficient
             Grace
             .
          
        
         
           
             But
             
               Agamemnon
            
             (
             rag'd
             with
             mighty
             Ire
             )
          
           
             Threatned
             the
             Priest
             ,
             made
             him
             with
             speed
             retire
             .
          
        
         
           
             Doterd
             be
             gone
             ,
             linger
             not
             on
             our
             shore
             ;
             
          
           
             And
             being
             gone
             ,
             I
             charge
             thee
             nere
             come
             more
             ;
          
           
             Neither
             thy
             Scepter
             ,
             nor
             thy
             God-head's
             Crown
          
           
             Shall
             profit
             thee
             ;
             I
             'le
             keep
             her
             as
             mine
             own
             ,
          
           
             Till
             age
             deform
             her
             ;
             In
             my
             Court
             shall
             she
          
           
             Spin
             ,
             and
             adorn
             my
             Bed
             with
             Gallantrie
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             said
             ,
             the
             Priest
             obeyd
             the
             Kings
             Command
             ,
          
           
             And
             walking
             silent
             all
             along
             the
             Sand
             ;
          
        
         
           
             
               Phoebus
               ,
            
             fair-hair'd
             
               Latonaes
            
             Son
             ,
             my
             Vow
             
          
           
             Hear
             ,
             O
             my
             God
             ,
             that
             bear'st
             the
             silver
             Bow
          
           
             That
             
               Chrysa
            
             Guards
             ,
             Rules
             
               Tenedos
            
             that
             strongly
             walks
             the
             round
          
           
             Of
             Divine
             
               Cilla
               ,
            
             
               *
            
             
               Smyntheus
               ;
            
             if
             ever
             I
             have
             crown'd
          
           
           
             With
             Sacrifices
             thy
             rich
             
               Phane
               ;
            
             if
             ever
             I
             did
             fire
          
           
             Fat
             Thighs
             of
             
               Oxen
               ,
            
             and
             of
             Goats
             ,
             grant
             me
             now
             my
             desire
             ;
          
           
             Revenge
             my
             Tears
             ,
             with
             Shafts
             the
             
               Graecians
            
             pay
             .
          
           
             And
             thus
             he
             pray'd
             ,
             and
             
               Phoebus
            
             heard
             him
             pray
             .
          
        
         
           
             Who
             (
             vext
             )
             came
             down
             from
             Heaven
             &
             brought
             his
             Bow
             ,
             
          
           
             With
             quiver
             cover'd
             round
             ,
             his
             hands
             did
             throw
          
           
             These
             on
             his
             shoulders
             :
             The
             Arrows
             gave
             a
             sound
             ,
          
           
             Ratling
             about
             him
             as
             he
             trod
             the
             ground
             ;
          
           
             Silent
             as
             Night
             ,
             with
             Silver
             Bow
             he
             shot
             ,
          
           
             His
             Arrows
             twang'd
             again
             ,
             they
             flew
             so
             hot
             :
          
           
             He
             first
             of
             all
             shot
             both
             the
             Mules
             and
             Hounds
             ;
          
           
             The
             
               Graecians
            
             after
             that
             receiv'd
             their
             wounds
             ;
          
           
             The
             Fires
             of
             death
             nine
             dayes
             did
             burn
             ,
             so
             long
             the
             Shafts
             did
             flye
             ;
          
           
             The
             tenth
             ,
             
               Achilles
            
             call'd
             a
             Court
             of
             chosen
             men
             ,
             and
             high
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Juno
            
             (
             the
             white-arm'd
             Queen
             )
             does
             mourn
             for
             
               Greeks
               ,
            
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             therefore
             now
             a
             Councel
             seeks
             ;
          
           
             Being
             mov'd
             by
             her
             :
             swift-foot
             
               Achilles
            
             then
          
           
             Rose
             up
             to
             speak
             in
             the
             Great
             Court
             of
             Men
             .
          
        
         
           
             
               Atreides
               ,
            
             now
             I
             see
             we
             go
             astray
             ,
             
          
           
             We
             must
             return
             ,
             if
             we
             can
             scape
             away
             ;
          
           
             The
             Plague
             and
             War
             does
             many
             
               Greeks
            
             destroy
             ,
          
           
             Let
             us
             some
             Priest
             or
             Prophet
             now
             employ
             ,
          
           
             Or
             Dream-Interpreter
             ,
             Dreams
             come
             from
             
               Jove
               ,
            
          
           
             He
             'le
             show
             how
             we
             have
             lost
             
               Apollo's
            
             Love
             ;
          
           
             If
             that
             for
             Hecatombs
             ,
             or
             unpaid
             Vows
             ;
          
           
             Or
             if
             for
             Lambs
             and
             Goats
             he
             knits
             his
             brows
             ;
          
           
             These
             he
             shall
             have
             ,
             if
             he
             our
             men
             shall
             mend
             ,
          
           
             And
             bring
             this
             Plague
             unto
             a
             speedy
             end
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             said
             ,
             he
             sate
             ;
             
               Chalchas
            
             starts
             up
             to
             them
             ,
             
          
           
             (
             Sir
             named
             
               Thestorides
            
             )
             who
             was
             supreme
             ,
          
           
             He
             knew
             things
             present
             ,
             past
             ,
             to
             come
             ,
             was
             honor'd
             in
             that
             age
             ,
          
           
             To
             rule
             the
             Fleet
             at
             
               Ilion
               ,
            
             for
             his
             Prophetick
             rage
             ;
          
           
           
             
               Apollo
            
             gave
             him
             
               Achilles
            
             lov'd
             of
             God
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Shall
             I
             (
             said
             he
             )
             show
             why
             
               Apollo's
            
             Rod
          
           
             Does
             plague
             us
             so
             ?
             Then
             Covenant
             with
             Oath
             ,
             
          
           
             That
             with
             thy
             Words
             and
             powerful
             Actions
             both
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             'lt
             help
             me
             speaking
             ;
             for
             I
             know
             their
             reigns
          
           
             A
             man
             that
             much
             my
             Prophesie
             disdains
             ;
          
           
             A
             King
             's
             a
             powerful
             man
             ,
             he
             in
             his
             hate
          
           
             May
             bring
             me
             speaking
             to
             a
             wretched
             state
             ,
          
           
             Although
             that
             day
             he
             seemeth
             not
             to
             chide
             ,
          
           
             And
             may
             a
             little
             his
             fierce
             Anger
             hide
             .
          
           
             But
             if
             hereafter
             he
             shall
             angry
             be
             ,
          
           
             Resolve
             me
             now
             if
             thou
             wilt
             succour
             me
             ?
          
        
         
           
             Then
             said
             
               Achilles
               ,
            
             Speak
             whatsoe're
             thou
             knows
             ,
             
          
           
             For
             by
             
               Apollo
            
             I
             have
             made
             my
             Vows
             ,
          
           
             There
             's
             none
             shall
             wrong
             thee
             ,
             
               Agamemnon
            
             King
             ,
          
           
             Dare
             not
             his
             hands
             unto
             this
             quarrel
             bring
             ,
          
           
             Although
             thou
             Name
             him
             .
             Then
             the
             Prophet
             bold
          
           
             Began
             the
             
               Graecians
            
             griefs
             for
             to
             unfold
             .
          
        
         
           
             T
             is
             not
             for
             unpaid
             Vows
             ,
             nor
             Sacrifice
             ,
          
           
             This
             Plague
             so
             long
             amongst
             us
             raging
             lyes
             ;
             
          
           
             But
             
               Agamemnon
            
             did
             the
             Priest
             despise
             ,
          
           
             Who
             for
             his
             Daughter
             brought
             sufficient
             prise
             ;
          
           
             Therefore
             
               Apollo
            
             darting
             far
             his
             Darts
             ,
          
           
             Sends
             you
             these
             griefs
             unto
             your
             mortal
             hearts
             ,
          
           
             And
             he
             will
             plague
             you
             more
             ,
             and
             not
             refrain
             ,
          
           
             Till
             he
             his
             black-eyd
             Daughter
             have
             again
             .
          
           
             Let
             her
             with
             Sacrifice
             be
             freely
             sent
             ,
          
           
             Perhaps
             with
             this
             the
             High-Priest
             may
             be
             bent
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             said
             ▪
             he
             sate
             ;
             But
             
               Agamemnon
            
             (
             then
          
           
             The
             chief
             Commander
             over
             all
             the
             men
             )
             
          
           
             Vext
             at
             the
             heart
             with
             madness
             ,
             and
             his
             eyes
          
           
             Sparkling
             with
             fire
             ,
             thus
             the
             Priest
             defies
             :
          
           
           
             Prophet
             of
             Ill
             ,
             it
             never
             pleased
             thee
          
           
             To
             speak
             the
             best
             ,
             but
             rather
             worst
             of
             me
             .
          
           
             Thou
             chides
             because
             these
             gifts
             I
             did
             not
             take
             ,
          
           
             And
             sayes
             this
             plague
             came
             for
             the
             Maiden's
             sake
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             before
             
               Clytemnestra
            
             I
             prefer
             ,
          
           
             Who
             was
             a
             Virgin
             when
             I
             courted
             her
             ;
          
           
             
               *
            
             She
             's
             full
             as
             fair
             ,
             as
             witty
             ,
             and
             as
             kind
             ,
          
           
             Her
             Huswiferies
             does
             much
             content
             my
             mind
             :
          
           
             But
             I
             will
             send
             her
             back
             ,
             onely
             I
             crave
          
           
             That
             I
             my
             Armyes
             welfare
             now
             may
             have
             ;
          
           
             But
             a
             fair
             Mistress
             give
             me
             ,
             none
             thinks
             fit
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             depriv'd
             should
             solitary
             sit
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             him
             swift-foot
             ,
             God-like
             
               Achilles
            
             then
             
          
           
             Answered
             ,
             
               Atreides
               ,
            
             thou
             of
             all
             the
             men
          
           
             That
             breath
             ,
             we
             know
             to
             be
             most
             covetous
             ,
          
           
             And
             of
             all
             Kings
             ,
             the
             most
             ambitious
             .
          
           
             Thy
             lost
             prize
             ,
             none
             of
             all
             the
             great
             soul'd
             
               Greeks
            
          
           
             Will
             out
             of
             theirs
             supply
             ;
             for
             now
             all
             seeks
          
           
             To
             keep
             their
             own
             ;
             but
             when
             the
             Well-wald
             
               Troy
            
          
           
             Is
             rais'd
             ,
             we
             'll
             trebble
             
               Quadruple
            
             thy
             joy
             .
          
        
         
           
             Then
             
               Agamemnon
            
             to
             
               Achilles
            
             said
             ,
             
          
           
             Think
             you
             it
             fit
             you
             should
             enjoy
             a
             Mayd
          
           
             And
             I
             have
             none
             ?
             I
             will
             come
             personally
          
           
             Unto
             you
             soon
             ,
             and
             all
             my
             want
             supply
             ;
          
           
             The
             Love
             of
             
               Ajan
               ,
            
             
               *
            
             
               Ithacus
               ,
            
             or
             thine
             ,
          
           
             I
             will
             bring
             home
             ,
             she
             shall
             be
             called
             mine
             :
          
           
             And
             let
             him
             rage
             hereafter
             ,
             we
             can
             these
          
           
             Order
             ;
             but
             now
             it
             's
             fit
             we
             put
             to
             Seas
          
           
             With
             most
             choice
             Rowers
             :
             
               Chryse
               's
            
             mine
             envied
             prize
             ,
          
           
             Shall
             go
             aboard
             with
             a
             great
             Sacrifice
             ;
          
           
             
               Ithacus
               ,
               Ajax
               ,
               Idomeneus
            
             shall
             ,
          
           
             Or
             stern
             
               *
            
             
               Peleides
            
             be
             the
             General
             :
          
           
             
               Ulisses
            
             the
             Commander
             ,
             he
             shall
             see
             ,
          
           
             That
             all
             these
             holy
             Acts
             performed
             be
             ▪
          
           
           
             Which
             
               Phoebus
            
             please
             ;
             
               Achilles
            
             with
             a
             frown
             ,
          
           
             This
             bold
             and
             haughty
             mind
             did
             soon
             bring
             down
             .
          
        
         
           
             What
             man
             can
             flye
             with
             valour
             on
             his
             Foe
             ,
             
          
           
             For
             such
             a
             Wretch
             ?
             I
             was
             not
             injured
             so
          
           
             By
             all
             
               Troy's
            
             Force
             :
             In
             
               Phithia
            
             I
             enjoy
          
           
             My
             Corn
             and
             People
             :
             Why
             should
             I
             annoy
          
           
             These
             men
             whom
             Hills
             and
             Seas
             keep
             from
             me
             far
             ,
          
           
             And
             cannot
             come
             to
             wrong
             me
             in
             a
             War
             ?
          
           
             Thee
             and
             thy
             Brothers
             Vengeance
             we
             sustain
             ,
          
           
             And
             Triumphs
             make
             with
             Bonefires
             of
             our
             slain
             .
          
           
             Thou
             impudent
             ,
             thou
             Dogs-eyes
             does
             employ
          
           
             Us
             with
             our
             ruine
             ,
             for
             to
             ruine
             
               Troy
               :
            
          
           
             And
             now
             thou
             threats
             to
             take
             my
             hearts
             delight
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             all
             the
             
               Greeks
            
             did
             give
             me
             for
             my
             Fight
             :
          
           
             When
             any
             Town
             is
             sack'd
             ,
             the
             Prize
             for
             me
          
           
             Is
             lesser
             far
             ,
             then
             that
             which
             is
             for
             thee
             :
          
           
             But
             I
             le
             ship
             home
             ,
             contented
             with
             what
             's
             mine
             ,
          
           
             And
             spend
             no
             more
             in
             any
             cause
             of
             thine
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             him
             then
             
               Agamemnon
            
             King
             repli'd
             ,
             
          
           
             Get
             thee
             gone
             hence
             ,
             it
             shall
             not
             be
             deni'd
             ;
          
           
             Here
             's
             others
             honor
             me
             ,
             the
             most
             wise
             
               Jove
               ,
            
          
           
             In
             him
             both
             I
             ,
             and
             other
             Princes
             move
             ,
          
           
             And
             nourisht
             are
             ;
             but
             thou
             my
             greatest
             Foe
             ,
          
           
             Delightst
             in
             Blood
             ,
             Battels
             ,
             and
             Strife
             and
             Woe
             :
          
           
             If
             thou
             beest
             very
             strong
             ,
             God
             gave
             it
             thee
             ,
          
           
             Get
             thee
             gone
             hence
             with
             all
             thy
             companie
             ,
          
           
             And
             Ships
             ,
             and
             Myrmidons
             ,
             I
             do
             not
             care
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             fear
             thy
             Wrath
             ;
             yet
             of
             my
             threats
             beware
             :
          
           
             Because
             fair-cheekt
             
               Chryseis
               Phoebus
            
             seeks
             ,
          
           
             I
             le
             send
             her
             home
             with
             many
             of
             my
             
               Greeks
               :
            
          
           
             But
             thy
             fair-cheekt
             
               Bryseis
            
             home
             I
             le
             bring
             ,
          
           
             And
             thou
             shalt
             know
             how
             powerful
             a
             King
          
           
             Is
             above
             all
             ,
             and
             every
             one
             shall
             see
          
           
             There
             is
             great
             danger
             to
             contend
             with
             me
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             
               Achilles
            
             hearing
             this
             ,
             was
             vext
             at
             heart
             ,
             
          
           
             Brisled
             his
             Bosome
             ,
             his
             discoursive
             part
             ,
          
           
             Sometime
             did
             think
             with
             Sword
             to
             lay
             about
             ,
          
           
             Sometimes
             he
             thought
             to
             sit
             his
             anger
             out
             :
          
           
             Whilst
             thus
             
               Achilles
            
             stood
             in
             doubtful
             mind
             ,
          
           
             And
             drew
             his
             Sword
             ,
             
               Pallas
            
             about
             him
             shin'd
             ,
          
           
             Being
             sent
             from
             Heaven
             by
             the
             white-wristed
             queen
          
           
             
               Juno
               ,
            
             for
             she
             had
             to
             both
             loving
             been
             :
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             by
             the
             yellow
             Curls
             she
             took
             ,
          
           
             Standing
             behind
             him
             ,
             onely
             gave
             a
             look
          
           
             To
             him
             alone
             ;
             he
             turning
             back
             his
             eye
             ,
          
           
             Was
             struck
             amaz'd
             in
             every
             faculty
             .
          
           
             He
             knew
             her
             by
             her
             eyes
             sparkling
             with
             fire
             ,
          
           
             With
             winged
             words
             he
             craved
             her
             desire
             :
          
        
         
           
             Daughter
             of
             
               Jove
               ,
            
             who
             does
             his
             Helmet
             bear
             ,
             
          
           
             Tell
             me
             why
             thou
             descendest
             from
             thy
             Sphere
             ;
          
           
             Wouldst
             thou
             the
             pride
             of
             
               Agamemnon
            
             know
             ?
          
           
             Then
             see
             him
             gasping
             at
             this
             deadly
             blow
             .
          
        
         
           
             Gray-ey'd
             
               *
            
             
               Minerva
            
             answered
             him
             again
             ,
          
           
             I
             'm
             come
             from
             Heaven
             thine
             anger
             to
             refrain
             ;
          
           
             White-wrested
             
               Juno
            
             sent
             me
             ,
             she
             is
             loth
          
           
             There
             should
             be
             any
             quarrel
             'twixt
             you
             both
             :
          
           
             Show
             thy
             respects
             to
             us
             ,
             cease
             to
             contend
             ,
          
           
             Put
             up
             thy
             Sword
             ,
             and
             so
             this
             quarrel
             end
             :
          
           
             
               †
            
             Give
             him
             most
             bitter
             words
             ,
             take
             this
             from
             me
             ,
          
           
             The
             time
             will
             come
             when
             thou
             must
             courted
             be
             ,
          
           
             When
             thrice
             the
             worth
             shall
             be
             unto
             thee
             sent
          
           
             For
             recompence
             ,
             when
             that
             he
             shall
             repent
             .
          
        
         
           
             Swift-foot
             
               Achilles
            
             answer'd
             and
             did
             speak
             ,
             
          
           
             Goddess
             I
             will
             not
             your
             Commandment
             break
          
           
             Although
             I
             'm
             very
             angry
             ;
             for
             I
             know
          
           
             Unto
             the
             Gods
             I
             do
             obedience
             owe
             :
          
        
         
         
           
             They
             'l
             hear
             my
             Prayers
             :
             Then
             he
             put
             up
             his
             Sword
          
           
             Close
             in
             his
             Sheath
             ,
             just
             at
             
               Minerva's
            
             word
             .
          
           
             To
             
               Jove
            
             the
             rough
             Shield-bearing
             
               Pallas
            
             then
          
           
             Went
             up
             to
             sit
             with
             other
             gods
             in
             heaven
          
           
             
               Peleides
            
             then
             to
             
               Agamemnon
            
             spake
          
           
             With
             bitter
             words
             ,
             and
             out
             his
             anger
             brake
             .
          
        
         
           
             Thou
             Wine-sot
             ,
             ever
             steept
             in
             Wine
             ,
             thy
             heart
          
           
             Thou
             Dogs
             face
             ,
             is
             as
             fearful
             as
             a
             Hart
             ;
             
          
           
             In
             ambush
             thou'lt
             not
             lye
             ,
             nor
             dar'st
             thou
             go
          
           
             In
             Arms
             with
             us
             ,
             ever
             to
             fight
             thy
             Fo
             ,
          
           
             These
             are
             as
             death
             to
             thee
             ;
             all
             thy
             delight
          
           
             Is
             to
             rob
             those
             that
             blame
             thee
             ,
             of
             their
             right
             :
          
           
             On
             servile
             Spirits
             thou
             dost
             tyrannise
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             subject-eating
             King
             I
             thee
             despise
             :
          
           
             
               Atreides
            
             (
             for
             the
             wrong
             thou
             offer'st
             now
             )
          
           
             I
             le
             tell
             thee
             plainly
             ,
             and
             will
             make
             a
             Vow
          
           
             By
             this
             same
             Scepter
             ,
             which
             can
             never
             give
          
           
             Branches
             and
             Leaves
             ,
             I
             know
             it
             cannot
             live
          
           
             Since
             it
             was
             cut
             from
             Mountains
             ,
             
               Grecians
            
             seek
             ,
          
           
             And
             judges
             to
             ,
             by
             it
             our
             Laws
             to
             keep
             ,
          
           
             Which
             came
             from
             
               Jove
               ,
            
             and
             a
             great
             Oath
             I
             le
             take
             ,
          
           
             I
             le
             never
             fight
             for
             any
             
               Graecians
            
             sake
             :
          
           
             When
             
               Hector
            
             slayes
             thy
             men
             ,
             then
             thou
             'lt
             repent
          
           
             That
             thou
             hast
             wrong'd
             thy
             Armies
             Ornament
             :
          
           
             Thus
             angry
             ,
             he
             his
             Scepter
             flung
             to
             th'
             ground
             ,
          
           
             Stuck
             with
             his
             golden
             Studs
             ;
             then
             the
             profound
          
           
             Sweet-spoken
             
               Nestor
            
             up
             himself
             did
             raise
             ,
          
           
             Who
             with
             the
             
               Pylians
            
             was
             of
             mighty
             praise
             ;
          
           
             The
             Words
             were
             sweeter
             which
             from
             him
             did
             come
             ,
          
           
             Then
             was
             the
             Honey
             ,
             or
             the
             Honey
             comb
             ;
          
           
             Whilst
             he
             did
             live
             ,
             two
             Ages
             were
             encreased
          
           
             In
             sacred
             
               Pylos
               ,
            
             and
             both
             these
             deceased
             ,
          
           
             The
             third
             he
             reigned
             in
             ,
             being
             a
             Prince
             of
             skill
             ,
          
           
             He
             shewed
             how
             discord
             must
             needs
             breed
             much
             ill
             .
          
        
         
         
           
             Oh
             Gods
             !
             What
             sorrows
             do's
             our
             Land
             sustain
             ,
             
          
           
             
               Priam
               ,
            
             and
             
               Priam's
            
             Sons
             to
             see
             us
             slain
          
           
             By
             one
             another
             ?
             Oh
             how
             they
             'l
             rejoice
             ,
          
           
             And
             all
             
               Troy
            
             shout
             with
             a
             victorious
             voice
          
           
             To
             see
             those
             which
             in
             Arms
             and
             Arts
             excel
             ,
          
           
             Differ
             !
             Now
             therefore
             be
             advised
             well
             ,
          
           
             I
             am
             older
             ,
             stronger
             ,
             no
             Age
             did
             ever
             hear
          
           
             Of
             such
             brave
             men
             as
             my
             Companions
             were
             ;
          
           
             
               Pyrithius
               ,
               Cynius
               ,
               Drias
               ,
            
             prince
             of
             men
             ;
          
           
             
               Exadius
               ,
               Theseus
               ,
            
             and
             
               Polypheme
               ,
            
          
           
             Like
             to
             a
             God
             ;
             these
             Heroes
             often
             fought
          
           
             With
             Mountain-Beasts
             ,
             for
             men
             in
             strength
             were
             nought
             ,
          
           
             Compar'd
             with
             them
             ,
             they
             fought
             and
             overcame
             :
          
           
             I
             was
             Companion
             to
             these
             men
             of
             Fame
             ;
          
           
             I
             came
             from
             
               Pylos
               ,
            
             and
             bore
             Arms
             with
             these
             ,
          
           
             My
             Speeches
             and
             my
             Counsels
             did
             them
             please
             :
          
           
             I
             will
             perswade
             you
             now
             from
             any
             jar
             ,
          
           
             Although
             you
             're
             strong
             ,
             by
             no
             means
             make
             a
             War
             ;
          
           
             Give
             him
             his
             Mistress
             ,
             all
             the
             
               Greeks
            
             consent
             ,
          
           
             Then
             'twixt
             you
             both
             there
             will
             be
             great
             content
             .
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             be
             at
             peace
             ,
             no
             King
             by
             Lot
             ,
          
           
             So
             mighty
             honor
             from
             great
             
               Jove
            
             hath
             got
             :
          
           
             T
             is
             true
             ,
             You
             are
             strong
             ,
             a
             Goddess
             brought
             you
             forth
             ,
          
           
             Yet
             he
             's
             a
             powerful
             King
             ,
             of
             greater
             worth
             .
          
           
             
               Atreides
               ,
            
             cease
             thine
             anger
             ,
             thou
             shalt
             see
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             with
             my
             Prayers
             will
             moved
             be
             ,
          
           
             Who
             is
             our
             Hedge
             against
             the
             Force
             of
             
               Troy
               ,
            
          
           
             Our
             Armyes
             Ornament
             and
             onely
             joy
             .
          
        
         
           
             To
             this
             the
             King
             made
             answer
             ,
             and
             did
             say
             ,
             
          
           
             Sir
             ,
             you
             speak
             right
             ,
             but
             he
             vvill
             bear
             the
             sway
          
           
             Over
             us
             all
             ,
             and
             domineer
             as
             King
             ,
          
           
             There
             's
             none
             shall
             make
             me
             grant
             him
             such
             a
             thing
             ;
          
           
             What
             if
             the
             gods
             have
             made
             him
             strong
             ,
             shall
             he
          
           
             Fling
             his
             reproaches
             ,
             and
             his
             scorns
             on
             me
             ?
          
           
           
             
               Achilles
            
             answer'd
             ,
             Men
             vvill
             hold
             me
             base
             ,
             
          
           
             And
             I
             should
             go
             avvay
             with
             great
             disgrace
          
           
             If
             I
             should
             yeild
             to
             thee
             in
             every
             thing
             ,
          
           
             (
             Others
             command
             ,
             and
             be
             to
             them
             a
             King
             )
          
           
             I
             vvill
             not
             fight
             now
             for
             my
             Mistress
             sake
          
           
             With
             thee
             or
             others
             ;
             but
             this
             from
             me
             take
             ,
          
           
             If
             thou
             dost
             rob
             my
             Ships
             ,
             then
             shall
             this
             Lance
          
           
             Strike
             to
             thy
             heart
             ;
             Upon
             this
             variance
          
           
             The
             Princes
             being
             angry
             ,
             all
             arose
             ,
             
          
           
             And
             to
             his
             quarters
             great
             
               Achilles
            
             goes
             ,
          
           
             With
             his
             
               Patroclus
               ,
            
             and
             his
             faithful
             Mates
             ;
          
           
             Then
             
               Agamemnon
            
             knowing
             well
             the
             Fates
             ,
          
           
             Did
             launch
             the
             Ship
             ,
             and
             gave
             a
             Sacrifice
             ,
          
           
             With
             fair
             
               Cryseis
            
             his
             beloved
             prize
             .
          
           
             
               Ulysses
            
             was
             the
             Captain
             ,
             he
             did
             then
          
           
             Ascend
             the
             ship
             vvith
             twenty
             chosen
             men
             ,
          
           
             Which
             through
             the
             moist
             wayes
             row'd
             her
             ;
             then
             the
             King
          
           
             Bad
             all
             the
             Host
             their
             Sacrifices
             bring
             ,
          
           
             Of
             Bulls
             and
             Goats
             ,
             into
             the
             deep
             they
             cast
          
           
             The
             Offol
             left
             ,
             thus
             was
             
               Apollo
            
             grac'd
             ;
          
           
             Thick
             fumes
             and
             vapours
             mounted
             from
             the
             shore
          
           
             Of
             th'
             unfruitful
             Seas
             ,
             to
             Heaven
             they
             bore
          
           
             Enwrapped
             savours
             .
             
               Atreides
            
             could
             not
             yet
          
           
             Forgive
             
               Achilles
               ,
            
             or
             his
             wrong
             forget
             .
          
           
             Then
             vented
             he
             unto
             
               Eur●bates
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             to
             
               Talbythius
               ,
            
             these
             Messages
             ;
          
        
         
           
             Go
             to
             
               Achilles
            
             Tent
             ,
             fair
             
               Briseis
            
             bring
             ,
          
           
             If
             he
             deny
             to
             give
             her
             to
             his
             King
             ,
          
           
             I
             le
             come
             with
             many
             more
             ,
             he
             'le
             find
             it
             worse
             ,
          
           
             And
             vvill
             be
             plagued
             vvith
             a
             heavier
             Curse
             .
          
           
             This
             said
             ,
             they
             straight
             obeyed
             his
             Command
             ,
          
           
             And
             vvalk'd
             unvvilling
             all
             along
             the
             Sand
          
           
             Of
             the
             unfruitful
             Sea
             ;
             just
             as
             they
             vvent
          
           
             They
             found
             
               Achilles
            
             sitting
             in
             his
             Tent
             ;
          
           
             They
             struck
             vvith
             fear
             and
             avve
             ,
             stood
             dumb
             and
             sad
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             vvas
             
               Achilles
            
             then
             to
             see
             them
             glad
             ;
          
           
           
             He
             knew
             for
             what
             they
             came
             ,
             Heralds
             (
             said
             he
             )
          
           
             Of
             Gods
             and
             Men
             ,
             come
             nearer
             unto
             me
             ;
          
           
             I
             blame
             you
             not
             ,
             I
             know
             the
             King
             did
             send
          
           
             For
             
               Bris'is
               ;
            
             now
             
               Patrodus
            
             (
             my
             dear
             friend
             )
          
           
             Bring
             her
             ;
             but
             by
             the
             immortal
             gods
             I
             swear
             ,
          
           
             (
             And
             mortal
             men
             ,
             witness
             all
             ye
             that
             's
             here
             )
          
           
             If
             your
             dishonour'd
             King
             should
             for
             me
             send
             ,
          
           
             That
             I
             against
             this
             plague
             ,
             my
             help
             should
             lend
             ;
          
           
             He
             is
             raging
             mad
             ,
             things
             past
             he
             cannot
             tell
             ,
          
           
             Nor
             things
             to
             come
             ,
             nor
             can
             he
             govern
             well
             :
          
           
             This
             said
             ,
             
               Patroclus
            
             came
             to
             
               Briseis
            
             Tent
             ,
          
           
             Brought
             her
             to
             th'
             Heralds
             ,
             to
             the
             Ships
             they
             went
             ;
          
           
             She
             was
             unwilling
             :
             
               Achilles
            
             wept
             full
             sore
             ,
          
           
             And
             with
             his
             tears
             his
             Mother
             did
             implore
             ,
          
           
             And
             lifting
             up
             his
             hands
             ,
             Mother
             ,
             (
             said
             he
             )
          
           
             My
             life
             ,
             though
             short
             ,
             yet
             should
             it
             honour'd
             be
             :
          
           
             But
             
               Jove
            
             no
             honour
             gives
             ;
             great
             
               Atreus
            
             Son
          
           
             Hath
             ta'ne
             my
             Prize
             ,
             and
             I
             am
             quite
             undone
             .
          
           
             He
             weeping
             spake
             ;
             his
             honoured
             Mother
             heard
             ,
          
           
             (
             Sitting
             i'
             th'
             deeps
             )
             and
             straight
             above
             appear'd
          
           
             Like
             to
             a
             Myst
             ;
             her
             hand
             did
             stroke
             her
             Son
             ,
          
           
             Tell
             me
             (
             said
             she
             )
             from
             whence
             this
             strife
             begun
             .
          
           
             Mother
             (
             said
             he
             )
             you
             do
             my
             sorrows
             know
             ,
          
           
             I
             need
             not
             tell
             you
             whence
             my
             griefs
             do
             grovv
             :
          
           
             We
             came
             to
             
               Thebes
               ,
            
             City
             of
             
               Etion
               ,
            
          
           
             Sackt
             it
             ,
             and
             did
             divide
             to
             every
             Son
          
           
             Of
             
               Greece
            
             his
             share
             
               Atreides
               Chryseis
            
             had
             ,
          
           
             
               Chryses
               ,
               Apollo's
            
             Priest
             at
             this
             grew
             sad
             ,
          
           
             Who
             to
             the
             Fleet
             unvalued
             Presents
             brought
             ,
          
           
             When
             he
             the
             freedom
             of
             his
             Daughter
             sought
             ,
          
           
             With
             
               Phoebus
            
             Crovvn
             and
             Scepter
             in
             his
             hand
             ,
          
           
             He
             pray'd
             the
             
               Greeks
               ,
            
             and
             those
             that
             bore
             Commands
             :
          
           
             The
             
               Greeks
            
             vvith
             Acclamations
             all
             embrace
          
           
             These
             Gifts
             ,
             and
             think
             them
             a
             sufficient
             grace
             ;
          
           
             But
             
               Agamemnon
            
             (
             rag'd
             with
             mighty
             ire
             )
          
           
             Threatned
             the
             Priest
             ,
             he
             angry
             did
             retire
             ;
          
           
           
             Him
             praying
             as
             he
             went
             ,
             
               Phoebus
            
             did
             hear
             ,
          
           
             For
             he
             of
             
               Phoebus
            
             was
             accounted
             dear
             ;
          
           
             He
             sent
             his
             Darts
             ,
             and
             many
             
               Greeks
            
             did
             dye
          
           
             Through
             all
             the
             Camp
             ,
             so
             fierce
             his
             Arrows
             flye
             .
          
           
             When
             our
             learn'd
             Prophet
             to
             us
             the
             cause
             did
             tell
             ,
          
           
             I
             gave
             command
             to
             please
             
               Apollo
            
             vvell
             ;
          
           
             
               Atreides
            
             angry
             ,
             did
             his
             threatnings
             send
             ,
          
           
             And
             novv
             we
             see
             his
             threatnings
             at
             an
             end
             :
          
           
             The
             black-ey'd
             
               Greeks
            
             then
             sent
             
               Chryseis
            
             home
          
           
             Unto
             her
             Father
             with
             a
             Hecatomb
             ;
          
           
             
               Atreides
            
             then
             for
             my
             
               Bryseis
            
             sent
             ,
          
           
             Whom
             all
             the
             
               Greeks
            
             gave
             me
             with
             one
             consent
             :
          
           
             Now
             scale
             
               Olympus
               ,
            
             and
             great
             
               Jove
            
             implore
             ,
          
           
             If
             thou
             by
             word
             or
             deed
             didst
             ere
             restore
          
           
             Joy
             to
             his
             heart
             ;
             I
             have
             often
             heard
             thee
             vaunt
          
           
             In
             our
             own
             Court
             how
             thou
             wast
             conversant
          
           
             In
             saving
             of
             our
             black-Cloud-gathering
             
               Jove
               ,
            
          
           
             Whom
             
               Pallas
               ,
               Neptune
               ,
            
             and
             the
             great
             Queen
             (
             above
             )
          
           
             Of
             Heaven
             would
             bind
             ,
             thou
             callst
             the
             hundred-hands
          
           
             
               Briareus
            
             to
             rescue
             
               Jove
            
             from
             bands
             ;
          
           
             Gods
             call
             him
             so
             ,
             
               Egeon
            
             amongst
             men
          
           
             He
             is
             call'd
             ,
             surpast
             ,
             and
             was
             as
             strong
             again
          
           
             As
             his
             own
             Father
             ;
             He
             by
             
               Jove
            
             did
             sit
          
           
             In
             Heaven
             ;
             the
             Immortals
             did
             not
             envy
             it
             .
          
           
             Mind
             him
             of
             this
             ,
             sit
             and
             embrace
             his
             knee
             ,
          
           
             And
             ask
             if
             that
             
               Troy's
            
             succor
             he
             will
             be
             ,
          
           
             And
             beat
             the
             
               Greeks
            
             unto
             their
             Ships
             and
             Sea
             ,
          
           
             Some
             slain
             ,
             let
             others
             their
             great
             King
             obey
             ;
          
           
             And
             the
             far-ruling-King
             this
             fault
             shall
             knovv
             ,
          
           
             That
             to
             the
             best
             he
             did
             no
             honor
             show
             .
          
        
         
           
             She
             vveeping
             said
             ,
             Oh
             thou
             my
             dearest
             Son
             !
             
          
           
             Woe's
             me
             ,
             I
             brought
             thee
             forth
             ,
             thy
             fates
             begun
             .
          
           
             Sit
             without
             weeping
             ,
             and
             endure
             this
             wrong
             ,
          
           
             For
             now
             thy
             wretched
             life
             will
             not
             be
             long
             :
          
           
           
             I
             le
             climb
             
               Olympus
            
             that
             is
             crown'd
             with
             snow
             ,
          
           
             And
             see
             if
             thundring
             
               Jove
            
             will
             hear
             thy
             Wo
             :
          
           
             Sit
             by
             the
             ships
             ,
             thine
             anger
             now
             refrain
             ,
          
           
             And
             by
             no
             means
             go
             to
             the
             War
             again
             .
          
           
             
               Jove
            
             and
             the
             gods
             went
             yesterday
             to
             feast
          
           
             With
             Blameless
             
               Ethiops
            
             i'
             th'
             deep
             Oceans
             breast
             ;
          
           
             The
             Twelft
             he
             'le
             come
             again
             ,
             then
             will
             I
             see
          
           
             His
             Brass-pav'd-Court
             ,
             and
             beg
             with
             humble
             knee
             ,
          
           
             I
             think
             he
             'le
             hear
             me
             ,
             Thus
             she
             spake
             ,
             and
             there
          
           
             Left
             him
             in
             anger
             for
             his
             fairest
             Deare
          
           
             Forc'd
             away
             from
             him
             .
             Then
             did
             
               Ulysses
            
             come
          
           
             To
             
               Chryses
            
             shore
             ,
             bringing
             a
             Hecatomb
          
           
             To
             the
             deep
             Haven
             ,
             when
             they
             all
             did
             come
             ,
          
           
             Some
             struck
             the
             sailes
             ,
             others
             they
             did
             make
             room
          
           
             For
             Topmast
             and
             for
             Ores
             ,
             some
             Anchor
             cast
          
           
             Against
             the
             storms
             ,
             for
             drifting
             made
             her
             fast
             ;
          
           
             They
             come
             a-shore
             ,
             and
             bring
             the
             Hecatomb
          
           
             To
             
               Phoebus
               ,
            
             darting
             far
             ,
             they
             welcome
             home
          
           
             
               Chryseis
               ,
            
             whom
             the
             wise
             
               Ulysses
            
             brought
          
           
             Unto
             her
             Father
             ,
             and
             thus
             him
             besought
             ,
          
           
             (
             Standing
             at
             the
             Altar
             )
             
               Agamemnon
            
             sends
          
           
             Thy
             Daughter
             ,
             and
             unto
             the
             gods
             commends
             
          
           
             A
             sacrifice
             for
             to
             appease
             your
             King
             ,
          
           
             Who
             on
             us
             doth
             his
             fiercest
             sorrows
             Fling
             ;
          
           
             Thus
             he
             resigns
             her
             ;
             
               Chryses
            
             with
             joy
             doth
             take
          
           
             His
             Daughter
             ,
             and
             a
             sacrifice
             doth
             make
          
           
             Upon
             the
             Altar
             ,
             then
             salt
             Cakes
             he
             took
             ,
          
           
             With
             voice
             and
             hands
             lift
             up
             ,
             to
             Heaven
             did
             look
             ,
          
           
             And
             pray'd
             ;
             Oh
             hear
             my
             God
             ,
             thou
             that
             dost
             bend
             
          
           
             Thy
             silver
             Bow
             ,
             and
             
               Cilla
            
             dost
             defend
             ;
          
           
             And
             
               Tenedos
               ,
            
             thou
             heard'st
             me
             pray
             before
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             honor'dst
             me
             ,
             and
             hurt
             the
             
               Graecians
            
             sore
             :
          
           
             But
             oh
             my
             God
             ,
             grant
             me
             now
             my
             desire
             ,
          
           
             And
             from
             the
             
               Graecians
            
             turn
             thy
             raging
             ire
             .
          
           
             He
             pray'd
             ,
             and
             
               Phoebus
            
             heard
             him
             :
             Others
             did
             pray
             ,
          
           
             And
             cast
             salt
             Cakes
             ,
             others
             did
             Oxen
             slay
             ,
          
           
           
             Which
             (
             cut
             in
             pieces
             )
             on
             the
             fire
             did
             lye
             ,
          
           
             And
             these
             the
             Priest
             (
             with
             generous
             Wine
             )
             did
             frye
             ;
          
           
             Some
             rosted
             ,
             and
             some
             others
             boild
             the
             meat
             ,
          
           
             And
             every
             man
             unto
             his
             fill
             did
             eat
             :
          
           
             Young
             men
             crownd
             Cups
             of
             Wine
             ,
             some
             drunk
             about
             ,
          
           
             Some
             saw
             the
             Health
             go
             round
             ,
             some
             pour'd
             out
             ,
          
           
             Some
             all
             the
             day
             sung
             Paeans
             ,
             pleased
             the
             ear
          
           
             Of
             great
             
               Apollo
               ,
            
             when
             they
             sung
             so
             clear
             :
          
           
             But
             when
             the
             Sun
             was
             set
             ,
             and
             night
             was
             come
             ,
          
           
             To
             sleep
             on
             Cables
             every
             man
             made
             room
             ,
          
           
             Till
             that
             the
             Rosie-fingered-Morn
             retir'd
             ,
          
           
             Then
             
               Phoebus
            
             with
             fair
             Winds
             their
             Bark
             insp'ir'd
             ;
          
           
             They
             top-mast
             hoisted
             ,
             and
             the
             sails
             set
             up
             ,
          
           
             The
             ship
             the
             parted
             Waves
             swiftly
             did
             cut
             ;
          
           
             When
             to
             the
             Camp
             they
             came
             ,
             and
             sandy
             shore
             ,
          
           
             They
             all
             took
             quarters
             as
             they
             did
             before
             .
          
           
             Swift-foot
             
               Achilles
            
             near
             the
             Navy
             sate
          
           
             Angry
             ,
             and
             left
             the
             Councels
             of
             Estate
             ;
          
           
             Which
             honour
             men
             ,
             he
             never
             trod
             the
             field
             ,
          
           
             Pind
             ,
             call'd
             for
             War
             ,
             his
             stomack
             could
             not
             yeild
             .
          
           
             Twelve
             Morns
             being
             past
             ,
             the
             gods
             did
             follow
             
               Jove
               ,
            
          
           
             And
             Mount
             
               Olympus
               ,
            
             him
             did
             
               Thetis
            
             move
             ;
          
           
             Rising
             from
             sea
             at
             the
             Morns
             first
             light
             ,
          
           
             She
             climbed
             
               Olympus
               ,
            
             in
             supremest
             height
          
           
             Of
             that
             high
             Hill
             ,
             she
             spy'd
             out
             
               Saturns
            
             Son
          
           
             Set
             from
             the
             rest
             ,
             in
             his
             free
             Seat
             alone
             ;
          
           
             She
             sate
             before
             him
             ,
             her
             left
             hand
             did
             hold
          
           
             His
             Knees
             ,
             the
             right
             his
             Chin
             ,
             then
             did
             unfold
          
           
             Her
             sons
             Petition
             :
             If
             to
             thee
             I
             've
             stood
          
           
             In
             word
             or
             deed
             ,
             grant
             me
             now
             this
             same
             good
             :
          
           
             King
             
               Agamemnon
            
             to
             my
             son
             did
             bring
          
           
             A
             great
             disgrace
             ,
             revenge
             me
             this
             same
             thing
             ;
          
           
             Send
             help
             to
             
               Troy
               ;
            
             and
             let
             them
             over-run
          
           
             The
             
               Greeks
               ,
            
             till
             they
             give
             honor
             to
             my
             son
             .
          
           
             Cloud-gathering
             
               Jove
            
             said
             nought
             ,
             but
             
               Thetis
            
             sate
          
           
             Holding
             his
             knee
             ,
             and
             still
             did
             him
             entreat
             ;
          
           
           
             Grant
             ,
             or
             deny
             (
             said
             she
             )
             just
             now
             my
             suite
             ,
          
           
             Thou
             fearest
             none
             ,
             why
             dost
             thou
             sit
             thus
             mute
          
           
             On
             my
             disgrace
             ?
             Cloud-gathering
             
               Jove
            
             reply'd
             ,
          
           
             Come
             what
             ills
             will
             ,
             thou
             shalt
             not
             be
             denyd
             ;
             
          
           
             Let
             
               Juno
            
             storm
             ,
             chide
             me
             amongst
             the
             gods
             ,
          
           
             And
             say
             my
             help
             gives
             to
             the
             
               Trojans
            
             odds
             :
          
           
             But
             now
             be
             gone
             ,
             lest
             angry
             
               Juno
            
             see
          
           
             My
             Promise
             ,
             and
             what
             care
             I
             take
             of
             thee
             ;
          
           
             I
             le
             nod
             my
             Head
             ,
             then
             will
             the
             gods
             divine
          
           
             That
             I
             do
             yeild
             to
             any
             suit
             of
             thine
             ;
          
           
             And
             when
             I
             nod
             ,
             there
             's
             none
             that
             can
             recall
          
           
             The
             thing
             I
             nod
             to
             ,
             if
             I
             nod
             at
             all
             .
          
           
             This
             said
             ,
             the
             black-eye-browd
             ,
             and
             mighty
             god
             ,
          
           
             Did
             shake
             
               Olympus
            
             when
             he
             did
             but
             nod
             .
          
           
             Then
             
               Thetis
            
             parting
             ,
             did
             from
             the
             light
             Heaven
             go
          
           
             To
             
               Neptunes
            
             Kingdom
             ,
             diving
             down
             below
             :
          
           
             
               Jove
            
             did
             go
             home
             ,
             and
             all
             the
             gods
             did
             meet
          
           
             Him
             as
             he
             went
             ,
             and
             kindly
             did
             him
             greet
             ▪
          
           
             But
             
               Juno
            
             saw
             
               Thetis
            
             in
             
               Joves
            
             Throne
             ,
          
           
             Discoursing
             with
             him
             when
             he
             was
             alone
             ;
          
           
             Then
             she
             revild
             him
             ,
             Thy
             secrets
             thou
             dost
             speak
          
           
             To
             others
             ,
             but
             to
             me
             dost
             never
             break
          
           
             What
             thou
             intends
             .
             Father
             of
             gods
             and
             men
             ,
          
           
             To
             angry
             
               Juno
            
             then
             replyed
             agen
             ,
          
           
             Hope
             not
             that
             thou
             shall
             all
             my
             counsels
             know
             ,
          
           
             Although
             my
             Wife
             ;
             for
             I
             will
             never
             show
          
           
             To
             god
             or
             man
             ,
             but
             what
             I
             fitting
             see
             ,
          
           
             No
             god
             nor
             man
             shall
             sooner
             know
             then
             thee
             .
          
           
             Then
             Ox-eyd
             
               Juno
            
             answerd
             ,
             Cruel
             
               Jove
               ,
            
          
           
             Does
             these
             same
             speeches
             show
             to
             me
             thy
             love
             ?
          
           
             I
             never
             askt
             before
             ;
             dost
             thou
             not
             sit
          
           
             Quiet
             from
             me
             ,
             and
             wils
             what
             thou
             thinks
             fit
             ?
          
           
             But
             I
             fear
             
               Thetis
            
             (
             with
             her
             silver
             feet
             )
          
           
             Held
             you
             by
             
             th'knees
             ,
             and
             early
             did
             you
             greet
             ;
          
           
             And
             I
             suspect
             that
             you
             
               Achilles
            
             fain
          
           
             Would
             honor
             ,
             though
             many
             of
             
               Greeks
            
             were
             slain
             ,
          
           
           
             Then
             did
             Cloud-gathering
             
               Jove
            
             reply
             ,
             Oh
             Wife
             !
          
           
             Wretched
             art
             thou
             ,
             to
             make
             with
             me
             this
             strife
             :
          
           
             To
             know
             my
             Deeds
             it
             will
             no
             profit
             be
             ,
          
           
             But
             rather
             take
             away
             my
             love
             from
             thee
             :
          
           
             Then
             sit
             thou
             down
             ,
             and
             now
             obey
             my
             word
             ,
          
           
             For
             if
             that
             thou
             and
             I
             do
             not
             accord
             ,
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             gods
             in
             Heaven
             cannot
             withstand
          
           
             When
             I
             on
             thee
             do
             lay
             my
             conquering
             hand
             .
          
        
         
           
             This
             said
             ,
             the
             honoured
             oxe-eyd
             
               Juno
            
             then
          
           
             Sate
             silent
             ,
             and
             durst
             not
             reply
             agen
             :
          
           
             Then
             all
             the
             gods
             in
             Heaven
             this
             ill
             did
             take
             ,
          
           
             Till
             
               Vulcan
            
             pleaded
             for
             his
             Mothers
             sake
             :
             
          
           
             These
             works
             are
             deadly
             ,
             whilst
             that
             you
             do
             spend
          
           
             These
             words
             ,
             you
             make
             the
             gods
             themselves
             contend
             ;
          
           
             This
             Banquet
             will
             to
             us
             no
             pleasure
             be
             ,
          
           
             But
             rather
             grief
             if
             you
             do
             not
             agree
             ;
          
           
             But
             I
             will
             pray
             my
             Mother
             now
             to
             cease
          
           
             Her
             chiding
             ,
             least
             that
             she
             does
             
               Jove
            
             displease
             ;
          
           
             For
             if
             he
             thunder
             ,
             he
             can
             us
             then
             throw
          
           
             From
             the
             high
             Heaven
             unto
             the
             earth
             below
             :
          
           
             But
             speak
             him
             fair
             ,
             then
             I
             do
             hope
             that
             he
          
           
             Will
             to
             us
             all
             very
             propitious
             be
             :
          
           
             This
             said
             ,
             he
             rose
             ,
             the
             double-handed
             Cup
          
           
             Into
             his
             Mothers
             hands
             he
             straight
             did
             put
             ,
          
           
             And
             spake
             unto
             her
             ,
             Mother
             ,
             Suffer
             ,
             bear
             ,
          
           
             I
             grieve
             to
             see
             you
             beat
             ,
             you
             are
             so
             dear
             :
          
           
             I
             cannot
             help
             you
             ,
             none
             was
             ever
             known
          
           
             To
             strive
             with
             
               Jove
            
             sitting
             upon
             his
             Throne
             ;
          
           
             When
             once
             I
             helpt
             ,
             he
             catcht
             me
             by
             the
             heel
             ,
          
           
             And
             flung
             me
             down
             from
             Heaven
             ;
             I
             could
             not
             feel
          
           
             Ground
             all
             the
             day
             ;
             But
             when
             the
             black
             Night
             came
             ,
          
           
             The
             
               Sintij
            
             straight
             did
             take
             me
             up
             again
             .
          
           
             VVhite-wristed
             
               Juno
            
             smiling
             took
             the
             Cup
             ,
          
           
             And
             drank
             about
             ,
             lame
             
               Vulcan
            
             filled
             up
             ;
          
           
           
             
               Nectar
            
             to
             all
             loud
             laughter
             went
             about
             ,
          
           
             To
             see
             lame
             
               Vulcan
            
             poure
             in
             and
             out
             .
          
           
             The
             Banquet
             held
             all
             day
             ,
             till
             Sun
             was
             set
             ,
          
           
             And
             every
             one
             unto
             his
             fill
             did
             eat
             ;
          
           
             
               Apollo
            
             did
             upon
             his
             fair
             Harp
             play
             ,
          
           
             The
             Muses
             answer'd
             ,
             singing
             all
             the
             day
             :
          
           
             But
             after
             that
             the
             fair
             Sun's
             light
             was
             set
             ,
          
           
             Then
             every
             one
             unto
             his
             home
             did
             get
             ,
          
           
             Which
             
               Vulcan
            
             (
             lame
             on
             both
             feet
             )
             made
             ,
             for
             he
          
           
             Had
             built
             a
             House
             for
             every
             Deity
             ;
          
           
             Heavens-thundring-Jove
             unto
             his
             Bed
             did
             high
             ,
          
           
             And
             
               Juno
            
             on
             her
             golden
             Throne
             stept
             nigh
             .
          
        
         
           The
           end
           of
           the
           first
           Book
           .
        
      
       
       
         
           THese
           first
           six
           Verses
           I
           translated
           thus
           ,
           and
           showed
           them
           and
           others
           to
           many
           Schollars
           ;
           but
           because
           I
           found
           one
           Gentleman
           something
           curious
           ,
           I
           altered
           them
           ,
           as
           you
           see
           in
           the
           beginning
           .
        
         
           
             Goddess
             the
             wrath
             of
             great
             
               Achilles
            
             sing
             ,
          
           
             Who
             griefs
             unnumbred
             to
             the
             
               Greeks
            
             did
             bring
             ,
          
           
             And
             many
             valiant
             souls
             to
             hell
             did
             send
             ,
          
           
             Their
             noble
             Bodyes
             Fouls
             and
             Dogs
             did
             rend
             .
          
           
             
               Jove
            
             will'd
             all
             this
             ,
             from
             him
             this
             strife
             begun
             ,
          
           
             Of
             
               Agamemnon
               ,
            
             and
             great
             
               Pel'us
            
             Son
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           Verses
           upon
           General
           
             BLAKE
             ,
          
           his
           Funeral
           .
        
         
           
             VOwels
             do
             make
             the
             sound
             ,
             Letters
             alone
          
           
             Cannot
             be
             read
             ,
             nor
             understood
             by
             none
             .
          
           
             The
             Vowels
             are
             the
             same
             in
             
               Drake
               ,
            
             and
             
               Blake
               ,
            
          
           
             Some
             think
             these
             two
             should
             equal
             honor
             take
             :
          
           
             
               Drake
            
             conquer'd
             by
             lame
             
               Vulcan
               ;
            
             such
             a
             toy
          
           
             An
             Ape
             might
             do
             ,
             or
             every
             little
             boy
             ,
          
           
             Fire
             a
             sleepy
             Navy
             .
             But
             
               Blake's
            
             fight
          
           
             Did
             the
             Sea-Monsters
             ,
             and
             great
             
               Neptune
            
             fright
             ,
          
           
             In
             the
             black
             
               Trojan-storm
            
             ,
             his
             Trident
             there
          
           
             He
             used
             ,
             but
             now
             he
             let
             it
             fall
             for
             feare
             ▪
          
           
             The
             Butter-boxes
             melted
             with
             great
             heat
             ,
          
           
             And
             drunken
             
               Dutch-men
            
             stunck
             in
             grease
             and
             sweat
             ;
          
           
           
             
               Spaniard
            
             and
             
               Turk
               ,
            
             both
             these
             together
             quake
             ,
          
           
             And
             yeild
             their
             Captives
             up
             to
             dreadful
             
               Blake
               :
            
          
           
             
               Mars
            
             feard
             a
             Conquest
             from
             the
             factious
             gods
             ,
          
           
             And
             sent
             for
             thee
             ,
             knowing
             he
             should
             have
             odds
          
           
             Against
             them
             all
             :
             
               Jove
            
             did
             
               Achilles
            
             fear
             ;
          
           
             Behold
             a
             greater
             then
             
               Achilles
            
             there
             .
          
        
      
       
         
           IN
           the
           Countrey
           (
           this
           last
           Summer
           )
           I
           taught
           a
           Gentleman's
           Son
           and
           he
           being
           gone
           a
           hunting
           ,
           or
           coursing
           ,
           I
           had
           great
           leisure
           ,
           and
           began
           to
           translate
           
             Homer
             ;
          
           at
           the
           first
           I
           translated
           sixteen
           verses
           ,
           every
           time
           more
           or
           lesse
           ,
           till
           I
           came
           almost
           to
           
             Nestor's
          
           Speech
           :
           I
           read
           them
           to
           some
           schollars
           ,
           and
           they
           perswaded
           me
           to
           finish
           the
           first
           Book
           ,
           which
           (
           by
           God's
           assissance
           )
           I
           did
           ,
           to
           whom
           be
           glory
           for
           ever
           .
        
         
           FINIS
           .
        
         
         
         
         
         
         
      
    
     
       
         Notes, typically marginal, from the original text
         
           Notes for div A86496e-340
           
             
               Agamemnon
            
             and
             
               Menelaus
            
             (
             the
             two
             Sons
             of
             
               Atreus
            
             )
             ruled
             all
             then
             .
          
           
             
               Chryses
            
             (
             the
             Priest
             of
             
               Apollo
            
             )
             his
             speech
             to
             them
             and
             the
             other
             
               Graecians
               .
            
          
           
             
               Agamemnon
            
             slights
             the
             Priest
             ,
             &
             gives
             him
             base
             language
             and
             threats
             .
          
           
             The
             Prayer
             of
             
               Chryses
            
             the
             Priest
             ,
             to
             
               Phoebus
            
             his
             god
             .
          
           
             *
             A
             Name
             of
             
               Phoebus
               .
            
          
           
             
               Phoebus
            
             the
             Priests
             God
             ,
             sends
             the
             plague
             amongst
             the
             
               Greeks
               .
            
             Ye
             see
             here
             how
             he
             comes
             down
             ragingmad
             from
             heaven
             .
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             his
             speech
             to
             
               Agamemnon
               ,
            
             called
             
               Atreides
               ,
            
             because
             
               Atreus
            
             was
             his
             Father
             .
          
           
             
               Chalchas
            
             the
             Prophet
             .
          
           
             Chalchas
             
               to
            
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             Achilles
             
               to
            
             Chalchas
             .
          
           
             
               Chalchas
            
             reveals
             the
             cause
             of
             the
             plague
             amongst
             the
             
               Graecians
               .
            
          
           
             Agamemnon
             
               angry
               at
            
             Chalcas
             .
          
           
             *
             In
             those
             two
             Lines
             are
             all
             that
             can
             be
             desired
             in
             a
             
          
           
             Achilles
             
               to
            
             Agamemnon
             .
          
           
             Agamemnon
             
               to
            
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             *
             Vlysses
             .
          
           
             *
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             Achilles
             
               to
            
             Agamemon
             .
          
           
             Agamemnon
             
               to
            
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             Achilles
             
               enraged
               against
            
             Agamemnon
             .
          
           
             Achilles
             
               to
            
             Pallas
             .
          
           
             *
             Pallas
             .
             
               She
               speaks
               to
            
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             †
             Chide
             ,
             but
             not
             fight
             .
          
           
             Here
             you
             see
             
               Achilles
            
             in
             the
             heighth
             of
             anger
             yeelds
             obebedience
             to
             
               Pallas
               .
            
          
           
             Achilles
             
               to
            
             Agamemnon
             .
          
           
             Nestor's
             
               speech
               to
            
             Agamemnon
             &
             Achilles
             .
          
           
             Agamemnon's
             
               speech
               to
            
             Nestor
             .
          
           
             
               Achilles
            
             speech
             .
          
           
             The
             Council
             dissolved
             .
          
           
             
               Thetis
            
             her
             speech
             .
          
           
             
               Ulysses
            
             speech
             to
             the
             Priest
             .
          
           
             The
             Priest's
             prayer
             .
          
           
             Iove's
             
               promise
               to
            
             Thetis
             .
          
           
             
               Vulcan's
            
             speech
             .
          
        
      
      
  

