“Wretch! I shall do thee mischief. Thou art bold, And babblest unabashed among us all. The wine, perhaps, is in thy foolish head, Or thou art always thus, and ever prone To prattle impudently. Art thou proud Of conquering Irus, that poor vagabond?”
Thus having said, he brandished in the air A footstool; but Ulysses, to escape The anger of Eurymachus, sat down Before the knees of the Dulichian prince, Amphinomus. The footstool flew, and struck On the right arm the cupbearer. Down fell The beaker ringing; he who bore it lay Stretched in the dust. Then in those shadowy halls The suitors rose in tumult. One of them Looked at another by his side, and said:—
“Would that this vagabond had met his death Ere he came hither. This confusion, then, Had never been. ’Tis for a beggar’s sake We wrangle, and the feast will henceforth give No pleasure; we shall go from bad to worse.”
Then rose in majesty Telemachus, And said: “Ye are not in your senses sure, Unhappy men, who cannot eat and drink In peace. Some deity, no doubt, has moved Your minds to frenzy. Now, when each of you Has feasted well, let each withdraw to sleep, Just when he will. I drive no man away.”
He spake; the suitors heard, and bit their lips, And wondered at Telemachus, who spake So resolutely. Then Amphinomus, The son of Nisus Aretiades, Stood forth, harangued the suitor-crowd, and said:—
“O friends! let no one here with carping words Seek to deny what is so justly said, Nor yet molest the stranger, nor do harm To any of the servants in the halls Of the great chief Ulysses. Now let him Who brings the guests their wine begin and fill The cups, that, pouring to the gods their part, We may withdraw to sleep. The stranger here Leave me within the palace, and in charge Of him to whom he came, Telemachus.”