Than ev'n thyself; for all the poor that are, 70
And all the strangers are the care of Jove.
Little, and with good will, is all that lies
Within my scope; no man can much expect
From servants living in continual fear
Under young masters; for the Gods, no doubt, 75
Have intercepted my own Lord's return,
From whom great kindness I had, else, received,
With such a recompense as servants gain
From gen'rous masters, house and competence,
And lovely wife from many a wooer won, 80
Whose industry should have requited well
His goodness, with such blessing from the Gods
As now attends me in my present charge.
Much had I, therefore, prosper'd, had my Lord
Grown old at home; but he hath died—I would 85
That the whole house of Helen, one and all,
Might perish too, for she hath many slain
Who, like my master, went glory to win
For Agamemnon in the fields of Troy.
So saying, he girdled, quick, his tunic close, 90
And, issuing, sought the styes; thence bringing two
Of the imprison'd herd, he slaughter'd both,
Singed them, and slash'd and spitted them, and placed
The whole well-roasted banquet, spits and all,
Reeking before Ulysses; last, with flour 95
He sprinkled them, and filling with rich wine
His ivy goblet, to his master sat
Opposite
