Shall none of all thy ministring maidens touch, 430
Unless there be some ancient matron grave
Among them, who hath pangs of heart endured
Num'rous, and keen as I have felt myself;
Her I refuse not. She may touch my feet.
Him answer'd then prudent Penelope. 435
Dear guest! for of all trav'llers here arrived
From distant regions, I have none received
Discrete as thou, or whom I more have lov'd,
So just thy matter is, and with such grace
Express'd. I have an ancient maiden grave, 440
The nurse who at my hapless husband's birth
Receiv'd him in her arms, and with kind care
Maternal rear'd him; she shall wash thy feet,
Although decrepid. Euryclea, rise!
Wash one coeval with thy Lord; for such 445
The feet and hands, it may be, are become
Of my Ulysses now; since man beset
With sorrow once, soon wrinkled grows and old.
She said, then Euryclea with both hands
Cov'ring her face, in tepid tears profuse 450
Dissolved, and thus in mournful strains began.
Alas! my son, trouble for thy dear sake
Distracts me. Jove surely of all mankind
Thee hated most, though ever in thy heart
Devoutly giv'n; for never mortal man 455
So many thighs of fatted victims burn'd,
And chosen hecatombs produced as thou
To
