As one tear-deluged through excess of wine.
Him answer'd then Penelope discrete.
The immortal Gods, O stranger, then destroy'd
My form, my grace, my beauty, when the Greeks 155
Whom my Ulysses follow'd, sail'd to Troy.
Could he, returning, my domestic charge
Himself intend, far better would my fame
Be so secured, and wider far diffused.
But I am wretched now, such storms of woe 160
The Gods have sent me; for as many Chiefs
As hold dominion in the neighbour isles
Samos, Dulichium, and the forest-crown'd
Zacynthus; others, also, rulers here
In pleasant Ithaca, me, loth to wed, 165
Woo ceaseless, and my household stores consume.
I therefore, neither guest nor suppliant heed,
Nor public herald more, but with regret
Of my Ulysses wear my soul away.
They, meantime, press my nuptials, which by art 170
I still procrastinate. Some God the thought
Suggested to me, to commence a robe
Of amplest measure and of subtlest woof,
Laborious task; which done, I thus address'd them.
Princes, my suitors! since the noble Chief 175
Ulysses is no more, enforce not now
My nuptials; wait till I shall finish first
A fun'ral robe (lest all my threads be marr'd)
Which for the ancient Hero I prepare
Laertes
