What bounty gives without a rival share;
I ask, what harms not thee, to breathe this air: 
Alike on alms we both precarious live: 
And canst thou envy when the great relieve? 
Know, from the bounteous heavens all riches flow,
And what man gives, the gods by man bestow;
Proud as thou art, henceforth no more be proud,
Lest I imprint my vengeance in thy blood;
Old as I am, should once my fury burn,
How would’st thou fly, nor e’en in thought return!”

“Mere woman-glutton! (thus the churl replied;)
A tongue so flippant, with a throat so wide! 
Why cease I gods! to dash those teeth away,
Like some wild boar’s, that, greedy of his prey,
Uproots the bearded corn?  Rise, try the fight,
Gird well thy loins, approach, and feel my might: 
Sure of defeat, before the peers engage: 
Unequal fight, when youth contends with age!”

Thus in a wordy war their tongues display
More fierce intents, preluding to the fray;
Antinous hears, and in a jovial vein,
Thus with loud laughter to the suitor train: 

“This happy day in mirth, my friends, employ,
And lo! the gods conspire to crown our joy;
See ready for the fight, and hand to hand,
Yon surly mendicants contentious stand: 
Why urge we not to blows!” Well pleased they spring
Swift from their seats, and thickening form a ring.

To whom Antinous:  “Lo! enrich’d with blood,
A kid’s well-fatted entrails (tasteful food)
On glowing embers lie; on him bestow
The choicest portion who subdues his foe;
Grant him unrivall’d in these walls to stay,
The sole attendant on the genial day.”

The lords applaud:  Ulysses then with art,
And fears well-feign’d, disguised his dauntless heart.

“Worn as I am with age, decay’d with woe;
Say, is it baseness to decline the foe? 
Hard conflict! when calamity and age
With vigorous youth, unknown to cares, engage! 
Yet, fearful of disgrace, to try the day
Imperious hunger bids, and I obey;
But swear, impartial arbiters of right,
Swear to stand neutral, while we cope in fight.”

The peers assent:  when straight his sacred head
Telemachus upraised, and sternly said: 
“Stranger, if prompted to chastise the wrong
Of this bold insolent, confide, be strong! 
The injurious Greek that dares attempt a blow,
That instant makes Telemachus his foe;
And these my friends shall guard the sacred ties
Of hospitality, for they are wise.”

Then, girding his strong loins, the king prepares
To close in combat, and his body bares;
Broad spread his shoulders, and his nervous thighs
By just degrees, like well-turn’d columns, rise
Ample his chest, his arms are round and long,
And each strong joint Minerva knits more strong
(Attendant on her chief):  the suitor-crowd
With wonder gaze, and gazing speak aloud: 
“Irus! alas! shall Irus be no more? 
Black fate impends, and this the avenging hour! 
Gods! how his nerves a matchless strength proclaim,
Swell o’er his well-strong limbs, and brace his frame!”