orth the ancient dame
To summon those bad women, and, meantime,
Calling his son, Philoetius, and Eumaeus,
Ulysses in wing'd accents thus began.
Bestir ye, and remove the dead; command
Those women also to your help; then cleanse
With bibulous sponges and with water all
The seats and tables; when ye shall have thus 510
Set all in order, lead those women forth,
And in the centre of the spacious court,
Between the scull'ry and the outer-wall
Smite them with your broad faulchions till they lose
In death the mem'ry of their secret loves
Indulged with wretches lawless as themselves.
He ended, and the damsels came at once
All forth, lamenting, and with tepid tears
Show'ring the ground; with mutual labour, first,
Bearing the bodies forth into the court, 520
They lodged them in the portico; meantime
Ulysses, stern, enjoin'd them haste, and, urged
By sad necessity, they bore all out.
With sponges and with water, next, they cleansed
The thrones and tables, while Telemachus
Beesom'd the floor, Eumaeus in that work
Aiding him and the keeper of the beeves,
And those twelve damsels bearing forth the soil.
Thus, order giv'n to all within, they, next,
Led forth the women, whom they shut between 530
The scull'ry and the outer-wall in close
Durance, from which no pris'ner could escape,
And thus Telemachus discrete began.
An honourable death is not for these
By my advice, who have so often heap'd
Reproach on mine and on my mother's head,
And held lewd commerce with the suitor-train.
He said, and noosing a strong galley-rope
To an huge column, led the cord around
The spacious dome, suspended so aloft 540
That none with quiv'ring feet might reach the floor.
As when a flight of doves ent'ring the copse,
Or broad-wing'd thrushes, strike against the net
Within, ill rest, entangled, there they find,
So they, suspended by the neck, expired
All in one line together. Death abhorr'd!
With restless feet awhile they beat the air,
Then ceas'd. And now through vestibule and hall
They led Melanthius forth. With ruthless steel
They pared away his ears and nose, pluck'd forth 550
His parts of shame, destin'd to feed the dogs,
And, still ind