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Then with the rich harpe came Pontonous,

And in the midst tooke place Demodocus.

About him then stood foorth the choise yong men

That on man’s first youth made fresh entrie then,

Had Art to make their naturall motion sweete

And shooke a most divine dance from their feete

That twinckld Star-like, mov’d as swift and fine,

And beate the aire so thinne they made it shine.

Ulysses wonderd at it, but amazd

He stood in minde to heare the dance so phras’d.

For, as they danc’t, Demodocus did sing

The bright-crownd Venus’ love with Battaile’s king,

As first they closely mixt in t’house of fire.

What worlds of gifts wonne her to his desire,

Who then the night-and-day-bed did defile

Of good king Vulcan. But in little while

The Sunne their mixture saw, and came, and told.

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The bitter newes did by his eares take hold

Of Vulcan’s heart. Then to his Forge he went,..

And in his shrewd mind deepe stuffe did invent.

His mightie Anvile in the stocke he put,

And forg’d a net that none could loose or cut,

That when it had them it might hold them fast.

Which having finisht, he made utmost haste

Up to the deare roome where his wife he wowd,

And (madly wrath with Mars) he all bestrowd

The bed and bed-posts, all the beame above

That crost the chamber, and a circle strove

Of his device to wrap in all the roome.

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And twas as pure as of a Spider’s loome

The woofe before tis woven. No man nor God

Could set his eie on it, a sleight so odde

His Art shewd in it. All his craft bespent

About the bed, he faind as if he went

To well-built Lemnos, his most loved towne

Of all townes earthly. Nor left this unknowne

To golden-bridle-using Mars, who kept

No blinde watch over him, but, seeing stept

His rivall so aside, he hasted home

With faire-wreath’d Venus’ love stung, who was come

New from the Court of her most mightie Sire.

Mars enterd, wrung her hand, and the retire

Her husband made to Lemnos told, and said:

‘Now, Love, is Vulcan gone; let us to bed;

Hee’s for the barbarous Sintians.’ Well appaid

Was Venus with it, and afresh assaid

Their old encounter. Downe they went, and straight

About them clingd the artificiall sleight

Of most wise Vulcan, and were so ensnar’d

That neither they could stirre their course prepar’d

In any lim about them, nor arise.

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And then they knew they could no more disguise

Their close conveiance, but lay, forc’t, stone still.

Backe rusht the both-foote-crook’t, but straight in skill

From his neare skout-hole turnd, nor ever went

To any Lemnos; but the sure event

Left Phoebus to discover, who told all.

Then home hopt Vulcan, full of griefe and gall.

Stood in the Portall, and cried out so hie

That all the Gods heard: ‘Father of the skie,

And every other deathlesse God,’ said he,

‘Come all, and a ridiculous object see,

And yet not sufferable neither. Come

And witnesse, how, when still I step from home

(Lame that I am) Jove’s daughter doth professe

To do me all the shamefull offices,

Indignities, despites, that can be thought;

And loves this all-things-making-come-to-nought

Since he is faire forsooth, foote-sound, and I

Tooke in my braine a little, leg’d awrie—

And no fault mine, but all my parents’ fault

Who should not get, if mocke me with my halt.

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But see how fast they sleepe while I, in mone,

Am onely made an idle looker on.

One bed their turne serves, and it must be mine.

I thinke yet I have made their selfe-loves shine.

They shall no more wrong me and none perceive:

Nor will they sleepe together, I beleeve,

With too hote haste againe. Thus both shall lie

In craft and force, till the extremitie

Of all the dowre I gave her Sire (to gaine

A dogged set-fac’t Girle, that will not staine

Her face with blushing though she shame her head)

He paies me backe. She’s faire, but was no maide.’

While this long speech was making, all were come

To Vulcan’s wholie-brazen-founded home—

Earth-shaking Neptune, usefull Mercurie,

And far-shot Phoebus. No She-Deitie,

For shame, would show there. All the give-good Gods

Stood in the Portall, and past periods

Gave length to laughters; all rejoyc’t to see

That, which they said that no impietie

Finds good successe at th’end. ‘And now,’ said one,

‘The slow outgoes the swift. Lame Vulcan, knowne

To be the slowest of the Gods, outgoes

Mars the most swift. And this is that which growes

To greatest justice, that Adulterie’s sport,

Obtain’d by craft, by craft of other sort

(And lame craft too) is plagu’d—which grieves the more

That sound lims turning lame the lame restore.’

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This speech amongst themselves they entertaind,

When Phoebus thus askt Hermes: ‘Thus enchaind

Would’st thou be, Hermes, to be thus disclosde,

Though with thee golden Venus were repos’de?’

He soone gave that an answer: ‘O,’ said he,

‘Thou king of Archers, would twere thus with me,

Though thrice so much shame—nay, though infinite

Were powrd about me, and that every light

In great heaven shining witnest all my harmes—

So golden Venus slumberd in mine Armes.’

The Gods againe laught; even the watry state

Wrung out a laughter, but propitiate

Was still for Mars, and praid the God of fire

He would dissolve him, offering the desire

He made to Jove to pay himselfe, and said

All due debts should be by the Gods repaid.

‘Pay me no words,’ said he, ‘where deeds lend paine;

Wretched the words are given for wretched men.

How shall I binde you in th’Immortals’ sight

If Mars be once loos’d, nor will pay his right?’

‘Vulcan,’ said he, ‘if Mars should flie, nor see

Thy right repaid, it should be paid by me.’

‘Your word, so given, I must accept,’ said he—

Which said, he loosd them. Mars then rusht from skie

And stoop’t cold Thrace. The laughing Deity

For Cyprus was, and tooke her Paphian state

Where she a Grove ne’re cut hath consecrate,

All with Arabian odors fum’d, and hath

An Altar there at which the Graces bathe

And with immortall Balms besmooth her skin,

Fit for the blisse Immortals solace in,

Deckt her in to-be-studied attire

And apt to set beholders’ hearts on fire.

           This sung the sacred Muse, whose notes and words

The dancers’ feete kept, as his hands his cords.

Ulysses much was pleased, and all the crew.

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From Book VIII of The Odyssey by Homer – translated by George Chapman in 1614-15

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Drawings done with the eyes shut by Anthony Howell