PENELOPE.
Not thus, Ulysses, with a tender word,
Pretence of state affairs, soft blandishment,
And halt assurances, canst thou evade
My heart’s discernment. Think not such a film
Hath touched these aged eyes, to make them lose
The subtlest mood of those even now adroop,
Self-conscious, darkling from my nearer gaze.
Full well I know thy mind, O man of wiles!
O man of restless yearnings—fate-impelled,