Footstool Strikes the Cupbearer

50He spoke. Eurymachus grew yet more wroth,
And frowned on him, and said in winged words: —

51“Wretch! I shall do you mischief. You are bold,
And babble unabashed among us all.
The wine, perhaps, is in your foolish head,
Or you are always thus, and ever prone
To prattle impudently. Are you proud
Of conquering Irus, that poor vagabond?”

52Thus having said, he brandished in the air
A footstool; but Odysseus, to escape
The anger of Eurymachus, sat down
Before the knees of the Dulichian prince,
Amphinomus. The footstool flew, and struck
On the right arm the cupbearer. Down fell
The beaker ringing; he who bore it lay
Stretched in the dust. Then in those shadowy halls
The suitors rose in tumult. One of them
Looked at another by his side, and said: —

53“Would that this vagabond had met his death
Ere he came hither. This confusion, then,
Had never been. It is for a beggar’s sake
We wrangle, and the feast will henceforth give
No pleasure; we shall go from bad to worse.”