Dog-eared

when in the yard there lay

A dog called Argus which, before his way

Assumed for Ilion, Ulysses bred¹

Yet stood his pleasure then in little stead

(As being too young) but growing to his grace²

Young men made choice of him for every chase;³

Or of their wild goats, of their hares or harts.

But his King gone, and he now past his parts,⁴

Lay all abjectly on the stables store,⁵

Before the ox-stall, and mules’ stable-door,

To keep the clothes, cast from the peasants’ hands,

While they laid compost on Ulysses’ lands:

The dog, with ticks (unlooked-to) overgrown.⁶

But by this dog no sooner seen but known

Was wise Ulysses, who new-entered there:

Up went his dog’s laid ears and (coming near)

Up he himself rose, fawned, and wagged his stern,⁷

Couched close his ears, and lay so—nor discern⁸

Could evermore his dear-loved Lord again.

Ulysses saw it, nor had power to abstain

From shedding tears, which (far-off seeing his swain)

He dried from his sight clean; to whom he thus

His grief dissembled: “’Tis miraculous⁹

That such a dog as this should have his lair

On such a dunghill, for his form is fair.

And yet I know not if there were in him

Good pace or parts, for all his goodly limn.¹⁰

Or he lived empty of those inward things,

As are those trencher-beagles, tending kings,¹¹

Whom for their pleasures or their glories ache,

Or fashion, they into their favours take.”

“This dog,” said he, “was servant to one dead

A huge time since. But if he bore his head

(For form and quality) of such a height,

As when Ulysses (bound for the Ilion fight,

Or quickly after) left him, your rapt eyes¹²

Would then admire to see him use his thighs¹³

In strength and swiftness. He would nothing fly¹⁴

Nor anything let escape. If once his eye

Seized any wild beast, he knew straight his scent;¹⁵

Go where he would, away with him he went.

Nor was there ever any savage stood¹⁶

Amongst the thickets of the deepest wood

Long time before him, but he pulled him down;

As well by that true hunting to be shown

In such vast coverts as for speed of pace

In any open lawn; for in deep chase,¹⁷

He was a passing wise and well-nosed hound.

And yet is all this good in him uncrowned

With any grace here now, nor he more fed¹⁸

Then any errant cur. His King is dead¹⁹

Far from his country, and his servants are

So negligent, they lend his hound no care.

Where masters rule not, but let men alone

You never there see honest service done.

That man’s half virtue, Jove takes quite away,

That once is sunburned with the servile day.”²⁰

This said, he entered the well-builded towers,

Up bearing right upon the glorious wooers

And left poor Argus dead. His lord’s first sight

Since that time twenty years bereft his light.²¹

So raught the water in her hands, and for to wreak the spite,¹

Besprinkled all the head and face of the unlucky Knight,

And thus forespake the heavy lot that should upon him light.²

“Now make thy vaunt among thy mates, thou saw’st Diana bare.³

Tell if thou can, I give thee leave, tell hardly, do not spare.”⁴

This done, she makes no further threats, but by and by doth spread

A pair of lively old hart’s horns upon his sprinkled head.

She sharps his ears, she makes his neck both slender, long and lank.

She turns his fingers into feet, his arms to spindle-shank.⁵

She wraps him in a hairy hide beset with speckled spots,

And planteth in him fearfulness—and so away he trots,

Full greatly wondering to himself what made him in that case⁶

To be so wight and swift of foot. But when he saw his face⁷

And horned temples in the brook, he would have cried “Alas!”,

But as for then no kind of speech out of his lips could pass.

He sight and brayed—for that was then the speech that did remain,⁸

And down the eyes that were not his, his bitter tears did rain.

No part remained (save his mind) of that he erst had been.⁹

What should he do? Turn home again to Cadmus and the Queen?

Or hide himself among the woods? Of this he was afraid,

And of the tother ill ashamed.

While doubting thus he stayed:

His hounds espied him where he was, and Blackfoot first of all,

And Stalker special good of scent began aloud to call.

This latter was a hound of Crete, the other was of Sparta.

Then all the kennel fell in round, and every for his part

Did follow freshly in the chase more swifter than the wind—

Spy, Eateal, Scalecliff, three good hounds come all of Arcas’ kind;¹⁰

Strong Kilbuck, currish Savage, Spring, and Hunter fresh of smell,

And Lightfoot who to lead a chase did bear away the bell;¹¹

Fierce Woodman hurt not long ago in hunting of a boar,

And Shepherd wont to follow sheep and neat to field afore;¹²

And Laund, a fell and eager bitch that had a wolf to sire;¹³

Another brach called Greedigut with two her puppies by her;¹⁴

And Ladon gaunt as any greyhound, a hound in Sicyon bred;

Blab, Fleetwood, Patch whose necked skin with sundry spots was spread;

Wight, Bowman, Royster (beauty fair and white as winter’s snow),

And Tawny full of dusky hairs that over all did grow;

With lusty Ruffler passing all the residue there in strength,¹⁵

And Tempest best of footmanship in holding out at length;

And Cole, and Swift, and little Wolf, as wight as any other,¹⁶

Accompanied with a Cyprian hound that was his native brother,¹⁷

And Snatch amid whose forehead stood a star as white as snow,

The residue being all as black and slick as any crow;

And shaggy Rug with other twain that had a sire of Crete

And dam of Sparta, one of them called Jollyboy, a great

And large-flewd hound, the other Chorle who ever gnoorring went,¹⁸

And Ringwood with a shyrle loud mouth the which he freely spent,¹⁹

With divers mo whose names to tell it were but loss of time.²⁰

This fellows over hill and dale in hope of pray do climb,²¹

Through thick and thin and craggy cliffs where was no way to go,

He flies through grounds where oftentimes he chaséd had ere tho,²²

Even from his own folk is he fain (alas!) to flee away;

He strained oftentimes to speak, and was about to say

“I am Actaeon: know your Lord and Master, sirs, I pray!”

But use of words and speech did want to utter forth his mind.²³

Their cry did ring through all the wood redoubled with the wind.

First Slo did pinch him by the haunch, and next came Kildeer in,

And Hylbred fastened on his shoulder, bit him through the skin.

These came forth later than the rest, but coasting thwart a hill,²⁴

They did gaincope him as he came, and held their Master still,²⁵

Until that all the rest came in, and fastened on him too.

No part of him was free from wound; he could none other do

But sigh, and in the shape of hart with voice as harts are wont,

(For voice of man was none now left to help him at the brunt)²⁶

By braying show his secret grief among the mountains high,

And kneeling sadly on his knees with dreary tears in eye,

As one by humbling of himself that mercy seemed to crave,

With piteous look instead of hands his head about to wave.

Not knowing that it was their Lord, the huntsmen cheer their hounds

With wonted noise and for Actaeon look about the grounds;

They “halloo!” who could loudest cry, still calling him by name,

As though he were not there, and much his absence they do blame

In that he came not to the fall, but slacked to see the game.²⁷

As often as they named him he sadly shook his head,

And fain he would have been away thence in some other stead;

But there he was. And well he could have found in heart to see

His dogs’ fell deeds, so that to feel in place he had not been.

They hem him in on every side, and in the shape of Stag,

With greedy teeth and griping paws their Lord in pieces drag.

“Each to his trade”: beneath the Alpine peaks

The shaggy bandits with their spiky hair

Pursue their larceny and still avoid

The dogs of their pursuers, by this means:

They take a kidney, rub it on themselves

Till every bit of fat is on their skin.

Its pungent odour fools the keen-nosed hounds.

You savants of Liguria, inclined

More to devise the wicked than the good.

Your cute little pup licks your face and lips;

Oh what a surprise!—he loves to eat shit.

Issa is a bigger scamp than Catullus’s

Sparrow—purer than the peck of a dove;

More seductive than any louche slave-girl;

More precious than strings of Indian pearls:

Issa, darling lapdog of Publius.

He hears her speak in her croons; she knows when

He’s happy or sad; she slumbers, her snout

On his neck, so soundly he can’t hear her

Breathing. When her bladder’s full to bursting,

She won’t let a drop touch the sheets, instead

Nudging him with her pawpad so that, when

Roused, he sets her on the floor, and lifts her

Back on the bed when she’s done. Innately

Chaste and modest, she’s a stranger to love,

No mate being equal to the tender

Young bitch. Lest the Grim Reaper remove all

Trace of her, Publius paints her portrait

Which is more lifelike than the dog herself:

Place them side by side, and you would suppose

Both the real thing or both works of art.

The holy power that long since made me

Set me to chase my master’s evil foes.

I wage war with weapons in my jaws, though

At home I retreat from the blows of brats.

A dog barks amid the sound of waters,

Peach blossoms dark, bearing dew.

Where trees are thickest, sometimes see a deer,

And when noon strikes the ravine, hear no bell.

Bamboo of wilderness split through blue haze,

A cascade in flight, hung from an emerald peak

But no one knows where you’ve gone—

Disappointed, I linger among these few pines.