Friend, let me ask you first of all: who are you, where do you come from, of what nation and parents were you born?
My lady, never a man in the wide world should have a fault to find with you. Your name has gone out under heaven like the sweet honor of some god-fearing king, who rules in equity over the strong
Stranger, my looks, my face, my carriage, were soon lost or faded when the Akhaians crossed the sea to Troy, Odysseus my lord among the rest. If he returned, if he were here to care for me, I might be happily renowned!
But you too confide in me, tell me your ancestry. You were not born of mythic oak or stone.
He is alive and well, and headed homeward now, no more to be abroad far from his island, his dear wife and son. Here is my sworn word for it.
Between this present dark and one day’s ebb, after the wane, before the crescent moon, Odysseus will come.