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ULYSSES. Thank the heavens, lord, thou art of sweet composure. Praise him that gat thee, she that gave thee suck; Fam’d be thy tutor, and thy parts of nature Thrice fam’d beyond, beyond all erudition; But he that disciplin’d thine arms to fight— Let Mars divide eternity in twain And give him half; and, for thy vigour, Bull-bearing Milo his addition yield To sinewy Ajax. I will not praise thy wisdom, Which, like a bourn, a pale, a shore, confines Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here’s Nestor, Instructed by the antiquary times— He must, he is, he cannot but be wise; But pardon, father Nestor, were your days As green as Ajax’ and your brain so temper’d, You should not have the eminence of him, But be as Ajax.