AGAMEMNON: Perhaps, for you, barbarians, it is easy to kill your guests but for us, Greeks, this is a thing of shame. How, then can I escape blame if I do not judge you guilty? I can’t do it. Since you could endure performing such a dishonourable deed, then you must also endure its awful consequences.
[ἈΓΑΜΈΜΝΩΝ: τάχ᾽ οὖν παρ᾽ ὑμῖν ῥᾴδιον ξενοκτονεῖν:
ἡμῖν δέ γ᾽ αἰσχρὸν τοῖσιν Ἕλλησιν τόδε.
πῶς οὖν σε κρίνας μὴ ἀδικεῖν φύγω ψόγον;
οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην. ἀλλ᾽ ἐπεὶ τὰ μὴ καλὰ
πράσσειν ἐτόλμας, τλῆθι καὶ τὰ μὴ φίλα.]Euripides (485?-406? BC) Greek tragic dramatist
Hecuba [Hekabe; Ἑκάβη], l. 1247ff (c. 424 BC) [tr. Theodoridis (2007)]
(Source)
Passing judgment on Polymestor for the death of Hecuba's son and theft of the Trojan treasure entrusted to him.
(Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:Perhaps the murder of your guests seems light,
We Greeks esteem it base. If I acquit thee
How shall I scape reproach? Indeed, I cannot:
since thou hast dar'd to perpetrate the crime,
Endure the consequences.
[tr. Wodhull (1809)]Perhaps with you it is a slight thing to kill your guests; but with us Grecians this thing is abhorred. How then, in giving my decision that thou hast not injured, can I escape blame? I can not; but as thou hast dared to do things dishonorable, endure now things unpleasant.
[tr. Edwards (1826)]Haply with you guest-murder is as nought,
But to us which be Greeks foul shame is this.
How can I uncondemned adjudge thee guiltless?
I cannot. Forasmuch as thou hast dared
To do foul deeds, even drain thy bitter cup.
[tr. Way (Loeb) (1894)]Perhaps among you it is a light thing to murder guests, but with us in Hellas it is a disgrace. How can I escape reproach if I judge you not guilty? I could not. No, since you endured your horrid crime, endure as well its painful consequence.
[tr. Coleridge (1938)]Perhaps you think it is a trifling matter
to kill a guest.
We Greeks call it murder.
How, therefore, could I acquit you now
without losing face among men?
I could not do it.
You committed a brutal crime; therefore accept
the consequences of your act.
[tr. Arrowsmith (1958)]Perhaps for lesser breeds it's no great thing to kill a guest, but to us Greeks it is. If I say you did no wrong I can't escape the censure and the blame that I'll incur. Since you were tough enough to do such deeds be tough enough to suffer the results.
[tr. Harrison (2005)]Maybe you think
killing a guest -- in this case a child who’d been
put in your care -- is a small matter in the larger
scheme of things. But we Greeks think of it
as heinous murder. How could I rule you innocent
and maintain a shred of credibility? I can’t.
You committed a brutal crime; be prepared,
therefore, for a justly brutal punishment.
[tr. Karden/Street (2011)]
Quotations about:
hospitality
Note not all quotations have been tagged, so Search may find additional quotes on this topic.
I had three chairs in my house; one for solitude, two for friendship, three for society. When visitors came in larger and unexpected numbers, there was but the third chair for them all, but they generally economized the room by standing up.
Henry David Thoreau (1817-1862) American philosopher and writer
Walden, ch. 6 “Visitors” (1854)
(Source)
Fish and Visitors stink in 3 days.
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790) American statesman, scientist, philosopher, aphorist
Poor Richard (1736 ed.)
(Source)
Another saying Franklin repurposed from other sources. Proverbs comparing things to fish not aging well, or how guests outstay their welcome, or both, are not uncommon over the centuries.
Plautus is often mentioned as the originator of the combined sentiments, but instead he wrote of each individually. In the Asinaria [The Comedy of Asses], Act 1, sc. 3, l. 26 (c. 212-205 BC), he mentions a Roman proverb:CLEARITA: Quasi piscis itidem est amator lenae: nequam est nisi recens.
[Just like a fish, so is a lover to a procuress; he's good for nothing if he isn't fresh.] [tr. Riley (1912)]
[For a brothel-keeper a lover is like a fish: he's no good unless he's fresh. [Source]
[For a madam a lover is just like a fish: if he’s not fresh, he’s worthless. [Loeb]]
Plautus also wrote in Miles Gloriosus [The Swaggering Soldier], Act 3, sc. 1, l. 146 (206 BC):Hospes nullus tam in amici hospitium divorti potest, quin, ubi triduum continuum fuerit, jam odiosis siet.
[Whene’er a man is quartered at a friend’s, if he but stay three days, his company they will grow weary of.] [tr. Thomas]
[No guest is so welcome in a friend's house that he will not become a nuisance after three days.] [Source]
Medieval Italy sees the development of the proverb "L'ospite è come il pesce: dopo tre giorni puzza [The guest is like fish: after three days it stinks]." This is said to derive from the Latin "Post tres saepe dies vilescit piscis et hospes," which is sometimes credited (incorrectly) to Plautus. Wegeler includes that Latin in Philosophia Patrum [Philosophy of the Fathers] (1869) as a proverb (No. 931).
Erasmus in his Adagia [Proverbs] (1523), mentioning Plautus and the Asinaria line above, indicates a shortened version of this is still in circulation as a saying to (indirectly) refer to friends who stay three days or more:Piscis nequam est, nisi recens.
[Fish is bad, unless it's fresh.]
John Lyly wrote in Euphues and His England (1580), "Fish and Guests in three days are stale."
Matthew Henry, in his Bible commentary (1706) on Proverbs 25:17, mentions that Latin proverb "Post tres saepe dies vilescit piscis et hospes" (translating it "After the third day fish and company become distasteful").
You’ll dine well, dear Fabullus, in my lodging
one day soon — if the gods look on you kindly,
if you bring along a good and lavish
dinner, not to mention an attractive
girl, plus wine and salt and witty stories.
If, I repeat, you bring this lot, old sweetheart,
you’ll dine well. The thing is, your Catullus
has a purse that’s full — of spiders’ cobwebs.[Cenabis bene, mi Fabulle, apud me
paucis, si tibi di favent, diebus,
si tecum attuleris bonam atque magnam
cenam, non sine candida puella
et vino et sale et omnibus cachinnis.
haec si, inquam, attuleris, venuste noster
cenabis bene; nam tui Catulli
plenus sacculus est aranearum.]Catullus (c. 84 BC – c. 54 BC) Latin poet [Gaius Valerius Catullus]
Carmina # 13 “To Fabullus,” ll. 1-8 [tr. Green (2005)]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Fabullus, if the gods agree,
So mightily to favour thee;
Thou shalt, ere many days be spent,
Sup with me to thy heart's content:
But do thyself provide the treat,
Of which we sumptuously may eat;
Bring thy fair mistress, bring thy wine,
Loud laughter, and each jest of thine;
Let these, my merry soul, be sent;
Then sup unto thy heart's content:
For thy poor poet's purse with nought
But spider's worthless webs is fraught.
[tr. Nott (1795)]Fabullus, thou shalt be my guest
At supper soon, if Heaven's behest
No otherwise decree:
The feast too must be rich and rare,
And since though lov'st luxurious fare,
Bring such a feast with thee.
And bring the girl with breast of snow,
And wine and wit of ready flow,
And laughter's joyous peal;
Bid but all these my board attend,
And then no doubt, my gallant friend,
We'll have a glorious meal.
For in my coffers spiders weave
Their webs in peace ....
[tr. Lamb (1821)]You dine with me, Fabullus mine,
On Friday next, at half-past two;
And I can promise that you'll dine
As well as man need wish to do;
If you bring with you, when you come,
A dinner of the very best,
And lots of wine and mirth , and some
Fair girl to give the whole a zest.
'Tis if you bring these -- mark me now!
That you're to have the best of dinners;
For your Catullus' purse, I vow,
Has nothing in't but long-legg'd spinners.
[tr. T. Martin (1861)]If the gods will, Fabullus mine,
With me right heartily you'll dine,
Bring but good cheer -- that chance is thine
Some days hereafter;
Mind a fair girl, too, wit, and wine,
And merry laughter.
Bring these -- you'll feast on kingly fare --
But bring them -- for my purse -- I swear
The spiders have been weaving there.
[tr. Cranstoun (1867)]Please kind heaven, in happy time, Fabullus,
We'll dine merrily, dear my friend, together.
Promise only to bring, your own, a dinner
Rich and goodly; withal a lily maiden,
Wine, and banter, a world of hearty laughing.
Promise only; betimes we dine, my gentle
Friend, most merrily; but, for your Catullus --
Know he boasts but a pouch of empty cobwebs.
[tr. Ellis (1871)]Thou'lt sup right well with me, Fabullus mine,
In days few-numbered an the Gods design,
An great and goodly meal thou bring wi' thee
Nowise forgetting damsel bright o' blee,
With wine, and salty wit and laughs all-gay.
An these my bonny man, thou bring, I say
Thou'lt sup right well, for thy Catullus' purse
Save web of spider nothing does imburse.
[tr. Burton (1893)]You will feast well with me, my Fabullus, in a few days, if the gods favour you, provided you bring here with you a good and great feast, not forgetting a radiant girl and wine and wit and all kinds of laughter. Provided, I say, you bring them here, our charming friend, you will feast well: for your Catullus' purse is full with cobwebs.
[tr. Smithers (1894)]You shall have a good dinner at my house, Fabullus, in a few days, please the gods, if you bring with you a good dinner and plenty of it, not forgetting a pretty girl and wine and wit and all5 kinds of laughter. If, I say, you bring all this, my charming friend, you shall have a good dinner; for your Catullus' purse is full of cobwebs.
[tr. Warre Cornish (1904)]Fabullus, the Gods so willing, you shall feast with me in luxury, a few days hence, if you will bring with you dishes both delicate and varied, a comely maid, wine, wit, and a store of quips and cranks. Bring all these, my dear friend, and you shall sup luxuriously; for the purse of your Catullus is full of cobwebs.
[tr. Stuttaford (1912)]Come dine with me, Fabullus, do.
You shall dine well, I promise you.
If Fates are kind, and if you bring
Along with you the needful thing --
A dinner bountiful and fine,
A pretty girl, new salt, old wine,
And topping all a hearty laugh,
Mirth, jest, and wit and friendly chaff --
If these you bring, old friend, I swear.
That you shall dine on royal fare.
Catullus' purse is full -- but hold!
Of musty cobwebs -- now don't scold ....
[tr. Stewart (1915)]Right well, Fabullus, you shall sup with me
If the Gods love you, at an early date,
If you bring ample fare and delicate,
A damsel too , if she be nice to see;
Bring wine and spice and laughs and gaiety;
Bring these and you will sup with me in state.
For my poor little purse, I tell you straight
Is stuffed with cobwebs, full as full can be.
[tr. Symons-Jeune (1923)]Soon, if all's well, Fabullus mine,
You at my house shall nobly dine,
If you the noble meal provide,
Yes, and a lovely girl beside,
And wine and wit and mirth sans end.
If these you bring, my charming friend,
You shall dine nobly; cobwebs fill
The purse of your Catullus. Still ....
[tr. MacNaghten (1925)]Within a week, dear friend, (D.V.)
You shall be dining well with me;
That is, if you yourself provide
The dinner and the wine beside,
And with some jokes to salt our food
A damsel of complaisant mood.
If these you bring, then, as I say,
We'll have a jolly feast that day.
For I must tell you that my purse
Is full -- and there is nothing worse
Of cobwebs, and it does not hold
The smallest particle of gold.
[tr. Wright (1926);
"Deus Volunt" = "God Willing"]Come, my Fabullus, there's a grand dinner waiting
for you at my house tomorrow, or the next day,
or the next, or a few days after --
that is, if gods are kind and you bring a banquet with you:
don't forget a round of wine and
a bright-eyed, sparkling girl and
your wit and every known variety of laughter.
Bring these, my dear, and you
shall have a glorious dinner;
your Catullus (see his purse)
has nothing left but cobwebs.
[tr. Gregory (1931)]Fabullus, you'll have quite a feast
At my place in a day or two --
If the gods decide to favor you,
If you provide the meal, at least.
Then bring a glowing girl, and lend
Some wine, some wit, a laugh that rings.
If you remember all these things,
You'll have a feast, my charming friend --
For your Catullus' money-sack
is full of spiders, nothing more.
[tr. Hollander (1976)]You will dine well with me, my dear Fabullus,
in a few days or so, the gods permitting.
Provided you provide the many-splendored
feast and invite your fair-complected lady,
your wine, your salt, and all the entertainment!
Which is to say, my dear, if you bring dinner
you will dine well, for these days your Catullus
fines that his purse is only full of cobwebs.
[tr. C. Martin (1979)]You’ll dine well, in a few days, with me,
if the gods are kind to you, my dear Fabullus,
and if you bring lots of good food with you,
and don’t come without a pretty girl
and wine and wit and all your laughter.
I say you’ll dine well, and charmingly,
if you bring all that: since your Catullus’s
purse alas is full of cobwebs.
[tr. Kline (2001)]You’ll dine well at my house, Fabullus
In a few days, if the gods favor you, and
If you bring a fine, large meal with you.
And don’t forget: a bright-eyed girl,
Wine, salt, and every kind of cheer.
If you bring these things I ask, fine friend,
You will dine well: for your Catullus’ wallet
Is full of nothing but spider webs.
[tr. @sentantiq (2015)]You will dine well, my Fabullus, at my house
in a few days (if the gods favor you),
and if you bring with you a nice big
dinner, not without a pretty girl
and wine and wit and laughs for everyone
I say: if you bring these, my charming one,
you will dine well -- for the little purse
of your Catullus is full of cobwebs.
[tr. Wikibooks (2017)]You will dine well, my (dear) Fabullus, at my house
in a few days, if the gods favor you,
and if you bring with you a large and good dinner,
not without a bright girl
and wine and salt[/wit] and laughter for all.
If you bring these, I say, our charming one,
you will dine well -- for your Catullus's
purse is full of cobwebs.
[tr. Wikisource (2018)]
LUCY: When young at the Bar you first taught me to score,
And bid me be free of my Lips, and no more;
I was kiss’d by the Parson, the Squire, and the Sot,
When the Guest was departed, the Kiss was forgot.
But his Kiss was so sweet, and so closely he prest,
That I languish’d and pin’d till I granted the rest.John Gay (1685-1732) English poet and playwright
The Beggar’s Opera, Act 3, sc. 1, Air 40 (1728)
(Source)
Visiting is a pleasure; being visited is usually a mixed or ambivalent joy. The visitee, unless he or she is unusually self-confident, probably felt it necessary to clean up the house or at least unhook the dirty socks from the lampshades and swab the sticky patch on the kitchen floor. Food had to be bought and cooked, possibly expensive or quirky food to accommodate the visitor’s latest dietary fad. The sheets on the guest bed had to be changed and clean towels ferreted out. And once ensconced, the visitor may come to seem like occupying troops and possibly permanent. The visitee is helpless: nice people don’t throw guests out into the street because their airspace feels crowded and they’re tired of thinking up entertainments. The visitor can always go home; the visitee is already home, trapped like a rat in a drainpipe.
So come, young soldiers, welcome to our house.
My destiny, harrying me with trials hard as yours,
led me as well, at last, to anchor in this land.
Schooled in suffering, now I learn to comfort
those who suffer too.[Quare agite, O tectis, iuvenes, succedite nostris.
Me quoque per multos similis fortuna labores
iactatam hac demum voluit consistere terra.
Non ignara mali, miseris succurrere disco]Virgil (70-19 BC) Roman poet [b. Publius Vergilius Maro; also Vergil]
The Aeneid [Ænē̆is], Book 1, l. 627ff (1.627-630) [Dido] (29-19 BC) [tr. Fagles (2006), l. 748ff]
(Source)
(Source (Latin)). Alternate translations:Therefore bold Trojans to our Court advance;
We in such dangers tost, and various chance
At length our selves did in this countrey plant,
I know t'help others, taught by my own want.
[tr. Ogilby (1649)]Enter, my noble guest, and you shall find,
If not a costly welcome, yet a kind:
For I myself, like you, have been distress'd,
Till Heav'n afforded me this place of rest;
Like you, an alien in a land unknown,
I learn to pity woes so like my own.
[tr. Dryden (1697)]Then enter, chiefs, these friendly doors;
I too have had my fate, like yours,
Which, many a suffering overpast,
Has willed to fix me here at last.
Myself not ignorant of woe,
Compassion I have learned to show.
[tr. Conington (1866)]Come then, O warriors, enter our abodes!
I also from calamities like yours
Have suffered much, till here I set my feet.
Not ignorant of trouble, I have learned
To succor the distressed
[tr. Cranch (1872), l. 817ff]Come therefore, O men, and enter our house. Me too hath a like fortune driven through many a woe, and willed at last to find my rest in this land. Not ignorant of ill do I learn to succour the afflicted.
[tr. Mackail (1885)]So hasten now to enter in 'neath roofs of me and mine.
Me too a fortune such as yours, me tossed by many a toil,
Hath pleased to give abiding-place at last upon this soil,
Learned in illhaps full wise am I unhappy men to aid.
[tr. Morris (1900)]Welcome, then, heroes! Me hath Fortune willed
Long tost, like you, through sufferings, here to rest
And find at length a refuge. Not unskilled
In woe, I learn to succour the distrest.
[tr. Taylor (1907), st. 83, l. 739ff]Therefore, behold, our portals are swung wide
for all your company. I also bore
hard fate like thine. I too was driven of storms
and after long toil was allowed at last
to call this land my home. O, I am wise
in sorrow, and I help all suffering souls!
[tr. Williams (1910)]Come therefore, sirs, and pass within our halls. Me, too, has a like fortune driven through many toils, and willed that at last I should find rest in this land. Not ignorant of ill do I learn to befriend the unhappy.
[tr. Fairclough (1916)]Enter my house. I, too, am fortune-driven
Through many sufferings; this land at last
Has brought me rest. Not ignorant of evil,
I know one thing, at least, -- to help the wretched.
[tr. Humphries (1951)]So, gentlemen, do not hesitate to come under my roof.
I too have gone through much; like you, have been roughly handled
By fortune; but now at last it has willed me to settle here.
Being acquainted with grief, I am learning to help the unlucky.
[tr. Day Lewis (1952)]Thus, young men, you are welcome to our halls.
My destiny, like yours, has willed that I,
a veteran of hardships, halt at last
in this country. Not ignorant of trials,
I now can learn to help the miserable.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1971), l. 878ff]Come, then, soldiers, be our guests. My life
Was one of hardship and forced wandering
Like your own, till in this land at length
Fortune would have me rest. Through pain I've learned
To comfort suffering men.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1981)]This is why I now invite your warriors to come into my house. I, too, have known ill fortune like yours and been tossed from one wretchedness to another until at last I have been allowed to settle in this land. Through my own suffering, I am learning to help those who suffer.
[tr. West (1990)]So come, young lords, and enter our palace.
Fortune, pursuing me too, through many similar troubles,
willed that I would find peace at last in this land.
Not being unknown to evil, I’ve learned to aid the unhappy.
[tr. Kline (2002)]And so, young men, come under my roof.
My fortune too has long been adverse
But at last has allowed me to rest in this land.
My own acquaintance with suffering
Has taught me to aid others in need.
[tr. Lombardo (2005), l. 767]So come, young men, enter my home. Fortune once harassed me with hardship like your own. At last, the fates let me settle in this land. Knowing pain, I can learn to help the pain of others.
[tr. Bartsch (2021)]
The guest who deliberately wounds his Host strikes a Manacled Man.
Minna Antrim (1861-1950) American epigrammatist, writer
Don’ts for Bachelors and Old Maids (1908)
(Source)
This man who has fetched up here is some unlucky wanderer; we must now look after him, because all strangers and beggars are under Zeus’ protection, and any gift, though small, is welcome.
[ἀλλ’ ὅδε τις δύστηνος ἀλώμενος ἐνθάδ’ ἱκάνει,
τὸν νῦν χρὴ κομέειν· πρὸς γὰρ Διός εἰσιν ἅπαντες
ξεῖνοί τε πτωχοί τε, δόσις δ’ ὀλίγη τε φίλη τε.]Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Odyssey [Ὀδύσσεια], Book 6, l. 206ff (6.206) [Nausicaa] (c. 700 BC) [tr. Verity (2016)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). This is later echoed by Eumæus in Book 14. Alternate translations:This man, minding nought
But his relief, a poor unhappy wretch,
Wrack’d here, and hath no other land to fetch,
Him now we must provide for. From Jove come
All strangers, and the needy of a home,
Who any gift, though ne’er so small it be,
Esteem as great, and take it gratefully.
[tr. Chapman (1616)]But by evil weather
To come to land this man hath forced been;
Let’s do him good. From Jove come beggars all,
And welcome to them is whate’er they get;
Our givings to him will be very small.
[tr. Hobbes (1675), l. 195ff]'Tis ours this son of sorrow to relieve,
Cheer the sad heart, nor let affliction grieve.
By Jove the stranger and the poor are sent;
And what to those we give to Jove is lent.
[tr. Pope (1725)]This man, a miserable wand’rer comes,
Whom we are bound to cherish, for the poor
And stranger are from Jove, and trivial gifts
To such are welcome.
[tr. Cowper (1792)]Now comes this wanderer -- let us treat him well;
All strangers and all poor by Zeus are sent,
And love can make a little gift excel.
[tr. Worsley (1861), st. 27]But, he,
This wand'ring outcast, is before us come
For whom it well beseems us to take thought;
For not without the warrant of great Jove
Appeal the strangers and the abject poor.
However small the boon, 'tis dearly priz'd!
[tr. Musgrave (1869), l. 315ff]But this -- some hapless wanderer -- hither comes:
Him it behoves us care for: since from Zeus
Come strangers all, and poor men: and a gift
Small to the giver -- blesses him that takes it.
[tr. Bigge-Wither (1869)]Nay, but this man is some helpless one come hither in his wanderings, whom now we must kindly entreat, for all strangers and beggars are from Zeus, and a little gift is dear.
[tr. Butcher/Lang (1879)]But this man, a hapless wanderer, to usward now is sent,
And him is it meet to cherish; since from Zeus come guestfolk all
And suppliants; and full welcome is the gift, albeit but small.
[tr. Morris (1887)]But this poor man has come here having lost his way, and we should give him aid; for in the charge of Zeus all strangers and beggars stand, and a small gift is welcome.
[tr. Palmer (1891)]This is only some poor man who has lost his way, and we must be kind to him, for strangers and foreigners in distress are under Jove's protection, and will take what they can get and be thankful.
[tr. Butler (1898)]This is some hapless wanderer that has come hither. Him must we now tend; for from Zeus are all strangers and beggars, and a gift, though small, is welcome.
[tr. Murray (1919)]This man appeals as a luckless wanderer whom we must now kindly entertain. Homeless and broken men are all of them in the sight of Zeus, and it is a good deed to make them some small alms.
[tr. Lawrence (1932)]The man you see is an unfortunate wanderer who has strayed here, and now commands our care, since all strangers and beggars come under the protection of Zeus, and the charity that is a trifle to us can be precious to others.
[tr. Rieu (1946)]This man is a castaway, poor fellow; we must take care of him. Strangers and beggars come from Zeus: a small gift, then, is friendly.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1961)]But, since this is some poor wanderer who has come to us,
we must now take care of him, since all strangers and wanderers
are sacred in the sight of Zeus, and the gift is a light and a dear one.
[tr. Lattimore (1965)]But this man is a luckless fellow, one
who wandered here, and he deserves our care;
the stranger and the beggar -- both are sent
by Zeus, and even small gifts win their thanks.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1990)]But here's an unlucky wanderer strayed our way
and we must tend him well. Every stranger and beggar
comes from Zeus, and whatever scrap we give him
he'll be glad to get.
[tr. Fagles (1996)]This poor man comes here as a wanderer,
And we must take care of him now. All strangers,
All beggars, are under the protection of Zeus,
And even small gifts are welcome.
[tr. Lombardo (2000)]No, this man is a luckless wanderer who has arrived here; we must now give him succor, for every stranger and beggar has the protection of Zeus, and a gift though little is welcome.
[tr. Merrill (2002)]This man is an unfortunate wanderer who has strayed here, and we must look after him, since all strangers and beggars come under the protection of Zeus, and to such people a small gift can mean much.
[tr. DCH Rieu (2002)]But this man is lost, poor thing. We must look after him. All foreigners and beggars come from Zeus, and any act of kindness is a blessing.
[tr. Wilson (2017)]No, this is some ill-starred drifter who's ended up here, and we must now take of, since from Zeus are all strangers and beggars: any gift, though small, is welcome.
[tr. Green (2018)]So this man
is some poor wanderer who’s just come here.
We must look after him, for every stranger,
every beggar, comes from Zeus, and any gift,
even something small, is to be cherished.
[tr. Johnston (2019), l. 264]But this man who has wandered here, who is so ill-starred,
It is right to care for him now. For all are from Zeus,
The strangers and the beggars, and our gift is small but dear to them.
[tr. @sentantiq (2020)]
For a guest remembers all his days the hospitable man who showed him kindness.
[Τοῦ γάρ τε ξεῖνος μιμνῄσκεται ἤματα πάντα
ἀνδρὸς ξεινοδόκου, ὅς κεν φιλότητα παράσχῃ.]Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Odyssey [Ὀδύσσεια], Book 15, l. 54ff (15.54) [Pisistratus] (c. 700 BC) [tr. Palmer (1891)]
(Source)
(Greek Source). Alternate translations:Not a guest
Shall touch at his house, but shall store his breast
With fit mind of an hospitable man,
To last as long as any daylight can
His eyes recomfort, in such gifts as he
Will proofs make of his hearty royalty.
[tr. Chapman (1616)]For guests use always to remember those
By whom they have been entertain’d with love.
[tr. Hobbes (1675), ll. 49-50]For the guest in mem’ry holds
Through life, the host who treats him as a friend.
[tr. Cowper (1792), l. 64-65]For when a host with friendship void of blame
Gives of his choicest, men observe his name,
And hold it all their lives exceeding dear.
[tr. Worsley (1861), st. 7]Throughout his life,
A guest the gen'rous man should keep in mind
Who to is home hath welcom'd him.
[tr. Musgrave (1869), l. 88ff]A guest remembers thro' life's livelong days
That host, who gives him sterling proofs of love!
[tr. Bigge-Wither (1869)]For of him a guest is mindful all the days of his life, even of the host that shows him loving-kindness.
[tr. Butcher/Lang (1879)]Since forsooth the guest remembereth that man for all his days
Who giveth him good guesting in friendly wise and dear.
[tr. Morris (1887)]So long as he lives a guest should never forget a host who has shown him kindness.
[tr. Butler (1898)]For a guest remembers all his days the host who shews him kindness.
[tr. Murray (1919)]A guest never forgets the host who has treated him kindly.
[tr. Rieu (1946)]A guest remembers all his days that hose who makes provision for him kindly.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1961)]For a guest remembers all his days the man who received him as a host receives a guest, and gave him the gifts of friendship.
[tr. Lattimore (1965)]A guest will keep in memory, held close, the gift of friendship given by his host.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1990)]That’s the man a guest will remember all his days:
the lavish host who showers him with kindness.
[tr. Fagles (1996)]A guest remembers
A host's hospitality for as long as he lives.
[tr. Lombardo (2000)]As you know, a guest remembers for all his days the man who has welcomed him hospitably and shown friendship towards him.
[tr. Verity (2016)]For a guest remembers with gratitude all his days the man who was his host, who showed him kindness.
[tr. Green (2018)]A guest remembers all his life the man
who gave him hospitality and kindness.
[tr. Johnston (2019), l. 74-85]
It’s wrong, my friend, to send any stranger packing —
even one who arrives in worse shape than you.
Every stranger and beggar comes from Zeus
and whatever scrap they get from the likes of us,
they’ll find it welcome.[Ξεῖν’, οὔ μοι θέμις ἔστ’, οὐδ’ εἰ κακίων σέθεν ἔλθοι,
ξεῖνον ἀτιμῆσαι· πρὸς γὰρ Διός εἰσιν ἅπαντες
ξεῖνοί τε πτωχοί τε. δόσις δ’ ὀλίγη τε φίλη τε
γίνεται ἡμετέρη.]Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Odyssey [Ὀδύσσεια], Book 14, l. 56ff (14.56) [Eumæus/Eumaios] (c. 700 BC) [tr. Fagles (1996)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). The language is an echo of Nausicaa in Book 6. Alternate translations:Guest! If one much worse
Arriv’d here than thyself, it were a curse
To my poor means, to let a stranger taste
Contempt for fit food. Poor men, and unplac’d
In free seats of their own, are all from Jove
Commended to our entertaining love.
But poor is th’ entertainment I can give,
Yet free and loving.
[tr. Chapman (1616)]Stranger, then said Eumæus, it was never
My custom any stranger to neglect;
The poor and stranger are in God’s hand ever.
Few are my gifts, and but of small effect.
[tr. Hobbes (1675)]It never was our guise
To slight the poor, or aught humane despise:
For Jove unfold our hospitable door,
'Tis Jove that sends the stranger and the poor.
[tr. Pope (1725)]My guest! I should offend, treating with scorn
The stranger, though a poorer should arrive
Than ev’n thyself; for all the poor that are,
And all the strangers are the care of Jove.
Little, and with good will, is all that lies
Within my scope.
[tr. Cowper (1792), l. 68ff]O friend, I dare not, though a worse man sought
These doors, a stranger use discourteously.
All strangers and all poor by Zeus are brought;
Sweet is our gift, yet small.
[tr. Worsley (1862), st. 7]O stranger! 'Twere a wrongful act of mine,
Ev'n should a wretch more hapless than thyself
Before me come, on such a stranger's claim
To cast contempt: for ev'ry one Unknown
And ev'ry Mendicant from Jove Himself
His claim prefers. But, small, indeed, though kind
Are our donations all.
[tr. Musgrave (1869), l. 90ff]Sir guest, 'tis not my wont, not e'en should come
A worser man than thou, to slight a guest.
From Zeus are strangers all, and begger-men:
My gift is small, tho' proof of kindliness.
[tr. Bigge-Wither (1869)]Guest of mine, it were an impious thing for me to slight a stranger, even if there came a meaner man than thou; for from Zeus are all strangers and beggars; and a little gift from such as we, is dear.
[tr. Butcher/Lang (1879)]O guest, it were not rightful, though e'en worser than thou he were sped,
To put shame upon a stranger; since guest and bedesman all,
From Zeus they are; and our giving, although it be but small,
Is dear.
[tr. Morris (1887)]Stranger, it is not right for me to slight a stranger, not even one in poorer plight than you; for in the charge of Zeus all strangers and beggars stand, and our small gift is welcome.
[tr. Palmer (1891)]Stranger, though a still poorer man should come here, it would not be right for me to insult him, for all strangers and beggars are from Jove. You must take what you can get and be thankful.
[tr. Butler (1898)]Nay, stranger, it were not right for me, even though one meaner than thou were to come, to slight a stranger: for from Zeus are all strangers and beggars, and a gift, though small, is welcome from such as we.
[tr. Murray (1919)]My guest, I should sin if I failed in attention to any stranger, even one poorer than yourself. The needy and the strangers are all from Zeus; and with the likes of us a quite slender gift can convey goodwill.
[tr. Lawrence (1932)]"Sir," said the swineherd Eumaeus, "my conscience would not let me turn away a stranger in a worse state even than yourself, for strangers and beggars all come in Zeus’ name, and a gift from folk like us is none the less welcome for being small."
[tr. Rieu (1946)]Tush, friend,
rudeness to a stranger is not decency,
poor though he may be, poorer than you.
All wanderers
and beggars come from Zeus. What we can give
is slight but well-meant.
[tr. Fitzgerald (1961)]Stranger, I have no right to deny the stranger, not
even if one came to me who was meaner than you. All vagabonds
and strangers are under Zeus, and the gift is a light and a dear one
that comes from us.
[tr. Lattimore (1965)]Dear guest. I'd never slight the least of strangers. Not even one more wretched than you are; for it is Zeus who sends to us all beggars and strangers; and a gift, however small, means much when given by a man like me.
[tr. Mandelbaum (1990)]Stranger, for me it would not be right to dishonor a stranger, though one baser than you came, for every stranger and beggar has the protection of Zeus; and a gift, though little, but welcome, lies in our power to give.
[tr. Merrill (2002)]Stranger, it is not right for me to turn away any stranger, even one in a worse state than you are, for strangers and beggars all come in Zeus' name, and a gift from folk like us is none the less welcome for being small.
[tr. DCH Rieu (2002)]Stranger, it is not right for me to treat a guest dishonorably, not even one in a worse state than you; all strangers and beggars are under the protection of Zeus. What I can offer is small, but you are welcome to it.
[tr. Verity (2016)]One must honor guests and foreigners and strangers, even those much poorer than oneself. Zeus watches over beggars and guests and strangers. What I have to give is small, but I will give it gladly.
[tr. Wilson (2017)]Stranger, were one even meaner than you than you to come here, I'd still have no right to reject him, for all strangers and beggars are from Zeus, and a gift, however small, is friendly from folk such as us.
[tr. Green (2018)]It would be wrong,
stranger, for me to disrespect a guest,
even if one worse off than you arrived,
for every guest and beggar comes from Zeus,
and any gift from people like ourselves,
though small, is welcome.
[tr. Johnston (2019)]
A successful party is a creative act, and creation is always painful.
Phyllis McGinley (1905-1978) American author, poet
“Party Line,” Ladies’ Home Journal (1962)
(Source)
Later reprinted in Sixpence in Her Shoe (1964).
You ought to get out of those wet clothes and into a dry martini.
Mae West (1892-1980) American film actress
Every Day’s a Holiday (movie) [Larmadou Graves] (1937)
West both starred in the film (as the recipient of this line, Peaches O'Day) and wrote the screenplay. Often attributed to Robert Benchley, who used the line in a film a few years later, and claimed he got it from a joke book. Also attributed to Groucho Marx.
The choicest garb, the sweetest grace,
Are oft to strangers shown;
The careless mien, the frowning face,
Are given to our own.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.Ella Wheeler Wilcox (1850-1919) American author, poet, temperance advocate, spiritualist
Poem (1896-10), “Life’s Scars,” st. 3, Frank Leslie’s Popular Monthly, Vol. 42, No. 4
(Source)
Originally published in Frank Leslie's Popular Monthly, Vol. 42, #4 (1896-10)
The world’s an Inn; and I her guest.
I eat; I drink; I take my rest.
My hostess, nature, does deny me
Nothing, wherewith she can supply me;
Where, having stayed a while, I pay
Her lavish bills, and go my way.
Home is where, when you go there and tell people to get out, they have to leave.
Jim Butcher (b. 1971) American author
Skin Game (2014)
If all be true that I do think,
There are five reasons we should drink:
Good wine, a friend, because I’m dry,
Or least I should be by and by,
Or any other reason why.Henry Aldrich (1647-1710) English academic, theologian, philosopher, architect, composer
“Five Reasons for Drinking” (1689)
(Source)
Variant:If on my theme I rightly think,
There are five reasons why men drink:
Good wine, a friend, because I'm dry,
Or least I should be by-and-by,
Or any other reason why.
Variant (also):If all be true that I do think,
There are five reasons we should drink:
Good wine -- a friend -- or being dry --
Or lest we should be by-and-by --
Or any other reason why.
Translation of a Latin epigram from Jacques Sirmond (set to music by Orlando di Lassus (Di Lasso)):Si bene quid memini, causae sunt quinque bibendi;
Hospitis adventus, praesens sitis atque futura,
Aut vini bonitas, aut quaelibet altera causa.
[If I remember correctly, there are five reasons for drinking:
The arrival of a guest, present and future thirst,
Or the goodness of the wine, or any other reason.]
[Google Translate]
In some versions it starts "Si bene commemini" and on the last line uses "Et" for the two "Aut"s.
An satirical extended version can be found in Mortimer Collins, Squire Silchester's Whim (1873):If all be true that I do think,
Seven reasons are there why we drink:
Good wine -- a friend -- or being dry --
Or lest we should be by-and-by --
Or idleness beneath the sky --
Or a sweet girl's inviting eye:
Or any other reason why.
The poem was set to music by Henry Purcell as a "Catch" (Round), as recorded in Henry Playford, The Banquet of Musick (1688) (also here):1. If all be true that I do think, there are Five Reasons, there are Five Reasons, we shou'd drink:
2. Good Wine, a Friend, or being Dry, or lest we shou'd be by and by,
3. or any Reason, or any other Reason, or any other Reason why, any Reason why.
The tune was borrowed by Temperance advocates for an anti-drinking Round (by 1865):1. If all be true that I do think, there are five reasons, five reasons why we should not drink.
2. Our name, our health, our family, our peace both now and by and bye.
3. And many other reasons, and many other reasons, and many other reasons why, many reasons why.
Other notes here.
Long ago I can remember my grandmother telling me that one should always sleep in all of one’s guests’ beds, to make sure that they are comfortable.
Eleanor Roosevelt (1884-1962) First Lady of the US (1933-45), politician, diplomat, activist
Column (1941-09-12), “My Day”
(Source)
Writing with relief to discover that the Lincoln Bedroom bed, where she had to sleep while her room was being painted, was in fact comfortable.
“Rabbit,” said Pooh to himself. “I like talking to Rabbit. He talks about sensible things. He doesn’t use long, difficult words, like Owl. He uses short, easy words, like ‘What about lunch?’ and ‘Help yourself, Pooh.'”
A. A. Milne (1882-1956) English poet and playwright [Alan Alexander Milne]
House at Pooh Corner, ch. 4 “Tiggers Don’t Climb Trees” (1928)
(Source)
Be not forgetful to entertain strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.
[τῆς φιλοξενίας μὴ ἐπιλανθάνεσθε διὰ ταύτης γὰρ ἔλαθόν τινες ξενίσαντες ἀγγέλους.]
The Bible (The New Testament) (AD 1st - 2nd C) Christian sacred scripture
Hebrews 13: 2 [KJV (1611)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:Remember always to welcome strangers, for by doing this, some people have entertained angels without knowing it.
[JB (1966); NJB (1985)]Remember to welcome strangers in your homes. There were some who did that and welcomed angels without knowing it.
[GNT (1976)]Don’t neglect to open up your homes to guests, because by doing this some have been hosts to angels without knowing it.
[CEB (2011)]Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for by doing that some have entertained angels without knowing it.
[NRSV (2021 ed.)]
In the end, as every human being who has ever breakfasted on their own in someone else’s kitchen has done since nearly the dawn of time, he made do with unsweetened instant black coffee.
Terry Pratchett (1948-2015) English author
Good Omens, 7. “Sunday” (1990) [with Neil Gaiman]
(Source)
All things are best when done without excess: it is as wrong to hurry off a guest who does not wish to leave as to detain a man who longs for home. Kind care for those who stay — and warm farewells for those who go.
[ἶσόν τοι κακόν ἐσθ᾽, ὅς τ᾽ οὐκ ἐθέλοντα νέεσθαι
ξεῖνον ἐποτρύνει καὶ ὃς ἐσσύμενον κατερύκει.
χρὴ ξεῖνον παρεόντα φιλεῖν, ἐθέλοντα δὲ πέμπειν.]Homer (fl. 7th-8th C. BC) Greek author
The Odyssey [Ὀδύσσεια], Book 15, l. 72ff (15.72) [Menelaus to Telemachus] (c. 700 BC) [tr. Mandelbaum (1990)]
(Source)
(Source (Greek)). Alternate translations:A like ill ’tis, to thrust out such a guest
As would not go, as to detain the rest.
We should a guest love, while he loves to stay,
And, when he likes not, give him loving way.
[tr. Chapman (1616)]I purpose not to make you longer stay;
For I conceive ’tis not a good man’s part,
To make too much or little of his guest,
To hold him when he gladly would depart,
Or press him to begone e’er he thinks best.
In hospitality this rule is true:
Love him that stays, help forth the going guest.
[tr. Hobbes (1675), l. 60ff]Alike he thwarts the hospitable end,
Who drives the free, or stays the hasty friend:
True friendship's laws are by this rule express'd,
Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest.
[tr. Pope (1725)]The middle course is best; alike we err,
Him thrusting forth whose wish is to remain,
And hind’ring the impatient to depart.
This only is true kindness -- To regale
The present guest, and speed him when he would.
[tr. Cowper (1792), l. 82ff]Let us in all things the true mean apply;
Roughness offends, and over-courtesy.
He to my mind an equal sin doth show
Who, when a guest would linger, hints good-bye,
And who, if one desire to part, says no.
Love well the tarrying guest, and speed him fain to go.
[tr. Worsley (1861), st. 9]An equal wrong it is to drive away
The guest, who fain would tarry; and to keep
Against his will the guest who fain would go!
'Tis right to treat with love the tarrying guest;
And speed on his way the guest, who wills to go!
[tr. Bigge-Wither (1869), l. 72ff]Those acts which to strict equity conform
Are worthiest ever: and the selfsame wrong
Doth he commit who from his home would drive
The guest who fain would linger there, -- with him
Who stays the man that on his way would speed.
[tr. Musgrave (1869), l. 113ff]He does equal wrong who speeds a guest that would fain abide, and stays one who is in haste to be gone. Men should lovingly entreat the present guest and speed the parting.
[tr. Butcher/Lang (1879)]For in all things measure is best.
And good is neither fashion, to thrust out the willing guest
Who is fain to abide, or to stay him who longeth to be on the road;
But to cherish the guest that abideth and to speed the departer is good.
[tr. Morris (1887), l. 71ff]It is an equal fault to thrust away the guest who does not care to go, and to detain the impatient. Best make the stranger welcome while he stays, and speed him when he wishes.
[tr. Palmer (1891)]Moderation is best in all things, and not letting a man go when he wants to do so is as bad as telling him to go if he would like to stay. One should treat a guest well as long as he is in the house and speed him when he wants to leave it.
[tr. Butler (1898)]'Tis equal wrong if a man speed on a guest who is loath to go, and if he keep back one that is eager to be gone. One should make welcome the present guest, and send forth him that would go.
[tr. Murray (1919)]There should be moderation in all things, and it is equally offensive to speed a guest who would like to stay and to detain one who is anxious to leave. What I say is, treat a man well while he’s with you, but let him go when he wishes.
[tr. Rieu (1946)]It is equally bad when one speeds on the guest unwilling to go, and when he holds back one who is hastening. Rather one should befriend the guest who is there, but speed him when he wishes.
[tr. Lattimore (1965)]Balance is best in all things. It’s bad either way,
spurring the stranger home who wants to linger,
holding the one who longs to leave -- you know,
‘Welcome the coming, speed the parting guest!’
[tr. Fagles (1996)]It's just as wrong to rush a guest's departure
When he doesn't want to go, as it is
To hold him back when he is ready to leave.
Make a guest welcome for as long as he stays
And send him off whenever he wants to go.
[tr. Lombardo (2000), l. 74ff]There should be moderation in all things, and it is equally offensive to speed a guest who would like to stay and to detain one who is anxious to leave. Treat a man well while he's with you, but let him go when he wishes.
[tr. DCH Rieu (2002)]It is, I think, an equal failing to speed a guest's departure when he is reluctant to leave and to detain him when eager to go. One must care for the guest in one's house, but send him on when he wishes.
[tr. Verity (2016)]To force a visitor to stay is just as bad as pushing him to go. Be kind to guests while they are visiting, then help them on their way.
[tr. Wilson (2017)]It's just as wrong to urge a guest's departure against his will as to keep him when it's itching to be off. Treat your guest well while he's there, let him go when he wants.
[tr. Green (2018)]It’s bad when someone does not want to leave
to be too quick to send him on his way,
but just as bad is holding someone back
when he’s ready to depart. For a host
should welcome any guest in front of him
and send away the one who wants to go.
[tr. Johnston (2019), l. 94ff]