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In the next land, we found were Cyclopes, giants, louts, without a law to bless them.
Cyclopes have no muster and no meeting, no consultation or old tribal ways, but each one dwells in his own mountain cave dealing out rough justice to wife and child, indifferent to what others do.
I would not let you go for fear of Zeus - you or your friends - unless I had a whim to.
We are survivors, these good men and I.
Straight forward they sprinted, lifted it, and rammed it deep into his crater eye, and I leaned on it turning it as a shipwright turns a drill in planking.
I took the woolliest ram, the choicest of the flock, and hug myself under his kinky belly, pulled up tight, with fingers twisted deep in sheepskin ringlets for an iron grip.
Cyclops, if ever mortal man inquire how you were put to shame and blinded, tell him Odysseus, raider of cities, took your eye: Laertes' son, whose home is on Ithaca!
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