When day came the Cyclop awoke, and kindling a fire, made his breakfast of two other of his unfortunate prisoners, then milked his goats as he was accustomed, and pushing aside the vast stone, and shutting it again when he had done, upon the prisoners, with as much ease as a man opens and shuts a quiver’s lid, he let out his flock, and drove them before him with whistlings (as sharp as winds in storms) to the mountains.  Then Ulysses, of whose strength or cunning the Cyclop seems to have had as little heed as of an infant’s, being left alone, with the remnant of his men which the Cyclop had not devoured, gave manifest proof how far manly wisdom excels brutish force.  He chose a stake from among the wood which the Cyclop had piled up for firing, in length and thickness like a mast, which he sharpened and hardened in the fire, and selected four men, and instructed them what they should do with this stake, and made them perfect in their parts.

When the evening was come, the Cyclop drove home his sheep; and as fortune directed it, either of purpose, or that his memory was overruled by the gods to his hurt (as in the issue it proved), he drove the males of his flock, contrary to his custom, along with the dams into the pens.  Then shutting-to the stone of the cave, he fell to his horrible supper.  When he had dispatched two more of the Grecians, Ulysses waxed bold with the contemplation of his project, and took a bowl of Greek wine and merrily dared the Cyclop to drink.

“Cyclop,” he said, “take a bowl of wine from the hand of your guest:  it may serve to digest the man’s flesh that you have eaten, and shew what drink our ship held before it went down.  All I ask in recompence, if you find it good, is to be dismissed in a whole skin.  Truly you must look to have few visitors, if you observe this new custom of eating your guests.”

The brute took and drank, and vehemently enjoyed the taste of wine, which was new to him, and swilled again at the flaggon, and entreated for more, and prayed Ulysses to tell him his name, that he might bestow a gift upon the man who had given him such brave liquor.  The Cyclops (he said) had grapes, but this rich juice (he swore) was simply divine.  Again Ulysses plied him with the wine, and the fool drank it as fast as he poured out, and again he asked the name of his benefactor, which Ulysses cunningly dissembling, said, “My name is Noman:  my kindred and friends in my own country call me Noman.”  “Then,” said the Cyclop, “this is the kindness I will show thee, Noman:  I will eat thee last of all thy friends.”  He had scarce expressed his savage kindness, when the fumes of the strong wine overcame him, and he reeled down upon the floor and sank into a dead sleep.