CYCLOPS: 
You lie!  I swear that he is juster far
Than Rhadamanthus—­I trust more in him. 
But let me ask, whence have ye sailed, O strangers? 255
Who are you?  And what city nourished ye?

ULYSSES: 
Our race is Ithacan—­having destroyed
The town of Troy, the tempests of the sea
Have driven us on thy land, O Polypheme.

CYCLOPS: 
What, have ye shared in the unenvied spoil 260
Of the false Helen, near Scamander’s stream?

ULYSSES: 
The same, having endured a woful toil.

CYCLOPS: 
Oh, basest expedition! sailed ye not
From Greece to Phrygia for one woman’s sake?

ULYSSES: 
‘Twas the Gods’ work—­no mortal was in fault. 265
But, O great Offspring of the Ocean-King,
We pray thee and admonish thee with freedom,
That thou dost spare thy friends who visit thee,
And place no impious food within thy jaws. 
For in the depths of Greece we have upreared 270
Temples to thy great Father, which are all
His homes.  The sacred bay of Taenarus
Remains inviolate, and each dim recess
Scooped high on the Malean promontory,
And aery Sunium’s silver-veined crag, 275
Which divine Pallas keeps unprofaned ever,
The Gerastian asylums, and whate’er
Within wide Greece our enterprise has kept
From Phrygian contumely; and in which
You have a common care, for you inhabit 280
The skirts of Grecian land, under the roots
Of Aetna and its crags, spotted with fire. 
Turn then to converse under human laws,
Receive us shipwrecked suppliants, and provide
Food, clothes, and fire, and hospitable gifts; 285
Nor fixing upon oxen-piercing spits
Our limbs, so fill your belly and your jaws. 
Priam’s wide land has widowed Greece enough;
And weapon-winged murder leaped together
Enough of dead, and wives are husbandless, 290
And ancient women and gray fathers wail
Their childless age;—­if you should roast the rest—­
And ’tis a bitter feast that you prepare—­
Where then would any turn?  Yet be persuaded;
Forgo the lust of your jaw-bone; prefer 295
Pious humanity to wicked will: 
Many have bought too dear their evil joys.

SILENUS: 
Let me advise you, do not spare a morsel
Of all his flesh.  If you should eat his tongue
You would become most eloquent, O Cyclops. 300