I will shrivel the supple skin on your lithe limbs, strip the russet curls from your head and deck you out in rags you'd hate to see some other mortal wear; I'll dim the fire in your eyes, so shining once — until you seem appalling to all those suitors, 460 even your wife and son you left behind at home.

Unknown, Homer, Robert Fagles_ Knox,…, loc. 2722