Thy outward seeming to the piteous aspect
Of age and beggary. Thy supple skin
I’ll wrinkle on thy joints, thy thick brown hair
Rob from thy head, and dim thy radiant eyes,
And o’er thy shoulders bowed cast sorry rags,
To make thee loathed of men. In such disguise
Mayst thou in safety seek thy herdsman’s hut,
Eumæus: he is faithful, and with kindness
Will serve thee as a stranger in distress,
No less than he will welcome thee revealed.