He puts on the fire a pot to boil, and makes red-hot the points of sundry spits, and, when all is ready, he seizes two of the Ithacans,—
"And killed them in a measured kind of manner;
For he flung one against the brazen rivets
Of the huge caldron, and caught the other
By the foot's tendon, and knocked out his brains
Upon the sharp edge of the craggy stone."
One he boiled, the other he roasted, while Ulysses,
"With the tears raining from his eyes,
Stood near the Cyclops, ministering to him."
But while waiting at table, a happy thought presents itself to Ulysses. "If I can but make him drunk enough, then I can deal with him." He plies him well with Maronian wine at dinner; but Polyphemus is as yet "na that fou" to fall into the trap. He is still sober enough to remember that his brother-giants may relish a cheerful glass no less than himself. They inhabit a village on Ætna not far off, and he will go and invite them to share his Bacchic drink. The Chorus advise Ulysses to walk with him, and pitch him over a precipice, as he is somewhat unsteady on his legs. "That will never do," responds the sagacious Ithacan. "I have a far more subtle device. I will appeal to his appetite: tell him how unwise it were to summon partners for his revelry. Why not prolong his pleasure by keeping this particular Maronian for his own sole use?" The Cyclops presently returns, singing—
"Ha! ha! I am full of wine,
