Τρεῖς δὲ ἕκαστον φῶτ’ ὄιες φέρον· αὐτὰρ ἐγώ γε –
ἀρνειὸς γὰρ ἔην μήλων ὄχ’ ἄριστος ἁπάντων,
τοῦ κατὰ νῶτα λαβών, λασίην ὑπὸ γαστέρ’ ἐλυσθεὶς
κείμην· αὐτὰρ χερσὶν ἀώτου θεσπεσίοιο
νωλεμέως στρεφθεὶς ἐχόμην τετληότι θυμῷ.
ὣς τότε μὲν στενάχοντες ἐμείναμεν Ἠῶ δῖαν.
(Homer, Od. 9.431-5)
So there was a man to every three sheep. As for me I took the pick of the flock, and curled below his shaggy belly, gripped his back and lay there face upwards, patiently gripping his fine fleece tight in my hands. Then, sighing, we waited for the light. (tr. A.S. Kline)