Conscia mens recti famae mendacia risit - Ovid

The god of Delos, proud in victory,
Saw Cupid draw his bow's taut arc, and said:
'Mischievous boy, what are a brave man's arms
To you? That gear becomes my shoulders best.
My aim is sure; I wound my enemies,
I wound wild beasts; my countless arrows slew
But now the bloated Python, whose vast coils
Across so many acres spread their blight.
You and your loves! You have your torch to light them!Let that content you; never claim my fame!'

And Venus' son replied: 'Your bow, Apollo,
May vanquish all, but mine shall vanquish you.
As every creature yields to power divine,
So likewise shall your glory yield to mine.

Dunque suvvia, non confidare nell'aspetto che inganna; chiunque tu sia, stima qualcosa di superiore al corpo.

"Through steep, and sheer, and inaccessible,
through difficult and through impossible
places, they track him, and he flees the hunt
he has so often led, longing to cry out
to the pack behind him, "It's me! Actaeon!
Recognize your master!" But the words
betray him and the air resounds with baying.

...torn by their teeth, he makes
a sound no man would make and no stag either,
a cry that echoes through those well-know heights;
and kneeling like a supplicant at prayer,
he turns towards them pleading with his eyes,
as a man would with his hands."