He with his bare wand can Unthread thy joints, And crumble all thy sinews.
"Minor Poems by Milton"
John Milton
Where'er I turn the Goddess haunts my path, Like grim Megoera in revengeful wrath: In accents wild, that would awake the dead, Bids me perplexing problems to Unthread; Bids me the laws of x and y to unfold, And with "dry eyes" dread mysteries behold.
"Sagittulae, Random Verses"
E. W. Bowling