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1Metamorphoses 
2
3By Ovid 
4
5Written 1 A.C.E. 
6
7Translated by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al
8
9   	Table of Contents 
10
11Book the First	   
12
13The Creation of the World 
14
15Of bodies chang'd to various forms, I sing: 
16Ye Gods, from whom these miracles did spring, 
17Inspire my numbers with coelestial heat; 
18'Till I my long laborious work compleat: 
19And add perpetual tenour to my rhimes, 
20Deduc'd from Nature's birth, to Caesar's times. 
21Before the seas, and this terrestrial ball, 
22And Heav'n's high canopy, that covers all, 
23One was the face of Nature; if a face: 
24Rather a rude and indigested mass: 
25A lifeless lump, unfashion'd, and unfram'd, 
26Of jarring seeds; and justly Chaos nam'd. 
27No sun was lighted up, the world to view; 
28No moon did yet her blunted horns renew: 
29Nor yet was Earth suspended in the sky, 
30Nor pois'd, did on her own foundations lye: 
31Nor seas about the shores their arms had thrown; 
32But earth, and air, and water, were in one. 
33Thus air was void of light, and earth unstable, 
34And water's dark abyss unnavigable. 
35No certain form on any was imprest; 
36All were confus'd, and each disturb'd the rest. 
37For hot and cold were in one body fixt; 
38And soft with hard, and light with heavy mixt. 
39
40But God, or Nature, while they thus contend, 
41To these intestine discords put an end: 
42Then earth from air, and seas from earth were driv'n, 
43And grosser air sunk from aetherial Heav'n. 
44Thus disembroil'd, they take their proper place; 
45The next of kin, contiguously embrace; 
46And foes are sunder'd, by a larger space. 
47The force of fire ascended first on high, 
48And took its dwelling in the vaulted sky: 
49Then air succeeds, in lightness next to fire; 
50Whose atoms from unactive earth retire. 
51Earth sinks beneath, and draws a num'rous throng 
52Of pondrous, thick, unwieldy seeds along. 
53About her coasts, unruly waters roar; 
54And rising, on a ridge, insult the shore. 
55Thus when the God, whatever God was he, 
56Had form'd the whole, and made the parts agree, 
57That no unequal portions might be found, 
58He moulded Earth into a spacious round: 
59Then with a breath, he gave the winds to blow; 
60And bad the congregated waters flow. 
61He adds the running springs, and standing lakes; 
62And bounding banks for winding rivers makes. 
63Some part, in Earth are swallow'd up, the most 
64In ample oceans, disembogu'd, are lost. 
65He shades the woods, the vallies he restrains 
66With rocky mountains, and extends the plains. 
67
68And as five zones th' aetherial regions bind, 
69Five, correspondent, are to Earth assign'd: 
70The sun with rays, directly darting down, 
71Fires all beneath, and fries the middle zone: 
72The two beneath the distant poles, complain 
73Of endless winter, and perpetual rain. 
74Betwixt th' extreams, two happier climates hold 
75The temper that partakes of hot, and cold. 
76The fields of liquid air, inclosing all, 
77Surround the compass of this earthly ball: 
78The lighter parts lye next the fires above; 
79The grosser near the watry surface move: 
80Thick clouds are spread, and storms engender there, 
81And thunder's voice, which wretched mortals fear, 
82And winds that on their wings cold winter bear. 
83Nor were those blustring brethren left at large, 
84On seas, and shores, their fury to discharge: 
85Bound as they are, and circumscrib'd in place, 
86They rend the world, resistless, where they pass; 
87And mighty marks of mischief leave behind; 
88Such is the rage of their tempestuous kind. 
89First Eurus to the rising morn is sent 
90(The regions of the balmy continent); 
91And Eastern realms, where early Persians run, 
92To greet the blest appearance of the sun. 
93Westward, the wanton Zephyr wings his flight; 
94Pleas'd with the remnants of departing light: 
95Fierce Boreas, with his off-spring, issues forth 
96T' invade the frozen waggon of the North. 
97While frowning Auster seeks the Southern sphere; 
98And rots, with endless rain, th' unwholsom year. 
99
100High o'er the clouds, and empty realms of wind, 
101The God a clearer space for Heav'n design'd; 
102Where fields of light, and liquid aether flow; 
103Purg'd from the pondrous dregs of Earth below. 
104
105Scarce had the Pow'r distinguish'd these, when streight 
106The stars, no longer overlaid with weight, 
107Exert their heads, from underneath the mass; 
108And upward shoot, and kindle as they pass, 
109And with diffusive light adorn their heav'nly place. 
110Then, every void of Nature to supply, 
111With forms of Gods he fills the vacant sky: 
112New herds of beasts he sends, the plains to share: 
113New colonies of birds, to people air: 
114And to their oozy beds, the finny fish repair. 
115
116A creature of a more exalted kind 
117Was wanting yet, and then was Man design'd: 
118Conscious of thought, of more capacious breast, 
119For empire form'd, and fit to rule the rest: 
120Whether with particles of heav'nly fire 
121The God of Nature did his soul inspire, 
122Or Earth, but new divided from the sky, 
123And, pliant, still retain'd th' aetherial energy: 
124Which wise Prometheus temper'd into paste, 
125And, mixt with living streams, the godlike image cast. 
126
127Thus, while the mute creation downward bend 
128Their sight, and to their earthly mother tend, 
129Man looks aloft; and with erected eyes 
130Beholds his own hereditary skies. 
131From such rude principles our form began; 
132And earth was metamorphos'd into Man. 
133
134The Golden Age 
135
136The golden age was first; when Man yet new, 
137No rule but uncorrupted reason knew: 
138And, with a native bent, did good pursue. 
139Unforc'd by punishment, un-aw'd by fear, 
140His words were simple, and his soul sincere; 
141Needless was written law, where none opprest: 
142The law of Man was written in his breast: 
143No suppliant crowds before the judge appear'd, 
144No court erected yet, nor cause was heard: 
145But all was safe, for conscience was their guard. 
146The mountain-trees in distant prospect please, 
147E're yet the pine descended to the seas: 
148E're sails were spread, new oceans to explore: 
149And happy mortals, unconcern'd for more, 
150Confin'd their wishes to their native shore. 
151No walls were yet; nor fence, nor mote, nor mound, 
152Nor drum was heard, nor trumpet's angry sound: 
153Nor swords were forg'd; but void of care and crime, 
154The soft creation slept away their time. 
155The teeming Earth, yet guiltless of the plough, 
156And unprovok'd, did fruitful stores allow: 
157Content with food, which Nature freely bred, 
158On wildings and on strawberries they fed; 
159Cornels and bramble-berries gave the rest, 
160And falling acorns furnish'd out a feast. 
161The flow'rs unsown, in fields and meadows reign'd: 
162And Western winds immortal spring maintain'd. 
163In following years, the bearded corn ensu'd 
164From Earth unask'd, nor was that Earth renew'd. 
165From veins of vallies, milk and nectar broke; 
166And honey sweating through the pores of oak. 
167
168The Silver Age 
169
170But when good Saturn, banish'd from above, 
171Was driv'n to Hell, the world was under Jove. 
172Succeeding times a silver age behold, 
173Excelling brass, but more excell'd by gold. 
174Then summer, autumn, winter did appear: 
175And spring was but a season of the year. 
176The sun his annual course obliquely made, 
177Good days contracted, and enlarg'd the bad. 
178Then air with sultry heats began to glow; 
179The wings of winds were clogg'd with ice and snow; 
180And shivering mortals, into houses driv'n, 
181Sought shelter from th' inclemency of Heav'n. 
182Those houses, then, were caves, or homely sheds; 
183With twining oziers fenc'd; and moss their beds. 
184Then ploughs, for seed, the fruitful furrows broke, 
185And oxen labour'd first beneath the yoke. 
186
187The Brazen Age 
188
189To this came next in course, the brazen age: 
190A warlike offspring, prompt to bloody rage, 
191Not impious yet... 
192
193The Iron Age 
194
195Hard steel succeeded then: 
196And stubborn as the metal, were the men. 
197Truth, modesty, and shame, the world forsook: 
198Fraud, avarice, and force, their places took. 
199Then sails were spread, to every wind that blew. 
200Raw were the sailors, and the depths were new: 
201Trees, rudely hollow'd, did the waves sustain; 
202E're ships in triumph plough'd the watry plain. 
203
204Then land-marks limited to each his right: 
205For all before was common as the light. 
206Nor was the ground alone requir'd to bear 
207Her annual income to the crooked share, 
208But greedy mortals, rummaging her store, 
209Digg'd from her entrails first the precious oar; 
210Which next to Hell, the prudent Gods had laid; 
211And that alluring ill, to sight display'd. 
212Thus cursed steel, and more accursed gold, 
213Gave mischief birth, and made that mischief bold: 
214And double death did wretched Man invade, 
215By steel assaulted, and by gold betray'd, 
216Now (brandish'd weapons glittering in their hands) 
217Mankind is broken loose from moral bands; 
218No rights of hospitality remain: 
219The guest, by him who harbour'd him, is slain, 
220The son-in-law pursues the father's life; 
221The wife her husband murders, he the wife. 
222The step-dame poyson for the son prepares; 
223The son inquires into his father's years. 
224Faith flies, and piety in exile mourns; 
225And justice, here opprest, to Heav'n returns. 
226
227The Giants' War 
228
229Nor were the Gods themselves more safe above; 
230Against beleaguer'd Heav'n the giants move. 
231Hills pil'd on hills, on mountains mountains lie, 
232To make their mad approaches to the skie. 
233'Till Jove, no longer patient, took his time 
234T' avenge with thunder their audacious crime: 
235Red light'ning plaid along the firmament, 
236And their demolish'd works to pieces rent. 
237Sing'd with the flames, and with the bolts transfixt, 
238With native Earth, their blood the monsters mixt; 
239The blood, indu'd with animating heat, 
240Did in th' impregnant Earth new sons beget: 
241They, like the seed from which they sprung, accurst, 
242Against the Gods immortal hatred nurst, 
243An impious, arrogant, and cruel brood; 
244Expressing their original from blood. 
245
246Which when the king of Gods beheld from high 
247(Withal revolving in his memory, 
248What he himself had found on Earth of late, 
249Lycaon's guilt, and his inhumane treat), 
250He sigh'd; nor longer with his pity strove; 
251But kindled to a wrath becoming Jove: 
252
253Then call'd a general council of the Gods; 
254Who summon'd, issue from their blest abodes, 
255And fill th' assembly with a shining train. 
256A way there is, in Heav'n's expanded plain, 
257Which, when the skies are clear, is seen below, 
258And mortals, by the name of Milky, know. 
259The ground-work is of stars; through which the road 
260Lyes open to the Thunderer's abode: 
261The Gods of greater nations dwell around, 
262And, on the right and left, the palace bound; 
263The commons where they can: the nobler sort 
264With winding-doors wide open, front the court. 
265This place, as far as Earth with Heav'n may vie, 
266I dare to call the Louvre of the skie. 
267When all were plac'd, in seats distinctly known, 
268And he, their father, had assum'd the throne, 
269Upon his iv'ry sceptre first he leant, 
270Then shook his head, that shook the firmament: 
271Air, Earth, and seas, obey'd th' almighty nod; 
272And, with a gen'ral fear, confess'd the God. 
273At length, with indignation, thus he broke 
274His awful silence, and the Pow'rs bespoke. 
275
276I was not more concern'd in that debate 
277Of empire, when our universal state 
278Was put to hazard, and the giant race 
279Our captive skies were ready to imbrace: 
280For tho' the foe was fierce, the seeds of all 
281Rebellion, sprung from one original; 
282Now, wheresoever ambient waters glide, 
283All are corrupt, and all must be destroy'd. 
284Let me this holy protestation make, 
285By Hell, and Hell's inviolable lake, 
286I try'd whatever in the godhead lay: 
287But gangren'd members must be lopt away, 
288Before the nobler parts are tainted to decay. 
289There dwells below, a race of demi-gods, 
290Of nymphs in waters, and of fawns in woods: 
291Who, tho' not worthy yet, in Heav'n to live, 
292Let 'em, at least, enjoy that Earth we give. 
293Can these be thought securely lodg'd below, 
294When I my self, who no superior know, 
295I, who have Heav'n and Earth at my command, 
296Have been attempted by Lycaon's hand? 
297
298At this a murmur through the synod went, 
299And with one voice they vote his punishment. 
300Thus, when conspiring traytors dar'd to doom 
301The fall of Caesar, and in him of Rome, 
302The nations trembled with a pious fear; 
303All anxious for their earthly Thunderer: 
304Nor was their care, o Caesar, less esteem'd 
305By thee, than that of Heav'n for Jove was deem'd: 
306Who with his hand, and voice, did first restrain 
307Their murmurs, then resum'd his speech again. 
308The Gods to silence were compos'd, and sate 
309With reverence, due to his superior state. 
310
311Cancel your pious cares; already he 
312Has paid his debt to justice, and to me. 
313Yet what his crimes, and what my judgments were, 
314Remains for me thus briefly to declare. 
315The clamours of this vile degenerate age, 
316The cries of orphans, and th' oppressor's rage, 
317Had reach'd the stars: I will descend, said I, 
318In hope to prove this loud complaint a lye. 
319Disguis'd in humane shape, I travell'd round 
320The world, and more than what I heard, I found. 
321O'er Maenalus I took my steepy way, 
322By caverns infamous for beasts of prey: 
323Then cross'd Cyllene, and the piny shade 
324More infamous, by curst Lycaon made: 
325Dark night had cover'd Heaven, and Earth, before 
326I enter'd his unhospitable door. 
327Just at my entrance, I display'd the sign 
328That somewhat was approaching of divine. 
329The prostrate people pray; the tyrant grins; 
330And, adding prophanation to his sins, 
331I'll try, said he, and if a God appear, 
332To prove his deity shall cost him dear. 
333'Twas late; the graceless wretch my death prepares, 
334When I shou'd soundly sleep, opprest with cares: 
335This dire experiment he chose, to prove 
336If I were mortal, or undoubted Jove: 
337But first he had resolv'd to taste my pow'r; 
338Not long before, but in a luckless hour, 
339Some legates, sent from the Molossian state, 
340Were on a peaceful errand come to treat: 
341Of these he murders one, he boils the flesh; 
342And lays the mangled morsels in a dish: 
343Some part he roasts; then serves it up, so drest, 
344And bids me welcome to this humane feast. 
345Mov'd with disdain, the table I o'er-turn'd; 
346And with avenging flames, the palace burn'd. 
347The tyrant in a fright, for shelter gains 
348The neighb'ring fields, and scours along the plains. 
349Howling he fled, and fain he wou'd have spoke; 
350But humane voice his brutal tongue forsook. 
351About his lips the gather'd foam he churns, 
352And, breathing slaughters, still with rage he burns, 
353But on the bleating flock his fury turns. 
354His mantle, now his hide, with rugged hairs 
355Cleaves to his back; a famish'd face he bears; 
356His arms descend, his shoulders sink away 
357To multiply his legs for chase of prey. 
358He grows a wolf, his hoariness remains, 
359And the same rage in other members reigns. 
360His eyes still sparkle in a narr'wer space: 
361His jaws retain the grin, and violence of his face 
362
363This was a single ruin, but not one 
364Deserves so just a punishment alone. 
365Mankind's a monster, and th' ungodly times 
366Confed'rate into guilt, are sworn to crimes. 
367All are alike involv'd in ill, and all 
368Must by the same relentless fury fall. 
369Thus ended he; the greater Gods assent; 
370By clamours urging his severe intent; 
371The less fill up the cry for punishment. 
372Yet still with pity they remember Man; 
373And mourn as much as heav'nly spirits can. 
374They ask, when those were lost of humane birth, 
375What he wou'd do with all this waste of Earth: 
376If his dispeopl'd world he would resign 
377To beasts, a mute, and more ignoble line; 
378Neglected altars must no longer smoke, 
379If none were left to worship, and invoke. 
380To whom the Father of the Gods reply'd, 
381Lay that unnecessary fear aside: 
382Mine be the care, new people to provide. 
383I will from wondrous principles ordain 
384A race unlike the first, and try my skill again. 
385
386Already had he toss'd the flaming brand; 
387And roll'd the thunder in his spacious hand; 
388Preparing to discharge on seas and land: 
389But stopt, for fear, thus violently driv'n, 
390The sparks should catch his axle-tree of Heav'n. 
391Remembring in the fates, a time when fire 
392Shou'd to the battlements of Heaven aspire, 
393And all his blazing worlds above shou'd burn; 
394And all th' inferior globe to cinders turn. 
395His dire artill'ry thus dismist, he bent 
396His thoughts to some securer punishment: 
397Concludes to pour a watry deluge down; 
398And what he durst not burn, resolves to drown. 
399
400The northern breath, that freezes floods, he binds; 
401With all the race of cloud-dispelling winds: 
402The south he loos'd, who night and horror brings; 
403And foggs are shaken from his flaggy wings. 
404From his divided beard two streams he pours, 
405His head, and rheumy eyes distill in show'rs, 
406With rain his robe, and heavy mantle flow: 
407And lazy mists are lowring on his brow; 
408Still as he swept along, with his clench'd fist 
409He squeez'd the clouds, th' imprison'd clouds resist: 
410The skies, from pole to pole, with peals resound; 
411And show'rs inlarg'd, come pouring on the ground. 
412Then, clad in colours of a various dye, 
413Junonian Iris breeds a new supply 
414To feed the clouds: impetuous rain descends; 
415The bearded corn beneath the burden bends: 
416Defrauded clowns deplore their perish'd grain; 
417And the long labours of the year are vain. 
418
419Nor from his patrimonial Heaven alone 
420Is Jove content to pour his vengeance down; 
421Aid from his brother of the seas he craves, 
422To help him with auxiliary waves. 
423The watry tyrant calls his brooks and floods, 
424Who rowl from mossie caves (their moist abodes); 
425And with perpetual urns his palace fill: 
426To whom in brief, he thus imparts his will. 
427
428Small exhortation needs; your pow'rs employ: 
429And this bad world, so Jove requires, destroy. 
430Let loose the reins to all your watry store: 
431Bear down the damms, and open ev'ry door. 
432
433The floods, by Nature enemies to land, 
434And proudly swelling with their new command, 
435Remove the living stones, that stopt their way, 
436And gushing from their source, augment the sea. 
437Then, with his mace, their monarch struck the ground; 
438With inward trembling Earth receiv'd the wound; 
439And rising streams a ready passage found. 
440Th' expanded waters gather on the plain: 
441They float the fields, and over-top the grain; 
442Then rushing onwards, with a sweepy sway, 
443Bear flocks, and folds, and lab'ring hinds away. 
444Nor safe their dwellings were, for, sap'd by floods, 
445Their houses fell upon their houshold Gods. 
446The solid piles, too strongly built to fall, 
447High o'er their heads, behold a watry wall: 
448Now seas and Earth were in confusion lost; 
449A world of waters, and without a coast. 
450
451One climbs a cliff; one in his boat is born: 
452And ploughs above, where late he sow'd his corn. 
453Others o'er chimney-tops and turrets row, 
454And drop their anchors on the meads below: 
455Or downward driv'n, they bruise the tender vine, 
456Or tost aloft, are knock'd against a pine. 
457And where of late the kids had cropt the grass, 
458The monsters of the deep now take their place. 
459Insulting Nereids on the cities ride, 
460And wond'ring dolphins o'er the palace glide. 
461On leaves, and masts of mighty oaks they brouze; 
462And their broad fins entangle in the boughs. 
463The frighted wolf now swims amongst the sheep; 
464The yellow lion wanders in the deep: 
465His rapid force no longer helps the boar: 
466The stag swims faster, than he ran before. 
467The fowls, long beating on their wings in vain, 
468Despair of land, and drop into the main. 
469Now hills, and vales no more distinction know; 
470And levell'd Nature lies oppress'd below. 
471The most of mortals perish in the flood: 
472The small remainder dies for want of food. 
473
474A mountain of stupendous height there stands 
475Betwixt th' Athenian and Boeotian lands, 
476The bound of fruitful fields, while fields they were, 
477But then a field of waters did appear: 
478Parnassus is its name; whose forky rise 
479Mounts thro' the clouds, and mates the lofty skies. 
480High on the summit of this dubious cliff, 
481Deucalion wafting, moor'd his little skiff. 
482He with his wife were only left behind 
483Of perish'd Man; they two were human kind. 
484The mountain nymphs, and Themis they adore, 
485And from her oracles relief implore. 
486The most upright of mortal men was he; 
487The most sincere, and holy woman, she. 
488
489When Jupiter, surveying Earth from high, 
490Beheld it in a lake of water lie, 
491That where so many millions lately liv'd, 
492But two, the best of either sex, surviv'd; 
493He loos'd the northern wind; fierce Boreas flies 
494To puff away the clouds, and purge the skies: 
495Serenely, while he blows, the vapours driv'n, 
496Discover Heav'n to Earth, and Earth to Heav'n. 
497The billows fall, while Neptune lays his mace 
498On the rough sea, and smooths its furrow'd face. 
499Already Triton, at his call, appears 
500Above the waves; a Tyrian robe he wears; 
501And in his hand a crooked trumpet bears. 
502The soveraign bids him peaceful sounds inspire, 
503And give the waves the signal to retire. 
504His writhen shell he takes; whose narrow vent 
505Grows by degrees into a large extent, 
506Then gives it breath; the blast with doubling sound, 
507Runs the wide circuit of the world around: 
508The sun first heard it, in his early east, 
509And met the rattling ecchos in the west. 
510The waters, listning to the trumpet's roar, 
511Obey the summons, and forsake the shore. 
512
513A thin circumference of land appears; 
514And Earth, but not at once, her visage rears, 
515And peeps upon the seas from upper grounds; 
516The streams, but just contain'd within their bounds, 
517By slow degrees into their channels crawl; 
518And Earth increases, as the waters fall. 
519In longer time the tops of trees appear, 
520Which mud on their dishonour'd branches bear. 
521
522At length the world was all restor'd to view; 
523But desolate, and of a sickly hue: 
524Nature beheld her self, and stood aghast, 
525A dismal desart, and a silent waste. 
526
527Which when Deucalion, with a piteous look 
528Beheld, he wept, and thus to Pyrrha spoke: 
529Oh wife, oh sister, oh of all thy kind 
530The best, and only creature left behind, 
531By kindred, love, and now by dangers joyn'd; 
532Of multitudes, who breath'd the common air, 
533We two remain; a species in a pair: 
534The rest the seas have swallow'd; nor have we 
535Ev'n of this wretched life a certainty. 
536The clouds are still above; and, while I speak, 
537A second deluge o'er our heads may break. 
538Shou'd I be snatcht from hence, and thou remain, 
539Without relief, or partner of thy pain, 
540How cou'dst thou such a wretched life sustain? 
541Shou'd I be left, and thou be lost, the sea 
542That bury'd her I lov'd, shou'd bury me. 
543Oh cou'd our father his old arts inspire, 
544And make me heir of his informing fire, 
545That so I might abolisht Man retrieve, 
546And perisht people in new souls might live. 
547But Heav'n is pleas'd, nor ought we to complain, 
548That we, th' examples of mankind, remain. 
549He said; the careful couple joyn their tears: 
550And then invoke the Gods, with pious prayers. 
551Thus, in devotion having eas'd their grief, 
552From sacred oracles they seek relief; 
553And to Cephysus' brook their way pursue: 
554The stream was troubled, but the ford they knew; 
555With living waters, in the fountain bred, 
556They sprinkle first their garments, and their head, 
557Then took the way, which to the temple led. 
558The roofs were all defil'd with moss, and mire, 
559The desart altars void of solemn fire. 
560Before the gradual, prostrate they ador'd; 
561The pavement kiss'd; and thus the saint implor'd. 
562
563O righteous Themis, if the Pow'rs above 
564By pray'rs are bent to pity, and to love; 
565If humane miseries can move their mind; 
566If yet they can forgive, and yet be kind; 
567Tell how we may restore, by second birth, 
568Mankind, and people desolated Earth. 
569Then thus the gracious Goddess, nodding, said; 
570Depart, and with your vestments veil your head: 
571And stooping lowly down, with losen'd zones, 
572Throw each behind your backs, your mighty mother's bones. 
573Amaz'd the pair, and mute with wonder stand, 
574'Till Pyrrha first refus'd the dire command. 
575Forbid it Heav'n, said she, that I shou'd tear 
576Those holy reliques from the sepulcher. 
577They ponder'd the mysterious words again, 
578For some new sense; and long they sought in vain: 
579At length Deucalion clear'd his cloudy brow, 
580And said, the dark Aenigma will allow 
581A meaning, which, if well I understand, 
582From sacrilege will free the God's command: 
583This Earth our mighty mother is, the stones 
584In her capacious body, are her bones: 
585These we must cast behind. With hope, and fear, 
586The woman did the new solution hear: 
587The man diffides in his own augury, 
588And doubts the Gods; yet both resolve to try. 
589Descending from the mount, they first unbind 
590Their vests, and veil'd, they cast the stones behind: 
591The stones (a miracle to mortal view, 
592But long tradition makes it pass for true) 
593Did first the rigour of their kind expel, 
594And suppled into softness, as they fell; 
595Then swell'd, and swelling, by degrees grew warm; 
596And took the rudiments of human form. 
597Imperfect shapes: in marble such are seen, 
598When the rude chizzel does the man begin; 
599While yet the roughness of the stone remains, 
600Without the rising muscles, and the veins. 
601The sappy parts, and next resembling juice, 
602Were turn'd to moisture, for the body's use: 
603Supplying humours, blood, and nourishment; 
604The rest, too solid to receive a bent, 
605Converts to bones; and what was once a vein, 
606Its former name and Nature did retain. 
607By help of pow'r divine, in little space, 
608What the man threw, assum'd a manly face; 
609And what the wife, renew'd the female race. 
610Hence we derive our nature; born to bear 
611Laborious life; and harden'd into care. 
612
613The rest of animals, from teeming Earth 
614Produc'd, in various forms receiv'd their birth. 
615The native moisture, in its close retreat, 
616Digested by the sun's aetherial heat, 
617As in a kindly womb, began to breed: 
618Then swell'd, and quicken'd by the vital seed. 
619And some in less, and some in longer space, 
620Were ripen'd into form, and took a sev'ral face. 
621Thus when the Nile from Pharian fields is fled, 
622And seeks, with ebbing tides, his ancient bed, 
623The fat manure with heav'nly fire is warm'd; 
624And crusted creatures, as in wombs, are form'd; 
625These, when they turn the glebe, the peasants find; 
626Some rude, and yet unfinish'd in their kind: 
627Short of their limbs, a lame imperfect birth: 
628One half alive; and one of lifeless earth. 
629
630For heat, and moisture, when in bodies join'd, 
631The temper that results from either kind 
632Conception makes; and fighting 'till they mix, 
633Their mingled atoms in each other fix. 
634Thus Nature's hand the genial bed prepares 
635With friendly discord, and with fruitful wars. 
636
637From hence the surface of the ground, with mud 
638And slime besmear'd (the faeces of the flood), 
639Receiv'd the rays of Heav'n: and sucking in 
640The seeds of heat, new creatures did begin: 
641Some were of sev'ral sorts produc'd before, 
642But of new monsters, Earth created more. 
643Unwillingly, but yet she brought to light 
644Thee, Python too, the wondring world to fright, 
645And the new nations, with so dire a sight: 
646So monstrous was his bulk, so large a space 
647Did his vast body, and long train embrace. 
648Whom Phoebus basking on a bank espy'd; 
649E're now the God his arrows had not try'd 
650But on the trembling deer, or mountain goat; 
651At this new quarry he prepares to shoot. 
652Though ev'ry shaft took place, he spent the store 
653Of his full quiver; and 'twas long before 
654Th' expiring serpent wallow'd in his gore. 
655Then, to preserve the fame of such a deed, 
656For Python slain, he Pythian games decred. 
657Where noble youths for mastership shou'd strive, 
658To quoit, to run, and steeds, and chariots drive. 
659The prize was fame: in witness of renown 
660An oaken garland did the victor crown. 
661The laurel was not yet for triumphs born; 
662But every green alike by Phoebus worn, 
663Did, with promiscuous grace, his flowing locks adorn. 
664
665The Transformation of Daphne into a Lawrel 
666
667The first and fairest of his loves, was she 
668Whom not blind fortune, but the dire decree 
669Of angry Cupid forc'd him to desire: 
670Daphne her name, and Peneus was her sire. 
671Swell'd with the pride, that new success attends, 
672He sees the stripling, while his bow he bends, 
673And thus insults him: Thou lascivious boy, 
674Are arms like these for children to employ? 
675Know, such atchievements are my proper claim; 
676Due to my vigour, and unerring aim: 
677Resistless are my shafts, and Python late 
678In such a feather'd death, has found his fate. 
679Take up the torch (and lay my weapons by), 
680With that the feeble souls of lovers fry. 
681To whom the son of Venus thus reply'd, 
682Phoebus, thy shafts are sure on all beside, 
683But mine of Phoebus, mine the fame shall be 
684Of all thy conquests, when I conquer thee. 
685
686He said, and soaring, swiftly wing'd his flight: 
687Nor stopt but on Parnassus' airy height. 
688Two diff'rent shafts he from his quiver draws; 
689One to repel desire, and one to cause. 
690One shaft is pointed with refulgent gold: 
691To bribe the love, and make the lover bold: 
692One blunt, and tipt with lead, whose base allay 
693Provokes disdain, and drives desire away. 
694The blunted bolt against the nymph he drest: 
695But with the sharp transfixt Apollo's breast. 
696
697Th' enamour'd deity pursues the chace; 
698The scornful damsel shuns his loath'd embrace: 
699In hunting beasts of prey, her youth employs; 
700And Phoebe rivals in her rural joys. 
701With naked neck she goes, and shoulders bare; 
702And with a fillet binds her flowing hair. 
703By many suitors sought, she mocks their pains, 
704And still her vow'd virginity maintains. 
705Impatient of a yoke, the name of bride 
706She shuns, and hates the joys, she never try'd. 
707On wilds, and woods, she fixes her desire: 
708Nor knows what youth, and kindly love, inspire. 
709Her father chides her oft: Thou ow'st, says he, 
710A husband to thy self, a son to me. 
711She, like a crime, abhors the nuptial bed: 
712She glows with blushes, and she hangs her head. 
713Then casting round his neck her tender arms, 
714Sooths him with blandishments, and filial charms: 
715Give me, my Lord, she said, to live, and die, 
716A spotless maid, without the marriage tye. 
717'Tis but a small request; I beg no more 
718Than what Diana's father gave before. 
719The good old sire was soften'd to consent; 
720But said her wish wou'd prove her punishment: 
721For so much youth, and so much beauty join'd, 
722Oppos'd the state, which her desires design'd. 
723
724The God of light, aspiring to her bed, 
725Hopes what he seeks, with flattering fancies fed; 
726And is, by his own oracles, mis-led. 
727And as in empty fields the stubble burns, 
728Or nightly travellers, when day returns, 
729Their useless torches on dry hedges throw, 
730That catch the flames, and kindle all the row; 
731So burns the God, consuming in desire, 
732And feeding in his breast a fruitless fire: 
733Her well-turn'd neck he view'd (her neck was bare) 
734And on her shoulders her dishevel'd hair; 
735Oh were it comb'd, said he, with what a grace 
736Wou'd every waving curl become her face! 
737He view'd her eyes, like heav'nly lamps that shone, 
738He view'd her lips, too sweet to view alone, 
739Her taper fingers, and her panting breast; 
740He praises all he sees, and for the rest 
741Believes the beauties yet unseen are best: 
742Swift as the wind, the damsel fled away, 
743Nor did for these alluring speeches stay: 
744Stay Nymph, he cry'd, I follow, not a foe. 
745Thus from the lyon trips the trembling doe; 
746Thus from the wolf the frighten'd lamb removes, 
747And, from pursuing faulcons, fearful doves; 
748Thou shunn'st a God, and shunn'st a God, that loves. 
749Ah, lest some thorn shou'd pierce thy tender foot, 
750Or thou shou'dst fall in flying my pursuit! 
751To sharp uneven ways thy steps decline; 
752Abate thy speed, and I will bate of mine. 
753Yet think from whom thou dost so rashly fly; 
754Nor basely born, nor shepherd's swain am I. 
755Perhaps thou know'st not my superior state; 
756And from that ignorance proceeds thy hate. 
757Me Claros, Delphi, Tenedos obey; 
758These hands the Patareian scepter sway. 
759The King of Gods begot me: what shall be, 
760Or is, or ever was, in Fate, I see. 
761Mine is th' invention of the charming lyre; 
762Sweet notes, and heav'nly numbers, I inspire. 
763Sure is my bow, unerring is my dart; 
764But ah! more deadly his, who pierc'd my heart. 
765Med'cine is mine; what herbs and simples grow 
766In fields, and forrests, all their pow'rs I know; 
767And am the great physician call'd, below. 
768Alas that fields and forrests can afford. 
769No remedies to heal their love-sick lord! 
770To cure the pains of love, no plant avails: 
771And his own physick, the physician falls. 
772
773She heard not half; so furiously she flies; 
774And on her ear th' imperfect accent dies, 
775Fear gave her wings; and as she fled, the wind 
776Increasing, spread her flowing hair behind; 
777And left her legs and thighs expos'd to view: 
778Which made the God more eager to pursue. 
779The God was young, and was too hotly bent 
780To lose his time in empty compliment: 
781But led by love, and fir'd with such a sight, 
782Impetuously pursu'd his near delight. 
783
784As when th' impatient greyhound slipt from far, 
785Bounds o'er the glebe to course the fearful hare, 
786She in her speed does all her safety lay; 
787And he with double speed pursues the prey; 
788O'er-runs her at the sitting turn, and licks 
789His chaps in vain, and blows upon the flix: 
790She scapes, and for the neighb'ring covert strives, 
791And gaining shelter, doubts if yet she lives: 
792If little things with great we may compare, 
793Such was the God, and such the flying fair, 
794She urg'd by fear, her feet did swiftly move, 
795But he more swiftly, who was urg'd by love. 
796He gathers ground upon her in the chace: 
797Now breathes upon her hair, with nearer pace; 
798And just is fast'ning on the wish'd embrace. 
799The nymph grew pale, and in a mortal fright, 
800Spent with the labour of so long a flight; 
801And now despairing, cast a mournful look 
802Upon the streams of her paternal brook; 
803Oh help, she cry'd, in this extreamest need! 
804If water Gods are deities indeed: 
805Gape Earth, and this unhappy wretch intomb; 
806Or change my form, whence all my sorrows come. 
807Scarce had she finish'd, when her feet she found 
808Benumb'd with cold, and fasten'd to the ground: 
809A filmy rind about her body grows; 
810Her hair to leaves, her arms extend to boughs: 
811The nymph is all into a lawrel gone; 
812The smoothness of her skin remains alone. 
813Yet Phoebus loves her still, and casting round 
814Her bole, his arms, some little warmth he found. 
815The tree still panted in th' unfinish'd part: 
816Not wholly vegetive, and heav'd her heart. 
817He fixt his lips upon the trembling rind; 
818It swerv'd aside, and his embrace declin'd. 
819To whom the God, Because thou canst not be 
820My mistress, I espouse thee for my tree: 
821Be thou the prize of honour, and renown; 
822The deathless poet, and the poem, crown. 
823Thou shalt the Roman festivals adorn, 
824And, after poets, be by victors worn. 
825Thou shalt returning Caesar's triumph grace; 
826When pomps shall in a long procession pass. 
827Wreath'd on the posts before his palace wait; 
828And be the sacred guardian of the gate. 
829Secure from thunder, and unharm'd by Jove, 
830Unfading as th' immortal Pow'rs above: 
831And as the locks of Phoebus are unshorn, 
832So shall perpetual green thy boughs adorn. 
833The grateful tree was pleas'd with what he said; 
834And shook the shady honours of her head. 
835
836The Transformation of Io into a Heyfer 
837
838An ancient forest in Thessalia grows; 
839Which Tempe's pleasing valley does inclose: 
840Through this the rapid Peneus take his course; 
841From Pindus rolling with impetuous force; 
842Mists from the river's mighty fall arise: 
843And deadly damps inclose the cloudy skies: 
844Perpetual fogs are hanging o'er the wood; 
845And sounds of waters deaf the neighbourhood. 
846Deep, in a rocky cave, he makes abode 
847(A mansion proper for a mourning God). 
848Here he gives audience; issuing out decrees 
849To rivers, his dependant deities. 
850On this occasion hither they resort; 
851To pay their homage, and to make their court. 
852All doubtful, whether to congratulate 
853His daughter's honour, or lament her fate. 
854Sperchaeus, crown'd with poplar, first appears; 
855Then old Apidanus came crown'd with years: 
856Enipeus turbulent, Amphrysos tame; 
857And Aeas last with lagging waters came. 
858Then, of his kindred brooks, a num'rous throng 
859Condole his loss; and bring their urns along. 
860Not one was wanting of the wat'ry train, 
861That fill'd his flood, or mingled with the main: 
862But Inachus, who in his cave, alone, 
863Wept not another's losses, but his own, 
864For his dear Io, whether stray'd, or dead, 
865To him uncertain, doubtful tears he shed. 
866He sought her through the world; but sought in vain; 
867And no where finding, rather fear'd her slain. 
868
869Her, just returning from her father's brook, 
870Jove had beheld, with a desiring look: 
871And, Oh fair daughter of the flood, he said, 
872Worthy alone of Jove's imperial bed, 
873Happy whoever shall those charms possess; 
874The king of Gods (nor is thy lover less) 
875Invites thee to yon cooler shades; to shun 
876The scorching rays of the meridian sun. 
877Nor shalt thou tempt the dangers of the grove 
878Alone, without a guide; thy guide is Jove. 
879No puny Pow'r, but he whose high command 
880Is unconfin'd, who rules the seas and land; 
881And tempers thunder in his awful hand, 
882Oh fly not: for she fled from his embrace 
883O'er Lerna's pastures: he pursu'd the chace 
884Along the shades of the Lyrcaean plain; 
885At length the God, who never asks in vain, 
886Involv'd with vapours, imitating night, 
887Both Air, and Earth; and then suppress'd her flight, 
888And mingling force with love, enjoy'd the full delight. 
889Mean-time the jealous Juno, from on high, 
890Survey'd the fruitful fields of Arcady; 
891And wonder'd that the mist shou'd over-run 
892The face of day-light, and obscure the sun. 
893No nat'ral cause she found, from brooks, or bogs, 
894Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs; 
895Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter, 
896Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there: 
897Suspecting now the worst, Or I, she said, 
898Am much mistaken, or am much betray'd. 
899With fury she precipitates her flight: 
900Dispels the shadows of dissembled night; 
901And to the day restores his native light. 
902Th' Almighty Leacher, careful to prevent 
903The consequence, foreseeing her descent, 
904Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now 
905In Io's place appears a lovely cow. 
906So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make, 
907Ev'n Juno did unwilling pleasure take 
908To see so fair a rival of her love; 
909And what she was, and whence, enquir'd of Jove: 
910Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree? 
911The God, half caught, was forc'd upon a lye: 
912And said she sprung from Earth. She took the word, 
913And begg'd the beauteous heyfer of her lord. 
914What should he do? 'twas equal shame to Jove 
915Or to relinquish, or betray his love: 
916Yet to refuse so slight a gift, wou'd be 
917But more t' increase his consort's jealousie: 
918Thus fear, and love, by turns, his heart assail'd; 
919And stronger love had sure, at length, prevail'd: 
920But some faint hope remain'd, his jealous queen 
921Had not the mistress through the heyfer seen. 
922The cautious Goddess, of her gift possest, 
923Yet harbour'd anxious thoughts within her breast; 
924As she who knew the falshood of her Jove; 
925And justly fear'd some new relapse of love. 
926Which to prevent, and to secure her care, 
927To trusty Argus she commits the fair. 
928
929The head of Argus (as with stars the skies) 
930Was compass'd round, and wore an hundred eyes. 
931But two by turns their lids in slumber steep; 
932The rest on duty still their station keep; 
933Nor cou'd the total constellation sleep. 
934Thus, ever present, to his eyes, and mind, 
935His charge was still before him, tho' behind. 
936In fields he suffer'd her to feed by Day, 
937But when the setting sun to night gave way, 
938The captive cow he summon'd with a call; 
939And drove her back, and ty'd her to the stall. 
940On leaves of trees, and bitter herbs she fed, 
941Heav'n was her canopy, bare earth her bed: 
942So hardly lodg'd, and to digest her food, 
943She drank from troubled streams, defil'd with mud. 
944Her woeful story fain she wou'd have told, 
945With hands upheld, but had no hands to hold. 
946Her head to her ungentle keeper bow'd, 
947She strove to speak, she spoke not, but she low'd: 
948Affrighted with the noise, she look'd around, 
949And seem'd t' inquire the author of the sound. 
950
951Once on the banks where often she had play'd 
952(Her father's banks), she came, and there survey'd 
953Her alter'd visage, and her branching head; 
954And starting, from her self she wou'd have fled. 
955Her fellow nymphs, familiar to her eyes, 
956Beheld, but knew her not in this disguise. 
957Ev'n Inachus himself was ignorant; 
958And in his daughter, did his daughter want. 
959She follow'd where her fellows went, as she 
960Were still a partner of the company: 
961They stroak her neck; the gentle heyfer stands, 
962And her neck offers to their stroaking hands. 
963Her father gave her grass; the grass she took; 
964And lick'd his palms, and cast a piteous look; 
965And in the language of her eyes, she spoke. 
966She wou'd have told her name, and ask'd relief, 
967But wanting words, in tears she tells her grief. 
968Which, with her foot she makes him understand; 
969And prints the name of Io in the sand. 
970
971Ah wretched me! her mournful father cry'd; 
972She, with a sigh, to wretched me reply'd: 
973About her milk-white neck, his arms he threw; 
974And wept, and then these tender words ensue. 
975And art thou she, whom I have sought around 
976The world, and have at length so sadly found? 
977So found, is worse than lost: with mutual words 
978Thou answer'st not, no voice thy tongue affords: 
979But sighs are deeply drawn from out thy breast; 
980And speech deny'd, by lowing is express'd. 
981Unknowing, I prepar'd thy bridal bed; 
982With empty hopes of happy issue fed. 
983But now the husband of a herd must be 
984Thy mate, and bell'wing sons thy progeny. 
985Oh, were I mortal, death might bring relief: 
986But now my God-head but extends my grief: 
987Prolongs my woes, of which no end I see, 
988And makes me curse my immortality! 
989More had he said, but fearful of her stay, 
990The starry guardian drove his charge away, 
991To some fresh pasture; on a hilly height 
992He sate himself, and kept her still in sight. 
993
994The Eyes of Argus transform'd into a Peacock's Train 
995
996Now Jove no longer cou'd her suff'rings bear; 
997But call'd in haste his airy messenger, 
998The son of Maia, with severe decree 
999To kill the keeper, and to set her free. 
1000With all his harness soon the God was sped, 
1001His flying hat was fastned on his head, 
1002Wings on his heels were hung, and in his hand 
1003He holds the vertue of the snaky wand. 
1004The liquid air his moving pinions wound, 
1005And, in the moment, shoot him on the ground. 
1006Before he came in sight, the crafty God 
1007His wings dismiss'd, but still retain'd his rod: 
1008That sleep-procuring wand wise Hermes took, 
1009But made it seem to sight a sherpherd's hook. 
1010With this, he did a herd of goats controul; 
1011Which by the way he met, and slily stole. 
1012Clad like a country swain, he pip'd, and sung; 
1013And playing, drove his jolly troop along. 
1014
1015With pleasure, Argus the musician heeds; 
1016But wonders much at those new vocal reeds. 
1017And whosoe'er thou art, my friend, said he, 
1018Up hither drive thy goats, and play by me: 
1019This hill has browz for them, and shade for thee. 
1020The God, who was with ease induc'd to climb, 
1021Began discourse to pass away the time; 
1022And still betwixt, his tuneful pipe he plies; 
1023And watch'd his hour, to close the keeper's eyes. 
1024With much ado, he partly kept awake; 
1025Not suff'ring all his eyes repose to take: 
1026And ask'd the stranger, who did reeds invent, 
1027And whence began so rare an instrument? 
1028
1029The Transformation of Syrinx into Reeds 
1030
1031Then Hermes thus: A nymph of late there was 
1032Whose heav'nly form her fellows did surpass. 
1033The pride and joy of fair Arcadia's plains, 
1034Belov'd by deities, ador'd by swains: 
1035Syrinx her name, by Sylvans oft pursu'd, 
1036As oft she did the lustful Gods delude: 
1037The rural, and the woodland Pow'rs disdain'd; 
1038With Cynthia hunted, and her rites maintain'd: 
1039Like Phoebe clad, even Phoebe's self she seems, 
1040So tall, so streight, such well-proportion'd limbs: 
1041The nicest eye did no distinction know, 
1042But that the goddess bore a golden bow: 
1043Distinguish'd thus, the sight she cheated too. 
1044Descending from Lycaeus, Pan admires 
1045The matchless nymph, and burns with new desires. 
1046A crown of pine upon his head he wore; 
1047And thus began her pity to implore. 
1048But e'er he thus began, she took her flight 
1049So swift, she was already out of sight. 
1050Nor stay'd to hear the courtship of the God; 
1051But bent her course to Ladon's gentle flood: 
1052There by the river stopt, and tir'd before; 
1053Relief from water nymphs her pray'rs implore. 
1054
1055Now while the lustful God, with speedy pace, 
1056Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace, 
1057He fill'd his arms with reeds, new rising on the place. 
1058And while he sighs, his ill success to find, 
1059The tender canes were shaken by the wind; 
1060And breath'd a mournful air, unheard before; 
1061That much surprizing Pan, yet pleas'd him more. 
1062Admiring this new musick, Thou, he said, 
1063Who canst not be the partner of my bed, 
1064At least shall be the confort of my mind: 
1065And often, often to my lips be joyn'd. 
1066He form'd the reeds, proportion'd as they are, 
1067Unequal in their length, and wax'd with care, 
1068They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair. 
1069
1070While Hermes pip'd, and sung, and told his tale, 
1071The keeper's winking eyes began to fail, 
1072And drowsie slumber on the lids to creep; 
1073'Till all the watchman was at length asleep. 
1074Then soon the God his voice, and song supprest; 
1075And with his pow'rful rod confirm'd his rest: 
1076Without delay his crooked faulchion drew, 
1077And at one fatal stroke the keeper slew. 
1078Down from the rock fell the dissever'd head, 
1079Opening its eyes in death; and falling, bled; 
1080And mark'd the passage with a crimson trail: 
1081Thus Argus lies in pieces, cold, and pale; 
1082And all his hundred eyes, with all their light, 
1083Are clos'd at once, in one perpetual night. 
1084These Juno takes, that they no more may fail, 
1085And spreads them in her peacock's gaudy tail. 
1086
1087Impatient to revenge her injur'd bed, 
1088She wreaks her anger on her rival's head; 
1089With Furies frights her from her native home; 
1090And drives her gadding, round the world to roam: 
1091Nor ceas'd her madness, and her flight, before 
1092She touch'd the limits of the Pharian shore. 
1093At length, arriving on the banks of Nile, 
1094Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil, 
1095She laid her down; and leaning on her knees, 
1096Invok'd the cause of all her miseries: 
1097And cast her languishing regards above, 
1098For help from Heav'n, and her ungrateful Jove. 
1099She sigh'd, she wept, she low'd; 'twas all she cou'd; 
1100And with unkindness seem'd to tax the God. 
1101Last, with an humble pray'r, she beg'd repose, 
1102Or death at least, to finish all her woes. 
1103Jove heard her vows, and with a flatt'ring look, 
1104In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke, 
1105He cast his arms about her neck, and said, 
1106Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed 
1107This nymph shall violate; by Styx I swear, 
1108And every oath that binds the Thunderer. 
1109The Goddess was appeas'd; and at the word 
1110Was Io to her former shape restor'd. 
1111The rugged hair began to fall away; 
1112The sweetness of her eyes did only stay, 
1113Tho' not so large; her crooked horns decrease; 
1114The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease: 
1115Her hoofs to hands return, in little space: 
1116The five long taper fingers take their place, 
1117And nothing of the heyfer now is seen, 
1118Beside the native whiteness of the skin. 
1119Erected on her feet she walks again: 
1120And two the duty of the four sustain. 
1121She tries her tongue; her silence softly breaks, 
1122And fears her former lowings when she speaks: 
1123A Goddess now, through all th' Aegyptian State: 
1124And serv'd by priests, who in white linnen wait. 
1125
1126Her son was Epaphus, at length believ'd 
1127The son of Jove, and as a God receiv'd; 
1128With sacrifice ador'd, and publick pray'rs, 
1129He common temples with his mother shares. 
1130Equal in years, and rival in renown 
1131With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton 
1132Like honour claims; and boasts his sire the sun. 
1133His haughty looks, and his assuming air, 
1134The son of Isis could no longer bear: 
1135Thou tak'st thy mother's word too far, said he, 
1136And hast usurp'd thy boasted pedigree. 
1137Go, base pretender to a borrow'd name. 
1138Thus tax'd, he blush'd with anger, and with shame; 
1139But shame repress'd his rage: the daunted youth 
1140Soon seeks his mother, and enquires the truth: 
1141Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown 
1142By Epaphus on you, and me your son. 
1143He spoke in publick, told it to my face; 
1144Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace: 
1145Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong, 
1146Restrain'd by shame, was forc'd to hold my tongue. 
1147To hear an open slander, is a curse: 
1148But not to find an answer, is a worse. 
1149If I am Heav'n-begot, assert your son 
1150By some sure sign; and make my father known, 
1151To right my honour, and redeem your own. 
1152He said, and saying cast his arms about 
1153Her neck, and beg'd her to resolve the doubt. 
1154
1155'Tis hard to judge if Clymene were mov'd 
1156More by his pray'r, whom she so dearly lov'd, 
1157Or more with fury fir'd, to find her name 
1158Traduc'd, and made the sport of common fame. 
1159She stretch'd her arms to Heav'n, and fix'd her eyes 
1160On that fair planet that adorns the skies; 
1161Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires 
1162Consume my breast, and kindle my desires; 
1163By him, who sees us both, and clears our sight, 
1164By him, the publick minister of light, 
1165I swear that Sun begot thee; if I lye, 
1166Let him his chearful influence deny: 
1167Let him no more this perjur'd creature see; 
1168And shine on all the world but only me. 
1169If still you doubt your mother's innocence, 
1170His eastern mansion is not far from hence; 
1171With little pains you to his Leve go, 
1172And from himself your parentage may know. 
1173With joy th' ambitious youth his mother heard, 
1174And eager, for the journey soon prepar'd. 
1175He longs the world beneath him to survey; 
1176To guide the chariot; and to give the day: 
1177From Meroe's burning sands he bends his course, 
1178Nor less in India feels his father's force: 
1179His travel urging, till he came in sight; 
1180And saw the palace by the purple light.