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Ovid - Metamorphoses: Book The First
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                   And while he sighs, his ill success to find,
                   The tender canes were shaken by the wind;
                   And breath`d a mournful air, unheard before;
                   That much surprizing Pan, yet pleas`d him more.
                   Admiring this new musick, Thou, he said,
                   Who canst not be the partner of my bed,
                   At least shall be the confort of my mind:
                   And often, often to my lips be joyn`d.
                   He form`d the reeds, proportion`d as they are,
                   Unequal in their length, and wax`d with care,
                   They still retain the name of his ungrateful fair.
                     While Hermes pip`d, and sung, and told his tale,
                   The keeper`s winking eyes began to fail,
                   And drowsie slumber on the lids to creep;
                   `Till all the watchman was at length asleep.
                   Then soon the God his voice, and song supprest;
                   And with his pow`rful rod confirm`d his rest:
                   Without delay his crooked faulchion drew,
                   And at one fatal stroke the keeper slew.
                   Down from the rock fell the dissever`d head,
                   Opening its eyes in death; and falling, bled;
                   And mark`d the passage with a crimson trail:
                   Thus Argus lies in pieces, cold, and pale;
                   And all his hundred eyes, with all their light,
                   Are clos`d at once, in one perpetual night.
                   These Juno takes, that they no more may fail,
                   And spreads them in her peacock`s gaudy tail.
                     Impatient to revenge her injur`d bed,
                   She wreaks her anger on her rival`s head;
                   With Furies frights her from her native home;
                   And drives her gadding, round the world to roam:
                   Nor ceas`d her madness, and her flight, before
                   She touch`d the limits of the Pharian shore.
                   At length, arriving on the banks of Nile,
                   Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil,
                   She laid her down; and leaning on her knees,
                   Invok`d the cause of all her miseries:
                   And cast her languishing regards above,
                   For help from Heav`n, and her ungrateful Jove.
                   She sigh`d, she wept, she low`d; `twas all she
                       cou`d;
                   And with unkindness seem`d to tax the God.
                   Last, with an humble pray`r, she beg`d repose,
                   Or death at least, to finish all her woes.
                   Jove heard her vows, and with a flatt`ring look,
                   In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke,
                   He cast his arms about her neck, and said,
                   Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed
                   This nymph shall violate; by Styx I swear,
                   And every oath that binds the Thunderer.
                   The Goddess was appeas`d; and at the word
                   Was Io to her former shape restor`d.
                   The rugged hair began to fall away;
                   The sweetness of her eyes did only stay,
                   Tho` not so large; her crooked horns decrease;
                   The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease:
                   Her hoofs to hands return, in little space:
                   The five long taper fingers take their place,
                   And nothing of the heyfer now is seen,
                   Beside the native whiteness of the skin.
                   Erected on her feet she walks again:
                   And two the duty of the four sustain.
                   She tries her tongue; her silence softly breaks,
                   And fears her former lowings when she speaks:
                   A Goddess now, through all th` Aegyptian State:
                   And serv`d by priests, who in white linnen wait.
                     Her son was Epaphus, at length believ`d
                   The son of Jove, and as a God receiv`d;
                   With sacrifice ador`d, and publick pray`rs,
                   He common temples with his mother shares.
                   Equal in years, and rival in renown
                   With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton
                   Like honour claims; and boasts his sire the sun.
                   His haughty looks, and his assuming air,
                   The son of Isis could no longer bear:
                   Thou tak`st thy mother`s word too far, said he,
                   And hast usurp`d thy boasted pedigree.
                   Go, base pretender to a borrow`d name.
                   Thus tax`d, he blush`d with anger, and with shame;
                   But shame repress`d his rage: the daunted youth
                   Soon seeks his mother, and enquires the truth:
                   Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown
                   By Epaphus on you, and me your son.
                   He spoke in publick, told it to my face;
                   Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:
                   Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong,
                   Restrain`d by shame, was forc`d to hold my tongue.
                   To hear an open slander, is a curse:
                   But not to find an answer, is a worse.
                   If I am Heav`n-begot, assert your son
                   By some sure sign; and make my father known,
                   To right my honour, and redeem your own.
                   He said, and saying cast his arms about
                   Her neck, and beg`d her to resolve the doubt.
                     `Tis hard to judge if Clymene were mov`d
                   More by his pray`r, whom she so dearly lov`d,
                   Or more with fury fir`d, to find her name
                   Traduc`d, and made the sport of common fame.
                   She stretch`d her arms to Heav`n, and fix`d her
                       eyes
                   On that fair planet that adorns the skies;
                   Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires
                   Consume my breast, and kindle my desires;
                   By him, who sees us both, and clears our sight,
                   By him, the publick minister of light,
                   I swear that Sun begot thee; if I lye,
                   Let him his chearful influence deny:
                   Let him no more this perjur`d creature see;
                   And shine on all the world but only me.
                   If still you doubt your mother`s innocence,
                   His eastern mansion is not far from hence;
                   With little pains you to his Leve go,
                   And from himself your parentage may know.
                   With joy th` ambitious youth his mother heard,
                   And eager, for the journey soon prepar`d.
                   He longs the world beneath him to survey;
                   To guide the chariot; and to give the day:
                   From Meroe`s burning sands he bends his course,
                   Nor less in India feels his father`s force:
                   His travel urging, till he came in sight;
                   And saw the palace by the purple light.
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