Now while the lustful God, with speedy pace,
Just thought to strain her in a strict embrace,
He fills his arms with reeds, new rifing on the place.
And while he fighs his ill success to find,
The tender canes were shaken by the wind;
And breath'd a mournful air, unheard before;
That, much furprizing Pan, yet pleas'd him more.
Admiring this new music, Thou, he faid,
Who canft not be the partner of my bed,
At least shalt be the confort of my mind;
And often, often, to my lips be join'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 drowsy slumber on the lids to creep;
Till all the watchman was at length afleep.
Then foon the God his voice and fong fuppreft;
And with his powerful rod confirm'd his rest:
Without delay his crooked falchion drew,
And at one fatal stroke the keeper flew.
Down from the rock fell the diffever'd head,
Opening its eyes in death, and falling bled;
And mark'd the paffage 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 fpreads 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 miferies:
And cast her languishing regards above,
For help from heaven, and her ungrateful Jove.
She figh'd, she wept, she low'd; 'twas all the could;
And with unkindness seem'd to tax the God.
Laft, with an humble prayer, she begg'd repose,
Or death at least to finish all her woes.
Jove heard her vows, and, with a flattering look,
In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke.
He cast his arms about her neck, and faid:
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,
Though 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 heifer now is seen,
Beside the native whiteness of her skin.
Erected on her feet she walks again,
And two the duty of the four sustain.
She tries her tongue, her filence softly breaks,
And fears her former lowings when she speaks :
A Goddess now through all th' Egyptian state;
And serv'd by priests, who in white linen wait.
Her fon was Epaphus, at length believ'd
The son of Jove, and as a God receiv'd.
With sacrifice ador'd, and public prayers,
He common temples with his mother shares.
Equal in years, and rival in renown
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaëton,
Like honour claims, and boasts his fire the fun.
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 ufurp'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 fon.
He spoke in public, told it to my face;
Nar durst I vindicate the dire disgrace:
Ev'n 1, 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 heaven-begot, affert your fon
By fome fure fign; and make my father known,
To right my honour, and redeem your own.
He faid, and faying caft his arms about
Her neck, and begg'd her to resolve the doubt.
Tis hard to judge if Clymené were mov'd
More by his prayer, 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 heaven, and fix'd her eyes
On that fair planet that adorns the skies;
Now by those beams, said she, whose holy fires
Confume my breast, and kindle my defires;
By him who fees us both, and chears our fight,
By him, the public minister of light,
I fwear that Sun begot thee: if I lye,
Let him his chearful influence deny:
Let him no more this perjur'd creature fee,
And shine on all the world but only me.
If still you doubt your mother's innocence,
His eastern manfion is not far from hence;
With little pains you to his levee 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 Meroë's burning sands he bends his course,
Nor less in India feels his father's force;
His travel urging, till he came in fight,
And faw the palace by the purple light.
TALES from CHAUCER.
To her Grace the Dutchess of Ormond, with the
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