This said, her hand within her hair she wound, Swung her to earth, and dragg’d her on the ground. The prostrate wretch lifts up her arms in prayer; Her arms grow shaggy and deform’d with hair, Her nails are sharpen’d into pointed claws, Her hands bear balf her weight and turn to paws, Her lips, that once could tempt a god, begin To grow distorted in an ugly grin; And, lest the supplicating brute might reach The cars of Jove, she was deprived of speech; Her surly voice through a hoarse passage came In savage sounds, her mind was still the same. The furry monster fix’d her eyes above, And heaved her new unwieldy paws to Jove, And begg’d his aid with inward groans; and though She could not call him false she thought him so.