When thou shalt feel, enraged with inward pains, The Hydra’s venom rankling in thy veins! The gods, in pity, shall contract thy date, And give thee over to the power of Fate.”

Thus, entering into destiny, the maid The secrets of offended Jove betray’d: More had she still to say; but now appears Qppress’d with sobs and sighs, and drown’d in tears: “My voice,” says she, “is gone, my language fails, Through every limb my kindred shape prevails: Why did the god this fatal gift impart, And with prophetic raptures swell my heart? What new desires are these? I long to pace O’er flowery meadows, and to feed on grass; I hasten to a brute, a maid no more: But why, alas! am I transform’d all o’er? My sire does half a human shape retain, And in his upper parts preserves the man.”