“ ‘Hence too she fled the furious stepdame’s power And in her arms a double godhead bore; And now the borders of fair Lycia gain’d, Just when the summer solstice parch’d the land. With thirst the goddess languishing, no more Her emptied breast would yield its milky store, When, from below, the smiling valley show’d A silver lake that in its bottom flow’d: A sort of clowns were reaping, near the bank, The bending osier, and the bulrush dank, The cress, and water-lily, fragrant weed, Whose juicy stalk the liquid fountains feed: The goddess came, and kneeling on the brink, Stoop’d at the fresh repast, prepared to drink. Then thus, being hinder’d by the rabble race, In accents mild, expostulates the case: “Water I only ask, and sure ’tis hard From Nature’s common rights to be debarr’d: This, as the genial sun, and vital air, Should flow alike to ev’ry creature’s share. Yet still I ask, and as a favour crave, That which a public bounty nature gave: Nor do I seek my weary limbs to drench, Only, with one cool draught, my thirst I’d quench.