The goddess afflicts Erisichthon with continual hunger.
“Where frozen Scythia’s utmost bound is placed, A desert lies, a melancholy waste: In yellow crops there Nature never smiled, No fruitful tree to shade the barren wild. There sluggish cold its icy station makes, There paleness frights, and anguish trembling shakes. Of pining Famine this the fated seat, To whom my orders in these words repeat: ‘Bid her this miscreant with her sharpest pains Chastise, and sheath herself into his veins; Be unsubdued by plenty’s baffled store, Reject my empire, and defeat my power; And lest the distance, and the tedious way, Should with the toil and long fatigue dismay, Ascend my chariot, and, convey’d on high, Guide the rein’d dragons through the parting sky.’