Or marshy lowlands, to produce the fogs: Then round the skies she sought for Jupiter, Her faithless husband; but no Jove was there. Suspecting now the worst: “Or I,” she said, “Am much mistaken, or am much betray’d.” With fury she precipitates her flight; Dispels the shadows of dissembled night, And to the day restores his native light. The almighty culprit, careful to prevent The consequence, foreseeing her descent, Transforms his mistress in a trice; and now In Io’s place appears a lovely cow. So sleek her skin, so faultless was her make, Ev’n Juno did unwilling pleasure take To see so fair a rival of her love; And what she was, and whence, inquired of Jove; Of what fair herd, and from what pedigree? The god, half caught, was forced upon a lie, And said she sprung from earth. She took the word, And begg’d the beauteous heifer of her lord. What should he do? ’twas equal shame to Jove Or to relinquish or betray his love; Yet to refuse so slight a gift would be But more to increase his consort’s jealousy: