“But foreign stories why should I relate? I too myself can to new forms translate; Though the variety’s not unconfined, But fix’d in number, and restrain’d in kind: For often I this present shape retain, Oft curl a snake the volumes of my train. Sometimes my strength into my horns transferr’d, A bull I march, the captain of the herd. But while I once those goring weapons wore, Vast wresting force one from my forehead tore, Lo, my maim’d brows the injury still own.” He ceased; his words concluding with a groan.