Phoebus, with full revenge, from Tmolus flies, Darts through the air, and cleaves the liquid skies; Near Hellespont he lights, and treads the plains Where great Laomedon sole monarch reigns; Where, built between the two projecting strands, To Panomphaean Jove an altar stands; Here first aspiring thoughts the king employ To found the lofty towers of future Troy. The work, from schemes magnificent begun, At vast expense, was slowly carried on; Which Phoebus seeing, with the trident god, Who rules the swelling surges with his nod, Assuming each a mortal shape, combine, At a set price, to finish his design. The work was built, the king their price denies, And his injustice backs with perjuries: This Neptune could not brook, but drove the main, A mighty deluge, o’er the Phrygian plain; ’Twas all a sea, the waters of the deep From every vale the copious harvest sweep; The briny billows overflow the soil, Ravage the fields, and mock the ploughman’s toil.