“Now whither haste ye? What strange madness fires Your breasts? The son of Saturn suffers not That ye befriend the Greeks. He threatens thus⁠— And will fulfil his threat⁠—that he will make The coursers lame that draw your car, and hurl The riders down, and dash the car itself To fragments, and that ten long years must pass Ere ye shall cease to suffer from the wounds Made by the thunderbolt. So shalt thou learn, O Pallas! what it is to strive with Jove. With Juno is he less displeased, for she Is ever bent to thwart his purposes; But thou, he says, art guilty above all, And shameless as a hound, if thou dare lift Thy massive spear against thy father Jove.”

So spake fleet-footed Iris, and withdrew; And thus again to Pallas Juno said:⁠—