Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/104

She tries her Tongue; her Silence softly breaks,
And fears her former Lowings when she speaks:
A Goddess now, through all th' Ægyptian State:
And serv'd by Priests, who in white Linnen wait.
⁠Her Son was Epaphus, at length believ'd
The Son of Jove, and as a God receiv'd;
With Sacrifice ador'd, and publick Pray'rs,
He common Temples with his Mother shares.
Equal in Years, and Rival in Renown ⁠$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton
Like Honour claims; and boasts his Sire the Sun.
His haughty Looks, and his assuming Air,
The son of Isis cou'd no longer bear:
Thou tak'st thy Mother's Word too far, said he,
And hast usurp'd thy boasted Pedigree.
Go, base Pretender to a borrow'd Name.
Thus tax'd, he blush'd with Anger, and with Shame;
But Shame repress'd his Rage: The daunted Youth
Soon seeks his Mother, and enquires the Truth:
Mother, said he, this Infamy was thrown
By Epaphus on you, and me your Son.
He spoke in publick, told it to my Face;
Nor durst I vindicate the dire Disgrace:
Even I, the bold, the sensible of Wrong,
Restrain'd by Shame, was forc'd to hold my Tongue.
To hear an open Slander, is a Curse:
But not to find an Answer, is a worse.
If I am Heav'n-begot, assert your Son ⁠$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
By some sure Sign; and make my Father known,
To right my Honour, and redeem your own.
He said, and saying cast his Arms about
Her Neck, and beg'd her to resolve the Doubt.
⁠'Tis hard to judge if Clymenè were mov'd
More by his Pray'r, whom she so dearly lov'd,
Or more with Fury fir'd, to find her Name
Traduc'd, and made the Sport of common Fame.

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