Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/274

⁠Soon as the Queen a fit Retirement found,
Stript of the Garlands that her Temples crown'd,
She strait unveil'd her blushing Sister's Face,
And fondly clasp'd her with a close Embrace:
But, in Confusion lost, th' unhappy Maid,⁠$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
With Shame dejected, hung, her drooping Head,
As guilty of a Crime that stain'd her Sister's Bed.
That Speech, that should her injur'd Virtue clear,
And make her spotless Innocence appear,
Is now no more; only her Hands, and Eyes
Appeal, in Signals, to the conscious Skies.
In Procné's Breast the rising Passions boil,
And burst in Anger with a mad Recoil;
Her Sister's ill-tim'd Grief, with Scorn, she blames,
Then, in these furious Words her Rage proclaims.
⁠Tears, unavailing, but defer our Time,
The stabbing Sword must expiate the Crime;
Or worse, if Wit, on bloody Vengeance bent,
A Weapon more tormenting can invent.
O Sister! I've prepared my stubborn Heart,
To act some hellish, and unheard-of Part;
Either the Palace to surround with Fire,
And see the Villain in the Flames expire;
Or, with a Knife, dig out his cursed Eyes,
Or, his false Tongue with racking Engines seize;
Or, cut away the Part that injur'd you,
And, thro' a thousand Wounds, his guilty Soul pursue.
Tortures enough my Passion has design'd,
But the Variety distracts my Mind.
⁠Awhile, thus wav'ring, stood the furious Dame,
When Itys fondling to his Mother came;
From him the cruel fatal Hint she took,
She view'd him with a stern remorseless Look;
Ah! but too like thy wicked Sire, she said,
Forming the direful Purpose in her Head.

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