Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/297

Till them to firm Perswasion she has won,
The same for their old Father may be done:
For him they court her to employ her Skill,
And put upon the Cure, what Price she will.
At first she's mute, and with a grave Pretence
Of Difficulty, holds 'em in Suspense;
Then promises, and bids 'em, from the Fold
Chuse out a Ram, the most infirm and old;
That so by Fact their Doubts may be remov'd,
And first, on him, the Operation prov'd.
A wreath-horn'd Ram is brought, so far o'er-grown
With Years, his Age was to that Age unknown;
Of Sense too dull the piercing Point to feel,
And scarce sufficient Blood to stain the Steel.
His Carcass she into a Cauldron threw,
With Drugs whose vital Qualities she knew;
His Limbs grow less, he casts his Horns, and Years,
And tender Bleatings strike their wondring Ears.
Then instantly leaps forth a frisking Lamb,
That seeks (too young to graze) a suckling Dam.
The Sisters, thus confirm'd with the Success,
Her Promise with renew'd Entreaty press;
To countenance the Cheat, three Nights and Days
Before Experiment th' Inchantress stays;
Then into limpid Water, from the Springs,
Weeds, and Ingredients of no Force she flings;
With antique Ceremonies for Pretence
And rambling Rhymes without a Word of Sense.
Mean while the King with all his Guards lay bound
In Magick Sleep, scarce that of Death so sound;
The Daughters now are by the Sorc'ress led
Into his Chamber, and surround his Bed.
Your Father's Health's concern'd, and can ye stay?
Unnat'ral Nymphs, why this unkind Delay?
Unsheath your Swords, dismiss his lifeless Blood,
And I'll recruit it with a vital Flood:

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