Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/99

The Captive Cow he summon'd with a Call;
And drove her back, and ty'd her to the Stall.
On Leaves of Trees, and bitter Herbs she fed,
Heav'n was her Canopy, bare Earth her Bed:
So hardly lodg'd, and to digest her Food,
She drank from troubled Streams, defil'd with Mud.
Her woful Story fain she wou'd have told,
With Hands upheld, but had no Hands to hold.
Her Head to her ungentle Keeper bow'd;
She strove to speak, she spoke not, but she low'd:
Affrighted with the Noise, she look'd around,
And seem'd t' inquire the Author of the Sound.
⁠Once on the Banks where often she had play'd,
(Her Father's Banks) she came, and there survey'd:
Her alter'd Visage, and her branching Head;
And starting, from her self she wou'd have fled.
Her fellow Nymphs, familiar to her Eyes,
Beheld, but knew her not in this Disguise.
Ev'n Inachus himself was ignorant;
And in his Daughter, did his Daughter want.
She follow'd where her Fellows went, as she
Were still a Partner of the Company:
They stroak her Neck, the gentle Heyfer stands,
And her Neck offers to their stroaking Hands.
Her Father gave her Grass; the Grass she took; ⁠$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
And lick'd his Palms, and cast a piteous Look;
And in the Language of her Eyes, she spoke.
She wou'd have told her Name, and ask'd relief,
But wanting Words, in Tears she tells her Grief.
Which, with her Foot she makes him understand;
And prints the Name of Io in the Sand.
⁠Ah wretched me, her mournful Father cry'd,
She, with a sigh, to wretched me reply'd;
About her Milk-white Neck, his Arms he threw;
And wept, and then these tender Words ensue.