Page:Metamorphoses (Ovid, 1567).djvu/146

 Through all the townes of Thessalie and all Achaia hither, And us with these or such like wordes to combate did provoke. Cease off, ye Thespian Goddesses, to mocke the simple folke With fondnesse of your Melodie. And if ye thinke in deede Ye can doe ought, contend with us and see how you shall speede. I warrant you ye passe us not in cunning nor in voyce. Ye are here nine, and so are we. We put you to the choyce, That eyther we will vanquish you and set you quight beside Your fountaine made by Pegasus which is your chiefest pride, And Aganippe too: or else confounde you us, and we Of all the woods of Macedone will dispossessed be As farre as snowie Peonie: and let the Nymphes be Judges. Now in good sooth it was a shame to cope with suchie Drudges, But yet more shame it was to yeeld. The chosen Nymphes did sweare By Styx, and sate them downe on seates of stone that growed there. Then streight without commission or election of the rest, The formost of them preasing forth undecently, profest The chalenge to performe: and song the battels of the Goddes. She gave the Giants all the praise, the honor and the oddes, Abasing sore the worthie deedes of all the Gods. She telles How Typhon issuing from the earth and from the deepest helles, Made all the Gods above afraide, so greatly that they fled And never staide till Aegypt land and Nile whose streame is shed In channels seven, received them forwearied all togither: And how the Helhound Typhon did pursue them also thither. By meanes wherof the Gods eche one were faine themselves to hide In forged shapes. She saide that Jove the Prince of Gods was wride In shape of Ram: which is the cause that at this present tide Joves ymage which the Lybian folke by name of Hammon serve, Is made with crooked welked homes that inward still doe terve: That Bacchus in a Geate, And Phebus sister in a Cat, and Juno in a Neate, And Venus in the shape of Fish, and how that last of all Mercurius hid him in a Bird which Ibis men doe call. This was the summe of all the tale which she with rolling tung And yelling throteboll to hir harpe before us rudely sung. Our turne is also come to speake, but that perchaunce your grace