Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/194

116 Why should not Ino, fir'd with Madness, stray, Like her mad Sisters her own Kindred slay, Why, she not follow, where they lead the Way. Down a steep, yawning Cave, where Yews display'd In Arches meet, and lend a baleful Shade, Thro' silent Labyrinths a Passage lies To mournful Regions, and infernal Skies. Here Styx exhales its noisome Clouds, and here, The fun'ral Rites once paid, all Souls appear. Stiff Cold, and Horror with a ghastly Face And staring Eyes, infest the dreary Place. Ghosts, new-arriv'd, and Strangers to these Plains, Know not the Palace, where grim Pluto reigns. They journey doubtful, nor the Road can tell, Which leads to the Metropolis of Hell. A thousand Avenues those Tow'rs command, A thousand Gates for ever open stand. As all the Rivers, disembogu'd, find Room For all their Waters in old Ocean's Womb: So this vast City Worlds of Shades receives, And Space for Millions still of Worlds she leaves. Th' unbody'd Spectres freely rove, and show Whate'er they lov'd on Earth, they love below. The Lawyers still, or right, or wrong, support, The Courtiers smoothly glide to Pluto's Court. Still airy Heroes Thoughts of Glory fire, Still the dead Poet strings his deathless Lyre, And Lovers still with fancy'd Darts expire. The Queen of Heav'n, to gratifie her Hate, And sooth immortal Wrath, forgets her State. Down from the Realms of Day, to Realms of Night, The Goddess swift precipitates her Flight. At Hell arriv'd, the Noise Hell's Porter heard, Th' enormous Dog his triple Head up-rear'd: Thrice from three grizly Throats he howl'd profound, Then suppliant couch'd, and stretch'd along the Ground. The