Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/203

Book 4. Then Perseus the gigantick Prince addrest, Humbly implor'd a hospitable Rest. If bold Exploits thy Admiration fire, He said, I fancy, mine thou wilt admire. Or if the Glory of a Race can move, Not mean my Glory, for I spring from Jove. At this Confession Atlas ghastly star'd, Mindful of what an Oracle declar'd, That the dark Womb of Time conceal'd a Day, Which should, disclos'd, the bloomy Gold betray: All should at once be ravish'd from his Eyes, And Jove's own Progeny enjoy the Prize. For this, the Fruit he loftily immur'd, And a fierce Dragon the strait Pass secur'd. For this, all Strangers he forbad to land, And drove them from th' inhospitable Strand. To Perseus then: Fly quickly, fly this Coast, Nor falsly dare thy Acts, and Race to boast. In vain the Hero for one Night entreats, Threat'ning he storms, and next adds Force to Theats. By Strength not Perseus could himself defend, For who in Strength with Atlas could contend? But since short Rest to me thou wilt not give, A Gift of endless Rest from me receive. He said, and, backward turn'd, no more conceal'd The Present, and Medusa's Head reveal'd. Soon the high Atlas a high Mountain stood, His Locks, and Beard became a leafy Wood. His Hands, and Shoulders into Ridges went, The Summit-head still crown'd the steep Ascent. His Bones a solid, rocky Hardness gain'd: He, thus immensely grown, (as Fate ordain'd) The Stars, the Heav'ns, and all the Gods sustain'd.