Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/230

150 Secure from Harm, and wand'ring on at Will, Venus beheld him from her flow'ry Hill: When strait the Dame her little Cupid prest With secret Rapture to her snowy Breast, And in these Words the flutt'ring Boy addrest. O thou, my Arms, my Glory, and my Pow'r, My Son, whom Men, and deathless Gods adore, Bend thy sure Bow, whose Arrows never miss'd No longer let Hell's King thy Sway resist: Take him, while stragling from his dark Abodes He coasts the Kingdoms of superior Gods. If Sovereign Jove, if Gods who rule the Waves, And Neptune, who rules them, have been thy Slaves; Shall Hell be free? The Tyrant strike, my Son, Enlarge thy Mother's Empire, and thy own. Let not our Heav'n be made the Mock of Hell, But Pluto to confess thy Pow'r compel. Our Rule is slighted in our native Skies, See Pallas, see Diana too defies Thy Darts, which Ceres' Daughter wou'd despise. She too our Empire treats with awkard Scorn; Such Insolence no longer's to be born. Revenge our slighted Reign, and with thy Dart Transfix the Virgin's to the Uncle's Heart. She said; and from his Quiver strait he drew A Dart that surely wou'd the Business do. She guides his Hand, she makes her Touch the Test, And of a thousand Arrows chose the best: No Feather better pois'd, a sharper Head, None had, and sooner none, and surer sped. He bends his Bow, he draws it to his Ear, Thro' Pluto's Heart it drives, and fixes there. The