Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 1) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/89

Book They ponder'd the mysterious Words again, For some new Sense; and long they fought in vain: At length Deucalion clear'd his cloudy Brow, And said, the dark Ænigma will allow A Meaning, which if well I understand, From Sacrilege will free the God's Command: This Earth our mighty Mother is, the Stones In her capacious Body, are her Bones: These we must cast behind. With hope, and fear The Woman did the new Solution hear: The Man diffides in his own Augury, And doubts the Gods; yet both resolve to try. Descending from the Mount, they first unbind Their Vests, and veil'd, they cast the Stones behind; The Stones (a Miracle to Mortal View, But long Tradition makes it pass for true) Did first the Rigour of their Kind expel, And suppled into Softness, as they fell; Then swell'd, and swelling, by degrees grew warm; And took the Rudiments of Humane Form. Imperfect Shapes: in Marble such are seen, When the rude Chizzel does the Man begin; While yet the roughness of the Stone remains, Without the rising Muscles, and the Veins. The sappy Parts, and next resembling juice, Were turn'd to Moisture, for the Bodies use: Supplying Humours, Blood, and Nourishment; The Rest, too solid to receive the Bent, Converts to Bones; and what was once a Vein, Its former Name and Nature did retain. By help of Pow'r Divine, in little Space, What the Man threw, assum'd a Manly Face; And what the Wife, renew'd the Female Race. Hence we derive our Nature; born to bear Laborious Life; and harden'd into Care. The