Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/275

Book 15. And when the little Man was fully form'd, The breathless Embrio with a Spirit warm'd; But when the Mother's Throws begin to come, The Creature, pent within the narrow Room, Breaks his blind Prison, pushing to repair His stifled Breath, and draw the living Air; Cast on the Margin of the World he lies, A helpless Babe, but by Instinct he cries. He next essays to walk, but downward press'd On four Feet imitates his Brother Beast: By slow Degrees he gathers from the Ground His Legs, and to the rowling Chair is bound; Then walks alone; a Horseman now become, He rides a Stick, and travels round the Room. In time he vaunts among his youthful Peers, Strong-bon'd, and strung with Nerves, in Pride of Years, He runs with Mettle his first merry Stage, Maintains the next, abated of his Rage. But manages his Strength, and spares his Age. Heavy the third, and stiff, he sinks apace, And tho' 'tis down-hill all, but creeps along the Race. Now sapless on the Verge of Death he stands, Contemplating his former Feet, and Hands; And, Milo-like, his slacken'd Sinews sees, And wither'd Arms, once fit to cope with Hercules, Unable now to shake, much less to tear, the Trees. So Helen wept, when her too faithful Glass Reflected on her Eyes the Ruins of her Face: Wondring, what Charms her Ravishers cou'd spy, To force her twice, or ev'n but once t' enjoy! Thy Teeth, devouring Time, thine, envious Age, On Things below still exercise your Rage: With venom'd Grinders you corrupt your Meat, And then, at lingring Meals, the Morsels eat. Nor those, which Element we call, abide, Nor to this Figure, nor to that, are ty'd: For