Page:The Iliad and Odyssey of Homer (IA iliadodysseyofho02home).pdf/186

178 He spake, nor she was loth, but bedward too Like him inclined; so then, to bed they went, And as they lay'd them down, down stream'd the net Around them, labour exquisite of hands By ingenuity divine inform'd. Small room they found, so prison'd; not a limb Could either lift, or move, but felt at once Entanglement from which was no escape. And now the glorious artist, ere he yet Had reach'd the Lemnian isle, limping, return'd From his feign'd journey, for his spy the sun Had told him all. With aching heart he sought His home, and, standing in the vestibule, Frantic with indignation roar'd to heav'n, And roar'd again, summoning all the Gods.— Oh Jove! and all ye Pow'rs for ever blest! Here; hither look, that ye may view a sight Ludicrous, yet too monstrous to be borne, How Venus always with dishonour loads Her cripple spouse, doating on fiery Mars! And wherefore? for that he is fair in form And sound of foot, I ricket-boned and weak. Whose fault is this? Their fault, and theirs alone Who gave me being; ill-employ'd were they Begetting me, one, better far unborn. See where they couch together on my bed Lascivious! ah, sight hateful to my eyes! Yet cooler wishes will they feel, I ween,