Page:Virgil - The Georgics, Thomas Nevile, 1767.djvu/99

 Book III. The brooks, dry banks, and sloping hills around

With bleating flocks and lowing herds resound.

Now on whole ranks her fiercer fury falls;

Herself with putrid bodies piles the stalls,

Till on the foul dissolving mass they heap

Mould, and in trenches learn to bury deep.

Useless their hides; their morbid entrails brave

Alike the purging fire, and cleansing wave.

Nor dare they the polluted fleeces shear,

Or touch the tainted web without a fear:

But whoso once essay'd the loathsome vest,

Saw burning blisters all his limbs infest,

Rank with moist dew; nor long the Pest delay'd,

But on the shrivel'd joints devouring prey'd.