Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/224

More violent, than is the rising Flood;
And the prais'd Peacock is not half so proud.
Fierce, as the Fire, and sharp, as Thistles are,
And more outragious, than a Mother-Bear:
Deaf, as the Billows to the Vows I make;
And more revengeful, than a trodden Snake.
In Swiftness fleeter, than the flying Hind,
Or driven Tempests, or the driving Wind.
All other Faults, with Patience I can bear;
But Swiftness is the Viee I only fear.
Yet if you knew me well, you wou'd not shun
My Love, but to my wish'd Embraces run:
Wou'd languish in your turn, and court my Stay;
And much repent of your unwise Delay.
My Palace, in the living Rock, is made$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
By Nature's Hand; a spacious pleasing Shade:
Which neither Heat can pierce, nor Cold invade.
My Garden fill'd with Fruits you may behold,
And Grapes in Clusters, imitating Gold;
Some blushing Bunches of a Purple Hue:
And these, and those, are all reserv'd for you.
Red Strawberries, in Shades, expecting stand,
Proud to be gathered by so white a Hand.
Autumnal Cornels, latter Fruit provide;
And Plumbs, to tempt you, turn their glossy Side:
Not those of common kinds; but such alone,
As in Phæacian Orchards might have grown:
Nor Chestnuts shall be wanting to your Food,
Nor Garden-Fruits, nor Wildings of the Wood;
Then laden Boughs for you alone shall bear;
And your's shall be the Product of the Year.
The Flocks you see, are all my own; beside,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,}$
The rest that Woods, and winding Vallies hide;
And those, that folded in the Caves abide.
Ask not the Numbers of my growing Store;
Who knows how many, knows he has no more.

Nor