Page:Ovid's Metamorphoses (Vol. 2) - tr Garth, Dryden, et. al. (1727).djvu/231

But what avail these useless Honours now?
What Joys can Immortality bestow?
What, tho' our Nereids all my Form approve?
What boots it, while fair Scylla scorns my Love?
Thus far the God; and more he wou'd have said;
When from his Presence flew the ruthless Maid.
Stung with Repulse, in such disdainful Sort,
He seeks Titanian Circe's horrid Court.

 

The End of the Thirteenth Book.

 

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