A Storm begins, the raging Waves run high,
The Clouds look heavy, and benight the Sky;
Red Sheets of Lightn'ning o'er the Seas are spread,
Our Tackling yields, and Wrecks at last succeed.
'Tis tedious our disast'rous State to tell;
Ev'n Priam wou'd have pity'd, what befell,
Yet Pallas sav'd me from the swallowing Main;
At home new Wrongs to meet, as Fates ordain.
Chac'd from my Country, I once more repeat
All Suff'rings Seas could give, or War compleat.
For Venus, mindful of her Wound, decreed
Still new Calamities should past succeed.
Agmon, impatient thro' successive Ills,
With Fury, Love's bright Goddess thus reviles—
These Plagues in spight to Diomede are sent;
The Crime is his, but ours the Punishment.
Let each, my Friends, her puny Spleen despise,
And Dare that haughty Harlot of the Skies.
The rest of Agmon's Insolence complain,
And of Irreverence the Wretch arraign.
About to answer, his blaspheming Throat
Contrcts, and shrieks in some disdainful Note.
To his new Skin a Fleece of Feather clings,
Hides his late Arms, and lengthens into Wings.
The lower Features of his Face extend,
Warp into Horn, and in a Beak descend.
Some more experience Agmon's Destiny,
And wheeling in the Air, like Swans they fly.
These thin Remains to Daunus' Realms I bring,
And here I reign, a poor precarious King.
The Transformation of Appulus.
Thus Diomedes. Venulus withdraws;
Unsped the Service of the common Cause.
