She first perceiv'd that all these racking Woes
From the persisting Hate of Juno rose.
As here and there she pass'd, by Chance she sees
The fated Goddess; on her close-prest Knees
Her fast knit Hands she leans; with chearful Voice
Galanthis cries, Whoe'er thou art, rejoyce,
Congratulate the Dame, she lies at rest,
At length the Gods Alcmena's Womb have blest.
Swift from her Seat the startled Goddess springs,
No more conceal'd, her Hands abroad she flings;
The Charm unloos'd, the Birth my Pangs reliev'd;
Galanthis' Laughter vex'd the Pow'r deceiv'd.
Fame says, the Goddess dragg'd the laughing Maid
Fast by the Hair; in vain her Force essay'd
Her grovling Body from the Ground to rear;
Chang'd to Fore-feet her shrinking Arms appear:
Her hairy Back her former Hue retains,
The Form alone is lost; her Strength remains;
Who, since the Lye did from her Mouth proceed,
Shall from her pregnant Mouth brings forth her Breed;
Nor shall she quit her long frequented Home,
But haunt those Houses where she lov'd to roam.
The Fable of Dryope.
By Mr. Pope.
She said, and for her lost Galanthis sighs;
When the fair Consort of her Son replies;
Since you a Servant's ravish'd Form bemoan,
And kindly sigh for Sorrows not your own,
Let me (if Tears and Grief permit) relate
A nearer Woe, a Sister's stranger Fate.
No Nymph of all Oechalia could compare
For beauteous Form with Dryopè the Fair;
