P. Ovidius Naso, Metamorphoses
Arthur Golding, Ed.

The Matrone of the thundring Jove had inckling of the fact,
Delaying till convenient time the punishment to exact.
There is no cause of further stay. To spight hir heart withall,
Hir husbands Leman bare a boy that Arcas men did call.
On whome she casting lowring looke with fell and cruell minde
Saide: Was there, arrant strumpet thou, none other shift to finde
But that thou needes must be with barne? that all the world must see
My husbandes open shame and thine in doing wrong to mee?
But neyther unto heaven nor hell this trespasse shalt thou beare.
I will bereve thee of thy shape through pride whereof thou were
So hardy to entyce my Feere. Immediatly with that
She raught hir by the foretop fast and fiercely threw hir flat
Against the grounde. The wretched wench hir armes up mekely cast,
Hir armes began with griesly haire to waxe all rugged fast.
Hir handes gan warpe and into pawes ylfavordly to grow,
And for to serve in stede of feete. The lippes that late ago
Did like the mightie Jove so well, with side and flaring flaps
Became a wide deformed mouth. And further lest perhaps
Hir prayers and hir humble wordes might cause hir to relent:
She did bereve hir of hir speach. In steade whereof there went
An yreful, horce, and dreadfull voyce out from a threatning throte:
But yet the selfesame minde that was before she turnde hir cote,
Was in hir still in shape of Beare. The griefe whereof she showes
By thrusting forth continuall sighes, and up she gastly throwes
Such kinde of handes as then remainde unto the starrie Skie.
And forbicause she could not speake she thought Jove inwardly
To be unthankfull. Oh how oft she daring not abide
Alone among the desert woods, full many a time and tide
Would stalke before hir house in grounds that were hir owne erewhile?
How oft oh did she in the hilles the barking houndes beguile
And in the lawndes where she hir selfe had chased erst hir game,
Now flie hirselfe to save hir life when hunters sought the same?
Full oft at sight of other beastes she hid hir head for feare,
Forgetting what she was hir selfe. For though she were a Beare,
Yet when she spied other Beares she quooke for verie paine:
And feared Wolves although hir Sire among them did remaine.
Beholde Lycaons daughters sonne that Archas had to name
About the age of fiftene yeares within the forrest came
Of Erymanth, not knowing ought of this his mothers case.
There after pitching of his toyles, as he the stagges did chase,
Upon his mother sodenly it was his chaunce to light,
Who for desire to see hir sonne did stay hirselfe from flight.
And wistly on him cast hir looke as one that did him know.
But he not knowing what she was began his heeles to show.
And when he saw hir still persist in staring on his face,
He was afrayde, and from hir sight withdrew himselfe apace,
But when he coulde not so be rid, he tooke an armed pike,
In full intent hir through the heart with deadly wound to strike.
But God almighty held his hand, and lifting both away
Did disapoint the wicked Act. For straight he did convay
Them through the Ayre with whirling windes to top of all the skie,
And there did make them neighbour starres about the Pole on hie.
When Juno shining in the heaven hir husbands minion found,
She swelde for spight: and downe she comes to watry Tethys round
And unto olde Oceanus, whome even the Gods aloft
Did reverence for their just deserts full many a time and oft,
To whome demaunding hir the cause: And aske ye (quoth she) why
That I which am the Queene of Goddes come hither from the sky?
Good cause there is I warrant you. Another holdes my roome.
For never trust me while I live, if when the night is coome,
And overcasteth all the world with shadie darknesse whole,
Ye see not in the heigth of heaven hard by the Northren Pole
Whereas the utmost circle runnes about the Axeltree
In shortest circuit, gloriously enstalled for to bee
In shape of starres the stinging woundes that make me yll apayde.
Now is there (trow ye) any cause why folke should be afrayde
To do to Juno what they list, or dread hir wrathfull mood,
Which only by my working harme doe turne my foes to good?
O what a mightie act is done? How passing is my powre!
I have bereft hir womans shape, and at this present howre
She is become a Goddesse. Loe this is the scourge so sowre
Wherewith I strike mine enimies. Loe here is all the spight
That I can doe: this is the ende of all my wondrous might,
No force. I would he should (for me) hir native shape restore,
And take away hir brutish shape, like as he hath before
Done by his other Paramour, that fine and proper piece
Of Argos whom he made a Cow, I meane Phononeus Niece.
Why makes he not a full devorce from me, and in my stead
Straight take his Sweetheart to his wife, and coll hir in my bed?
He can not doe a better deede (I thinke) than for to take
Lycaon to his fatherinlaw. But if that you doe make
Accompt of me your foster childe, then graunt that for my sake,
The Oxen and the wicked Waine of starres in number seven,
For whoredome sake but late ago receyved into heaven,
May never dive within your waves. Ne let that strumpet vyle
By bathing of hir filthie limmes your waters pure defile.