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But as Cyllenius would have tolde this tale, he cast his sight
On Argus, and beholde his eyes had bid him all good night.
There was not one that did not sleepe, and fast he gan to nodde,
Immediately he ceast his talke, and with his charmed rodde,
So stroked all his heavie eyes that earnestly they slept.
Then with his Woodknife by and by he lightly to him stept,
And lent him such a perlous blowe, where as the shoulders grue
Unto the necke, that straight his heade quite from the bodie flue.
Then tombling downe the headlong hill his bloudie coarse he sent,
That all the way by which he rolde was stayned and besprent.
There lyest thou Argus under foote, with all thy hundreth lights,
And all the light is cleane extinct that was within those sights.
One endelesse night thy hundred eyes hath nowe bereft for aye,
Yet would not Juno suffer so hir Heirdmans eyes decay:
But in hir painted Peacocks tayle and feathers did them set,
Where they remayne lyke precious stones and glaring eyes as yet.
She tooke his death in great dispight and as hir rage did move,
Determinde for to wreeke hir wrath upon hir husbandes Love.
Forthwith she cast before hir eyes right straunge and ugly sightes,
Compelling hir to thinke she sawe some Fiendes or wicked sprightes.
And in hir heart such secret prickes and piercing stings she gave hir,
As through the worlde from place to place with restlesse sorrow drave hir.
Thou Nylus wert assignd to stay hir paynes and travails past,
To which as soone as Io came with much adoe at last,
With wearie knockles on thy brim she kneeled sadly downe,
And stretching foorth hir faire long necke and christall horned crowne,
Such kinde of countnaunce as she had she lifted to the skie,
And there with sighing sobbes and teares and lowing doolefully
Did seeme to make hir mone to Jove, desiring him to make
Some ende of those hir troublous stormes endured for his sake.
He tooke his wife about the necke, and sweetely kissing prayde,
That Ios penance yet at length might by hir graunt be stayde.
Thou shalt not neede to feare (quoth he) that ever she shall grieve thee
From this day forth. And in this case the better to beleve mee,
The Stygian waters of my wordes unparciall witnesse beene.
As soone as Juno was appeasde, immediately was seene
That Io tooke hir native shape in which she first was borne,
And eke became the selfesame thing the which she was beforne.
For by and by she cast away hir rough and hairie hyde,
Insteede whereof a soft smouth skinne with tender fleshe did byde.
Hir hornes sank down, hir eies and mouth were brought in lesser roome,
Hir handes, hir shoulders, and hir armes in place againe did come.
Hir cloven Clees to fingers five againe reduced were,
On which the nayles lyke pollisht Gemmes did shine full bright and clere.
In fine, no likenesse of a Cow save whitenesse did remaine
So pure and perfect as no snow was able it to staine.
She vaunst hir selfe upon hir feete which then was brought to two.
And though she gladly would have spoke: yet durst she not so do,
Without good heede, for feare she should have lowed like a Cow.
And therefore softly with hir selfe she gan to practise how
Distinctly to pronounce hir wordes that intermitted were.
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