Deny their office, and I needs must look!

What have I done, that these fair limbs of mine,

(Nay, nay; I meant not fair; the gods forbid

That I should boast!) but young and piteous

And tender with soft flesh—O mother, take

Your proud words back! O nymphs, be pitiful!

The green waves part, and poisonous is the air!

Red the fangs glitter! save me, O ye gods!

Nay, what is this that wraps my shuddering limbs

With sudden coolness?—Can it be that now