The water thus her wonders did produce, But both were to no use: As yet the sorcerer's mimic power served for excuse. Try what the earth will do, said God, and lo! They struck the earth a fertile blow, And all the dust did straight to stir begin, One would have thought some sudden wind had been, But, lo! 'twas nimble life was got within! And all the little springs did move, And every dust did an armed vermin prove, Of an unknown and new-created kind, Such as the magic gods could neither make or find. The wretched shameful foe allowed no rest Either to man or beast; Not Pharaoh from the unquiet plague could be, With all his change of raiments, free; The devils themselves confessed This was God's hand; and 'twas but just To punish thus man's pride, to punish dust with dust. VIII. Lo! the third element does his plagues prepare, And swarming clouds of insects fill the air; With sullen noise they take their flight, And march in bodies infinite; In vain 'tis day above, 'tis still beneath them night; Of harmful flies the nations numberless Composed this mighty army's spacious boast; Of different manners, different languages, And different habits, too, they wore, And different arms they bore: And some, like Scythians, lived on blood, And some on green, and some on flowery food, And Accaron, the airy prince, led on this various host. Houses secure not men; the populous ill Did all the houses fill: The country all around, Did with the cries of tortured cattle sound; About the fields enraged they flew, And wished the plague that was t' ensue. IX. From poisonous stars a mortal influence came, (The mingled malice of their flame,) A skilful angel did the ingredients take, And with just hands the sad composure make, And over all the land did the full viol shake. Thirst, giddiness, faintness, and putrid heats, And pining pains, and shivering sweats, On all the cattle, all the beasts, did fall; With deformed death the country's covered all. The labouring ox drops down before the plough; The crowned victims to the altar led Sink, and prevent the lifted blow: The generous horse from the full manger turns his head, Does his loved floods and pastures scorn, Hates the shrill trumpet and the horn, Nor can his lifeless nostril please With the once-ravishing smell of all his dappled mistresses; The starving sheep refuse to feed, They bleat their innocent souls out into air; The faithful dogs lie gasping by them there; The astonished shepherd weeps, and breaks his tuneful reed. X.