None sate when he rose, none delay’d the furnishing his port Till he came near; all met with him, and brought him to his throne. Nor sate great Juno ignorant, when she beheld alone Old Nereus’ silver-footed seed with Jove, that she had brought Counsels to heav’n; and straight her tongue had teeth in it, that wrought This sharp invective: “Who was that (thou craftiest counsellor Of all the Gods) that so apart some secret did implore? Ever, apart from me, thou lov’st to counsel and decree Things of more close trust than thou think’st are fit t’ impart to me. Whatever thou determin’st, I must ever be denied The knowledge of it by thy will.” To her speech thus replied The Father both of men and Gods: “Have never hope to know My whole intentions, though my wife; it fits not, nor would show Well to thine own thoughts; but what fits thy woman’s ear to hear, Woman, nor man, nor God, shall know before it grace thine ear. Yet what, apart from men and Gods, I please to know, forbear T’ examine, or inquire of that.” She with the cow’s fair eyes, Respected Juno, this return’d: “Austere king of the skies, What hast thou utter’d? When did I before this time inquire, Or sift thy counsels? Passing close you are still. Your desire Is serv’d with such care, that I fear you can scarce vouch the deed That makes it public, being seduc’d by this old sea-god’s seed, That could so early use her knees, embracing thine. I doubt, The late act of thy bowéd head was for the working out Of some boon she ask’d; that her son thy partial hand would please With plaguing others.” “Wretch!” said he, “thy subtle jealousies Are still exploring; my designs can never ’scape thine eye, Which yet thou never canst prevent. Thy curiosity Makes thee less car’d for at my hands, and horrible the end Shall make thy humour. If it be what thy suspects intend, What then? ’Tis my free will it should; to which let way be giv’n With silence. Curb your tongue in time; lest all the Gods in heav’n Too few be and too weak to help thy punish’d insolence, When my inaccessible hands shall fall on thee.” The sense Of this high threat’ning made her fear, and silent she sate down, Humbling her great heart. All the Gods in court of Jove did frown At this offence giv’n; amongst whom heav’n’s famous artizan, Ephaistus, in his mother’s care, this comely speech began: “Believe it, these words will breed wounds, beyond our pow’rs to bear, If thus for mortals ye fall out. Ye make a tumult here That spoils our banquet. Evermore worst matters put down best. But, mother, though yourself be wise, yet let your son request His wisdom audience. Give good terms to our lov’d father Jove, For fear he take offence again, and our kind banquet prove A wrathful battle. If he will, the heav’nly Light’ner can Take you and toss you from your throne; his pow’r Olympian Is so surpassing. Soften then with gentle speech his spleen, And drink to him; I know his heart will quickly down again.”