That breathes a voice at all parts no more base Than are a newly-kitten’d kitling’s cries, Herself a monster yet of boundless size, Whose sight would nothing please a mortal’s eyes, No nor the eyes of any God, if he (Whom nought should fright) fell foul on her, and she Her full shape show’d. Twelve foul feet bear about Her ugly bulk. Six huge long necks look out Of her rank shoulders; ev’ry neck doth let A ghastly head out; ev’ry head three set, Thick thrust together, of abhorréd teeth, And ev’ry tooth stuck with a sable death. She lurks in midst of all her den, and streaks From out a ghastly whirlpool all her necks; Where, gloting round her rock, to fish she falls; And up rush dolphins, dogfish; somewhiles whales If got within her when her rapine feeds; For ever-groaning Amphitrite breeds About her whirlpool an unmeasur’d store. No sea-man ever boasted touch of shore That there touch’d with his ship, but still she fed Of him and his; a man for ev’ry head Spoiling his ship of. You shall then descry The other humbler rock, that moves so nigh Your dart may mete the distance. It receives A huge wild fig-tree, curl’d with ample leaves, Beneath whose shades divine Charybdis sits, Supping the black deeps. Thrice a day her pits She drinking all dry, and thrice a day again All up she belches, baneful to sustain. When she is drinking, dare not near her draught, For not the force of Neptune, if once caught, Can force your freedom. Therefore, in your strife To ’scape Charybdis, labour all for life To row near Scylla, for she will but have For her six heads six men; and better save The rest, than all make off’rings to the wave.’ This need she told me of my loss, when I Desir’d to know, if that Necessity, When I had ’scap’d Charybdis’ outrages, My pow’rs might not revenge, though not redress? She answer’d: ‘O unhappy! art thou yet Enflam’d with war, and thirst to drink thy sweat? Not to the Gods give up both arms and will? She deathless is, and that immortal ill Grave, harsh, outrageous, not to be subdued, That men must suffer till they be renew’d. Nor lives there any virtue that can fly The vicious outrage of their cruelty. Shouldst thou put arms on, and approach the rock, I fear six more must expiate the shock. Six heads six men ask still. Hoise sail, and fly, And, in thy flight, aloud on Cratis cry (Great Scylla’s mother, who expos’d to light The bane of men) and she will do such right To thy observance, that she down will tread Her daughter’s rage, nor let her show a head. From thenceforth then, for ever past her care, Thou shalt ascend the isle triangular, Where many oxen of the Sun are fed, And fatted flocks. Of oxen fifty head In ev’ry herd feed, and their herds are seven; And of his fat flocks is their number even. Increase they yield not, for they never die. There ev’ry shepherdess a Deity. Fair Phaëthusa, and Lampetié, The lovely Nymphs are that their guardians be, Who to the daylight’s lofty-going Flame