At length, arriving on the banks of Nile, Wearied with length of ways, and worn with toil, She laid her down; and leaning on her knees, Invoked the cause of all her miseries; And cast her languishing regards above, For help from heaven, and her ungrateful Jove. She sighed, she wept, she lowed; 'twas all she could; And with unkindness seemed to tax the god. Last, with an humble prayer, she begged repose, Or death at least to finish all her woes. Jove heard her vows, and with a flattering look, In her behalf to jealous Juno spoke. He cast his arms about her neck, and said; Dame, rest secure; no more thy nuptial bed This nymph shall violate; by Styx I swear, And every oath that binds the Thunderer. The goddess was appeased; and at the word Was Io to her former shape restored. The rugged hair began to fall away; The sweetness of her eyes did only stay, Though not so large; her crooked horns decrease; The wideness of her jaws and nostrils cease; Her hoofs to hands return, in little space; The five long taper fingers take their place; And nothing of the heifer now is seen, Beside the native whiteness of her skin. Erected on her feet, she walks again, And two the duty of the four sustain. She tries her tongue, her silence softly breaks, And fears her former lowings when she speaks: A goddess now through all the Egyptian state, And served by priests, who in white linen wait. Her son was Epaphus, at length believed The son of Jove, and as a god received. With sacrifice adored, and public prayers, He common temples with his mother shares. Equal in years, and rival in renown } With Epaphus, the youthful Phaeton } Like honour claims, and boasts his sire the Sun. } His haughty looks, and his assuming air, The son of Isis could no longer bear; Thou tak'st thy mother's word too far, said he, And hast usurped thy boasted pedigree. Go, base pretender to a borrowed name! Thus taxed, he blushed with anger, and with shame; But shame repressed his rage: the daunted youth Soon seeks his mother, and enquires the truth. Mother, said he, this infamy was thrown By Epaphus on you, and me your son. He spoke in public, told it to my face, Nor durst I vindicate the dire disgrace: Even I, the bold, the sensible of wrong, Restrained by shame, was forced to hold my tongue; To hear an open slander, is a curse; But not to find an answer, is a worse. If I am heaven-begot, assert your son } By some sure sign, and make my father known, } To right my honour, and redeem your own. } He said, and, saying, cast his arms about Her neck, and begged her to resolve the doubt. 'Tis hard to judge if Climené were moved