The Fate of Marsyas



6:550 Scarce had the man this famous story told,
6:551 Of vengeance on the Lycians shown of old,
6:552 When strait another pictures to their view
6:553 The Satyr's fate, whom angry Phoebus slew;
6:554 Who, rais'd with high conceit, and puff'd with pride,
6:555 At his own pipe the skilful God defy'd.
6:556 Why do you tear me from my self, he cries?
6:557 Ah cruel! must my skin be made the prize?
6:558 This for a silly pipe? he roaring said,
6:559 Mean-while the skin from off his limbs was flay'd.
6:560 All bare, and raw, one large continu'd wound,
6:561 With streams of blood his body bath'd the ground.
6:562 The blueish veins their trembling pulse disclos'd,
6:563 The stringy nerves lay naked, and expos'd;
6:564 His guts appear'd, distinctly each express'd,
6:565 With ev'ry shining fibre of his breast.

6:566 The Fauns, and Silvans, with the Nymphs that rove
6:567 Among the Satyrs in the shady grove;
6:568 Olympus, known of old, and ev'ry swain
6:569 That fed, or flock, or herd upon the plain,
6:570 Bewail'd the loss; and with their tears that flow'd,
6:571 A kindly moisture on the earth bestow'd;
6:572 That soon, conjoyn'd, and in a body rang'd,
6:573 Sprung from the ground, to limpid water chang'd;
6:574 Which, down thro' Phrygia's rocks, a mighty stream,
6:575 Comes tumbling to the sea, and Marsya is its name.