Book 2, Part 3 of Ovid's Metamorphosis. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Raven Notation. Metamorphosis by Publius Ovidius Nassau, translated by Brooks Moore. Book 2, Part 3. Kyron, the centaur, taught his pupil, Proud that he was honoured by that godlike charge. Behold his lovely daughter, who was born beside the margin of a rapid stream, Came forward with her yellow hair as gold adorned her shoulders. She was known by name Okira. The hidden things that fate conceals, she had the power to tell, For not content was she to learn her father's arts, But rather pondered on mysterious things. So when the god of frenzy warmed her breast, Gazing on Atikilopius, the child of Phoebus and Kyronus, While her soul was gifted with prophetic voice, she said, O thou who wilt bestow on all the world, The blessed boon of health increase in strength, To thee shall mortals often owe their lives, To thee is given the power to raise the dead. But when against the power of deities, Thou shalt presume to dare thy mortal skill, The bolts of jove will shatter thy great might, And health no more be thine from thence to grant, And from a god thou shalt return to dust, And once again from dust become a god, And thou shalt thus renew thy destiny. And thou, dear father Kyron, Brought to birth with pledge of an immortal life, Informed with ever-during strength, When biting flames of torment, From the baneful serpent's blood are coursing in thy veins, Thou shalt implore a welcome death, And thy immortal life the gods shall suffer to the power of death, And three destinies shall cut thy thread. She would continue these prophetic words, But tears unbidden trickled down her face, And as it seemed her size would break her heart, She thus bewailed, the fates constrained my speech, And I can say no more, my power has gone. Alas, my art, although of little force and dabbful worth, Has brought upon my head the wrath of heaven, O wherefore did I know to cast the future? Now my human form puts on another shape, And the long grass affords me needed nourishment. I want to range the boundless planes and have become, In image of my father's kind, a mare. But gaining this, why lose my human shape? My father's form is one of twain combined.  Down to the meadows green her arms were stretched, Her fingers joined together, And smooth hoofs made of five nails, A single piece of horn. Her face and neck were lengthened, And her hair swept downward as a tail. The scattered locks that clung around her neck Were made a mane, tossed over to the right. Her voice and shape were all together changed, And since that day, the change has given her a different name. In vain, her hero father, Kyren, Prayed the glorious god Apollo, her to aid. He could not thought the will of mighty Jove, And if the power were his, far from the spot, From thence afar his footsteps tried the fields Of Ellis and Massimia, far from thence. Now, while Apollo wandered on those plains, His shoulders covered with a shepherd's skin, His left hand holding his long shepherd's staff, His right hand visit with the seven reeds of seven sizes, Brooding over the death of Hymenius, Lost from his delight. While mournful it is, and the reeds were tuned, His kind, forgotten, Strayed away to graze over the plains of Pylos. Mercury observed them, unattended, And from thence drove them away and hid them in the forest. So deftly did he steal them, No one knew or noticed save an ancient forester, Well known to all the neighbour folk, By them called Bathos. He was keeper of that wood, And that green pasture, Where the blooded mares of rich Nilius grazed. As Mercury distrusted him, He led him to one side and said, Good stranger, whosoever thou art, If any one should happily question thee, If thou hast seen these kind, Deny it all, and for thy good will, O the deed is done, I give as thy reward this handsome cow. Now when the gift was his, old Bathos said, Go hence in safety, if it be thy will, And should my tongue betray thee, Let that stone make mention of the theft, And as he spoke, he pointed to a stone. The son of Jove pretended to depart, But quickly changed his voice and features, And retraced his steps, And thus again addressed that ancient man. Kind sir, if thou wast earn a fair reward, A heifer and a bull, If thou hast seen some cattle pass, I pray thee give thy help, And tell me of the theft. So the reward was doubled, And the old man answered him, Beyond those hills they be, And so they were beyond those hills. And laughing, Mercury said, Thou treacherous man to me, Dost thou betray myself? Dost thou beret me to myself? For God indignant turned his purged breast into a stone, Which even now is called the spy of Pylos, A disgraceful name, derived from days of old, But undeserved. High in the dome of heaven, Behold the bright, cadacious bearer, Soared unbalanced wings, And far below him, through a fruitful grove, Devoted to manervous hallowed rain, Some virgins bearing on their lovely heads, In wicked baskets wreathed and decked with flowers, Their sacred offerings to the citadel of that chaste goddess. And the winged god, While circling in clear unbounded skies, Beheld that train of virgins, Beautiful as they were, Thence returning on their way. Not forward on a level line he flew, But wheeled in circles round. Low, the swift kite swoops round the smoking entrails, While the priests enclose in guarded ranks their sacrifice. Weary with fear, That swiftest of all birds, Dares not to venture from his vantage height, But greedily hovers on his waving wings Around his keen desire. So the bright god circled those tellers, Actium round and round in lazy circles, Greedy as the bird. As much as Lucifer outshines the stars That emulate the glory of his rays, As greatly as bright Phoebe pales thy light, O lustrous Lucifer, So far surpassed in beauty the fair maiden Hurse, All those lovely virgins of that sacred train, Departing joyous from a nervous grove. The son of Jove, Astonished, While he wheeled unbalanced pinions Through the yielding air, Burnt hot, As oft from bellaric sling the leaden missile, Hulled with sudden force, Burns in a glowing heat beneath the clouds, Then sloped the god his course from airy height And turned a different way. Another way he went without disguise In confidence of his celestial grace, But though he knew his face was beautiful, He combed his hair and fixed his flowing raiment That the fringe of radiant gold appeared, And in his hand he waved his long smooth wand With which he gives the wakeful sleep Or wake of the ridden eyes. He proudly glanced upon his twinkling feet That sparkled with their scintillating wings. In a secluded part of that great fame, Devoted to Minerva's hallowed rites, Three chambers were adorned with tortoise shell And ivory and precious woods inlaid, And there devoted to Minerva's praise Three well-known sisters dwelt. Upon the rite dwelt Pandrosus, And over on the left Aglurus dwelt, And hers occupied the room between those two. When Mercury drew near to them, Aglurus first despised the god And ventured to inquire his name And wherefore he was come. Then Gracious spoke to her in answer The bright son of Jove, Behold the god who carries through the air The mandates of almighty Jupiter. But I come hither not to waste my time In idle words, but rather to beseech Thy kindness and good aid, That I may win the love of Thy devoted sister Huss. Aglurus, on the son of Jupiter, Gazed with those eyes that only lately viewed The guarded secret of the yellow-haired Minerva And demanded as her price gold of great weight Before he paid denied admittance of the house. Minerva turned with orbs of stern displeasure Towards the maid Aglurus, And her bosom heaved with sighs so deeply laboured That her aegis shield was shaken on her valiant breast. For she remembered when Aglurus gave to view her charge With impious hand that monster form without a mother Morgoth nature's law, What time the god who dwells on themless loved. Now to requite the god and sister Her to punish whose demand of gold was great. Minerva to the cave of Envy sped Dark, hideous with black gore Her dread abode is hidden in the deepest hollowed cave In utmost limits where the genial sun may never shine And where the breathing winds may never venture Dismal, bitter cold untempered by the warmth of welcome fires Involved forever in abounding gloom. When the fair champion came to this abode She stood before its entrance For she deemed it not a lawful thing to enter there And she whose arm is mortal to her foes Struck the black doorposts with her pointed spear And shook them to the centre. Straight doors flew open And behold, within was Envy, Ravening the flesh of Vipers, Self begot the nutriment of her depraved desires. When the great goddess met her evil gaze She turned her eyes away But Envy, slow, in sluggish languor From the ground uproars And left the scattered serpents half devoured Then moving with a sullen pace approached And when she saw the gracious goddess Girt with beauty and resplendent in her arms She groaned aloud and fetched up heavy sighs Her face is pale, her body long and lean Her shifting eyes glanced to the left and right Her snaggle teeth are covered with black rust Her hanging paps overflow with bitter gall Her slather tongue drips venom to the ground Busy in schemes and watchful in dark snares Sweet sleep is banished from her bloodshot eyes Her smiles are only seen when others weep With sorrow she observes the fortunate And pines away as she beholds their joy Her own existence is her punishment And while tormenting she torments herself Although Minerva held her in deep scorn She thus commanded her with winged words Instill thy poison in agloris, child of secrets I command thee, do my will She spake and, spurning with her spear The ground departed And the sad and furtive-eyed Envy Observed her in her glorious flight She murmured at the goddess, great in arms But waiting not she took in hand her staff Which spans of thorns and circled as a wreath And veiled in midnight clouds departed dense She blasted on her way the ripening fields Scorched the green meadows, starred with flowers And breathed pestilence throughout the land And the great cities When her eyes beheld the glorious citadel of Athens Great in art and wealth, a bode of joyful peace She hardly could refrain from shedding tears That nothing might be witnessed worthy tears She sought the chamber where agloris slept And hastened to obey the gods' behest She touched the maiden's bosom with her hands Foul with corrupting stains And pierced her heart with jagged thorns And breathed upon her face a noxious venom And distilled through all the marrow of her bones And in her lungs a poison blacker Than the ooze of pitch Unless the canker of her poisoned assault Might spread unchecked throughout increasing space She caused a vision of her sister's form To rise before her, happy with the god Who shone in his celestial beauty All appeared more beautiful than real life When the most wretched daughter of secrets Had seen the vision secret torment Seized on all her vitals And she groaned aloud, tormented By her frenzy day and night A slow consumption wasted her away Ice is melted by the slant sunbeam When the cool clouds are flitting in the sky If she but thought of hers is happiness She burned as thorny bushes are consumed With smoldering embers under steaming stems She could not bear to see her sister's joy And longed for death, an end of misery All schemed to end the torture of her mind By telling all she knew in shameful words Whispered to her austere and upright sire But after many agonizing hours She sat before the threshold of their home To intercept the god, whom, as he neared Spoke softly in smooth blandishment Enough, she said, I will not move from here Until thou hast departed from my sight Let us adhere to that which was agreed Rejoined, the graceful form sirelinian god Who, as he spoke, thrust open With the touch of his compelling wand The carved door But when she made an effort to arise Her thighs felt heavy, rigid and benumbed And as she struggled to arise Her knees were stiffened And her nails turned pale and cold Her veins grew pallid as the blood congealed And even as the dreaded cancer Spreads through all the body Adding to its taint the flesh uninjured So a deadly chill entered by slow degrees Her breast and stopped her breathing And the passages of life She did not try to speak But had she made an effort to complain There was not left the passage for her voice Her neck was changed to rigid stone Her countenance felt hard She sat a bloodless statue But of stone not marble white Her mind had stained it black So from the land of palace went the god His great revenge accomplished On the head of empires aglorus And he soared on waving wings Into the open skies And there his father called him to his side And said, with words to hide his passion Son, thou faithful minister of my commands Let not delay thee Swiftly take the way, accustomed To the land of Sidon Which adores thy mother's star upon the left When there, drive over to the sounding shore That royal herd, which far away is fed On mountain grass He spoke, and instantly the herd Was driven from the mountainside Then headed for the shore, as Jove desired To where the great king's daughter Often went in play, attended by the maids Of Tia Can love abide the majesty of kings Love cannot always dwell upon a throne Jove laid aside his glorious dignity For he assumed the semblance of a bull And mingled with the bullocks in the groves His colour white as virgin snow Untrod, unmelted by the watery southern wind His neck was thick with muscles Dew laps hung between his shoulders And his polished horns So small and beautifully set Appeared the artifice of man Fashioned as fair and more transparent Than a lucent gem His forehead was not lowered for attack Nor was there fury in his open eyes The love of peace was in his countenance When she beheld his beauty and mild eyes The daughter of Arch-Noel was amazed But, daring not to touch him Stood apart until her virgin fears were quieted Then, near him, fragrant flowers In her hand she offered Tempting to his gentle mouth And then the loving god in his great joy Kissed her sweet hands And could not wait her will Jove then began to frisk upon the grass Allowed his snow-white side On the smooth sand, yellow and golden As her courage grew He gave his breast one moment for caress Or bent his head for garlands newly made Wreathed for his polished horns The royal maid, unwitting what she did At length sat down upon the bull's broad back Then, by degrees, the god moved From the land and from the shore And placed his feet, that seemed but shining hooves In shallow water by the sandy merge And not a moment resting before her vents Across the surface of the middle sea While she, affrighted, gazed upon the shore So fast receding And she held his horn with her right hand And, steadied by the left Held on his ample back And in the breeze Her waving garments fluttered as they went End of Book Two, Part Three Jupiter had not revealed himself Nor they decide the semblance of a ball Until they stood upon the plains of Crete But not aware of this, her father baited her brother Cadmus Searched through all the world until he found his sister And proclaimed him doomed to exile if he found her not Thus was he good and wicked in one deed When he had vainly wandered over the earth For who can fathom the deceits of Jove? Cadmus, the son of Agenor Shunt his country and his father's mighty wrath But he consulted the famed oracle of Phoebus And inquired of them what land might offer him a refuge and a home And Phoebus answered him When on the plains a heifer that has never known the yoke Shall cross thy path, go there with her And follow where she leads And when she lies to rest herself upon the meadow-green There shall thou stop, as it will be a sign For thee to build upon that plain the wells of a great city And its name shall be the city of Boetia Cadmus turned, but hardly had descended from the cave, Castalion ere he saw a heifer go unguarded, gentle paced Without the scars of labour on her neck He followed close upon her steps And silently adored Celestial Phoebus, author of his way Till over the channel that suffices wheres He fought it to the fields of Panope And even over to Boetia There stood the slow paced heifer And she raised her forehead, broad with shapely horns Towards heaven, and as she filled the air with lowing Stretched her side upon the tender-grass And turned her gaze on him who followed in her path Cadmus gave thanks and kissed the foreign soil And offered salutation to the fields and unexplored hills Then he prepared to make large sacrifice to Jupiter And ordered slaves to seek the living springs Whos waters in libation might be poured There was an ancient grove Whos branching trees had never known the desecrating axe Where hidden in the undergrowth, a cave with oseous Bending mound its low-formed arch Was hollowed in the jutting rocks Deep found in the dark centre of that hallowed grove Beneath its arched roof, a butchest stream Of water welled serene Its gloom concealed a dragon, sacred to the war-like Mars Crested and gorgeous with redescent scales And eyes that sparkled as the glow of coals A deadly venom had puffed up his bulk And from his jaws he darted forth three tongues And in a triple row his sharp teeth stood Now those who ventured of the Tyrion race Misfortuneed followers of Cadmus Took the path that led them to this grove And when they cast down splashing in the springs and urn The hidden dragon stretched his azure head out from the caverns Gloom and vented forth terrific hissings Horrified they dropped their urns A sudden trembling shook their knees And their lifeblood was iced within their veins The dragon weaved his scales in rolling knots And with a spring and twisted in great folds Reared up his bulk beyond the middle wings High in the air from whence was given his gaze The extreme confines of the grove below A size prodigious, his enormous bulk If seen extended where was not to hide Would rival in its length the serpent's folds Involved betwixt the planes of the twin bears The terrified Phoenicians, whether armed for conflict Or in flight precipitate, or whether held incapable from fear He seized with sudden range, stung them to death Or crushed them in the grasp of crushing folds Or blasted with the poison of his breath High in the heavens the sun's small shadow made When Cadmus, wondering what detained his men Prepared to follow them Croved in a skin torn from a lion, he was armed Complete with lance of glittering steel And with a dart, but passing these he had a dauntless soul When he explored the grove and there beheld the lifeless bodies And above them stretched the vast victorious dragon Licking up the blood that issued from their ghastly wounds Dripping gore, then Cadmus, filled with rage and grief Behold my faithful ones, I will avenge your deaths Or I will share it He spoke, and lifted up a millstone huge in his right hand And having poised it, hurled with a tremendous effort Dealing such a blow would crush the strongest-builded walls Yet neither did the dragon flinch the shock Nor was he wounded, for his armour scales Fixed in his hard and swarthy hide Repelled the dreadful impact Not the javelin thus, so surely by his armoured skin was foiled For through the middle segment of his spine The steel point pierced and sank beneath the flesh Deep in his entrails Riving in great pain he turned his head upon its bleeding back Twisting the shout with force prodigious Shook it back and forth and wrenched it from the wound With difficulty wrenched it But the steel remained securely fastened in his bones Such agony but made increase of rage His throat was swollen with great knotted veins A white frost gathered on his poisonous jaws The earth resounded with his rasping scales He breathed upon the grass a pestilence Steaming mephitic from his titian mouth His body writhes up in tremendous guise His folds now straighter than a beam untwist He rushes forward on his vengeful foe His great breast crushing the deep-rooted trees Small space gave cadmus to the dragon's rage For by the lion's spoil he stood the shock And thrusting in his adversaries jaws The trusted lance gave Chek his mad career Wild in his rage the dragon bit the steel And fixed his teeth on the keen biting point Out from his poisoned pallet streams of gore Spouted and stained the green with sanguine spray Yet slight the wound for he recoiled in time And drew his wounded body from the spear By shrinking from the sharp steel Saved his throat a mortal wound But cadmus, as he pressed the spear-point deeper In the serpent's throat, pursued him Till an oak tree barred the way To this he fixed the dragon through the neck The stout trunk bending with the monster's weight Growned at the lashing of his serpent tail While the brave victor gazed upon the bulk Enormous of his vanquished foe A voice was heard from whence was difficult to know But surely heard, son of Agenor Why art thou here standing by this carcass worm For others shall behold thy body changed into a serpent Terrified, amazed, he lost his colour and his self-control His hair stood upright from the dreadful fright But low, the hero's watchful deity Minerva from the upper realms of air Appeared before him She commanded him to sew the dragon's teeth In mellowed soil, from which might spring Another race of men And he obeyed And as he plowed the land Took care to scatter in the foe's soil the dragon's teeth A seed to raise up man It is marvellous but true When this was done the clods began to move A spear-point first appeared above the furrows Followed next by helmet-covered heads Knodding their cones Their shoulders, breasts and arms waited with spears And largely grew the shielded crop of men So it is in the joyful theatres when the gay curtains Rolling from the floor Out upward drawn until the scene is shown It seems as if the figures rise to view First we behold their faces Then we see their bodies And their forms by slow degrees Appear before us on the painted cloth Cadmus, affrighted by this host Prepared to arm for his defence But one of those from earth requested, cried Arm not, away from civil wars And with his trench and sword he smote an earth-born brother Hand to hand, even as the vanquished so the victor fell Pierced by a dart some distant brother hurled And likewise he who cast that dart was slain Both breathing forth their lives upon the air So briefly theirs expired together All as if demented leaped in sudden rage Each on the other, dealing mutual wounds So, having lived the space allotted them The youthful warriors perished as they smote the earth Their blood-stained mother, with their breasts And only five of all the troop remained Of whom Echion, by Minerva warned Called on his brothers to give up the fight And cast his arms away in pledge of faith When Cadmus, exiled from Sidonia's gates Builded the city by Apollo named These five were trusted comrades in his toil Now thieves is founded Who can deem thy days unhappy in thine exile, Cadmus? Thou, the son-in-law of Mars and Venus Thou, whose glorious wife has borne to thine embrace Daughters and sons, and thy grandchildren Join around thee, almost grown to man's estate Nor should we say, he leads a happy life Till after death the funeral rites are paid Thy grandson, Cadmus, was the first To cast thy dear felicity in sorrow's gloom O, it was pitiful to witness him His horns outbranching from his forehead Chased by dogs that panted for their master's blood If thou shoulds well inquire It will be shown his sorrow was the crime of fortune Not his guilt, for who maintains mistakes are crimes Upon a mountain, stained with slaughtered game The young Hyantian stood Already day, increasing to meridian Made decrease the flitting shadows And the hot sun shone betwixt extremes in equal distance Such they are, when speaking to his fellow friends For while they wandered by those lonely haunts Actaeon or Piantis kindly thus Our nets and steels are stained with slaughtered game The day has filled its complement of sport Now, when Aurora in her saffron car brings back the light of day We may again repair to haunts of sport Now Phoebus hangs in middle sky Cleaving the fields with heat Enough of toil, take down the knotted nets All did as he commanded And they sought their needed rest There is a valley called Gargafia, sacred to Diana Dense with pine trees and the pointed cypress Where, deep in the woods that fringed the valley's edge Was hollowed in frail sandstone And the soft white pumice of the hills and arch So true it seemed the art of man For nature's touch In genius had so fairly wrought the stone Making the entrance of a grotto cool Upon the right a limpid fountain ran And babbled as its lucid channel Spread into a clear pool edge with tender grass Here, when a wearied with exciting sport The silver goddess loved to come And bathe her virgin beauty in the crystal pool After Diana entered with her nymphs She gave her javelin, quiver and her bows To one accustomed to the care of arms She gave her mantle to another nymph Who stood near by her as she took it off Two others loosed the sandals from her feet But Kulkali, the daughter of Ismenas More skillful than her sisters, Gathered up the goddess scattered tresses in a knot Her own were loosely wantoned on the breeze Then in their ample urns Dipped up the wave and poured it forth The cloud-lymph Nifeli The nymph of crystal pools called Hyale The raindrop Rannis The forsakers of the Jews And Hyale the guardian of their urns And while they bathed Diana in their streams Actaeon, wandering through the unknown woods Entered the precincts of that sacred grove With steps uncertain, wandered he as fate directed For his sport must wait till mourn Soon as he entered where the clear springs weld Or trickled from the grotto's walls The nymphs, now ready for the bath Beheld the man, smote on their breasts And made the woods resound, suddenly tricking Quickly gathered they to shield Diana With their naked forms But she stood head and shoulders taller than her guards As clouds bright tinted by the slanting sun Or purple dyed aurora So appeared Diana's countenance when she was seen Oh, how she wished her arrows were at hand But only having water This she took and dashed it on his manly countenance And sprinkled with the avenging stream his hair His words, presage of future woe Go tell it if your tongue can tell the tale Your bold eyes saw me stripped of all my robes No more she threatened But she fixed the horns of a great stag Firm on his sprinkled brows She lengthened out his neck She made his ears sharp at the top She changed his hands and feet Made long legs of his arms And covered him with dappled hair His courage turned to fear The brave son of Autonoy took to flight And marveled that he sped so swiftly on He saw his horns reflected in a stream And would have said, Ah, wretched me! But now he had no voice And he could only groan Large tears ran trickling down his face Transformed in every feature Yet, as clear remained his understanding And he wondered what he should attempt to do Should he return to his ancestral palace Or plunge deep in vast vacuities of forest wilds Fear made him hesitate to trust the woods And shame deterred him from his homeward way While doubting thus His dogs despised him there First Blackfoot and the sharp-nosed Tracer raised the signal Tracer of the Gnossian breed And Blackfoot of the Spartan Swift as wind the others followed Latin, Quicksite, Shorefoot Three dogs of Arkity Then Valiant Kilbuck, Tempest Fierce Hunter and the Rapid Wingfoot Sharp-scented Chaser and Woodranger Wounded so lately by a wild boar Savage Wildwood, the wolf begot With Shepardess the Cowdog And Ravenous Harpy followed by her twin whelps And Thingirt Leiden chosen from Siconia Racer and Barker, Brindled Spot and Tiger Sturdy Old Stout and Whitehead Blanch And Black Smut, Lusty Big Lakeon Trusty Storm and Quickfoot Active Young Wolfit and her Cyprian brother Black-headed Snap Blazed with a patch of white hair From forehead to his muzzle Swally Blackcoat and Shaggy Bristle Towser and Wildtooth His Sire of Dictay and his Dam of Lakeon And Yelping Babler These and others, more than patience Leads us to account or name All eager for their prey The pack's amounts of rocks, cliffs And crags, precipitous Where paths are steep, where roads are none He flies by routes so off-pursued But now, alas, his flight is from his own He would have cried, Behold your master, it is I, Actaeon Words refused his will The Yelping Pack pressed on First Blackman seized and tore his master's back Savaged the next Then Rover's teeth were clinched deep in his shoulder These, though tardy out Cut through a bypass And arriving first clung to their master till the pack came up The whole pack fastened on their master's flesh Till place was none for others Growning he made frightful sounds That not the human voice could utter nor the stag And filled the hills with dismal moans And as a suppliant fell down to the ground Upon his trembling knees And turned his stricken eyes on his own dogs And treating them to spare him from their fangs But his companions, wickless of his plight Urged on the swift pack with their hunting cries They sought Actaeon, and they vainly called Actaeon, Hi, Actaeon Just as though he was away from them Each time they called he turned his head And when they chided him, whose indolence Denied the joys of sport How much he wished an indolent desire Had happily held him from his ravenous pack O, how much better it is to see the hunt And the fierce dogs, then feel their savage deeds They gathered round him And they fixed their snouts deep in his flesh Taught him to pieces He whose features only as a stag appeared To said Diana's fury raged with none abatement Till the torn flesh ceased to live Book III. Part I. Some deplored his doom But others praised Diana's chastity And all gave many reasons But the spouse of Jove, alone remaining silent Gave nor praise nor blame Whenever Kil'emitebo fell the race of Cadmus She rejoiced in secret For she visited her rage on all Europa's kindred Now a fresh occasion had been added to her grief And wild with jealousy of Semile Her tongue is ever ready to her rage Let's lose a torrent of abuse Away, away with words Why should I speak of it? Let me attack her, let me spoil that jade Am I not Juno, the supreme of heaven Queen of the flesh and sceptre Am I not sister and wife of Jove omnipotent She even wishes to be known by him A mother of a deity A joy almost denied to me Great confidence has she in her great beauty Nevertheless, I shall so weave the web The bolt of Jove would fail to save her Let the gods deny that I am Saturn's daughter If her shade descend not stricken to the Stygian wave She rose up quickly from her shining throne And hidden in a cloud of fiery hue Descended to the home of Semile And while encompassed by the cloud Transformed her whole appearance As to counterfeit old Barrow An epidorean nurse who tended Semile Her traces changed to gray Her smooth skin wrinkled And her stab-grown feeble as she moved With trembling limbs Her voice was quavering As in ancient dames As Juno, thus disguised Began to talk to Semile When presently the name of Jove was mentioned Artful Juno, thus doubtful that Jupiter Could be her love When Jove appears to pledge his love to you And implore him to assume his majesty And all his glory Even as he does in presence of his stately Juno Yeah, implore him to caress you as a god With artful words as these The goddess worked upon the trusting mind Of Semile, daughter of Cadmus Till she begged of Jove a boon That only hastened her sad death For Jove not knowing her design replied Whatever thy wish, it shall not be denied And that thy heart shall suffer no distrust I pledge me by that deity The waves of the deepstige and lake Oath of the gods All overjoyed at her misfortune Proud that she prevailed And pleased that she secured of him a promise That could only cause her own disaster Semile addressed Almighty Jove Come unto me in all the splendor of thy glory As thy might is shown to Juno, goddess of the skies Fain would his stifle her disastrous tongue Before he knew her quest the words were said And knowing that his greatest oath was pledged He sadly mounted to the lofty skies And by his potent nod assembled there the deep clouds And the rain began to pour and thunderbolts resounded But his strove to mitigate his power And armed him not with flames overwhelming As had put to flight his hundred-handed foe, Tifias Flames too dreadful Other thunderbolts he took Forged by the cyclops of a milder heat With which insignia of his majesty Sad and reluctant he appeared to her Her mortal form could not endure the shock And she was burned to ashes in his sight An unformed babe was rescued from her side And nurtured in the dye of Jupiter Completed nature's time until his birth I know his aunt in secret nursed the boy And cradled him And him Nisean nymphs concealed in caves And fed with needful milk While these events according to the laws of destiny occurred And while the child, the twice-born Bacchus In his cradle lay to stole that Jupiter A careless hour indulged too freely in the nectar cup And having laid aside all weighty cares Gested with Juno as she idled by Freely the god began, who doubts the truth The female's pleasure is a great delight Much greater than the pleasure of a male Juno denied it, where Fort was agreed To ask Pyrrhesius to declare the truth Then whom none knew both male and female joys For wandering in a green wood he had seen Two serpents coupling, and he took his staff And sharply struck them till they broke and fled Tis marvelous that instant he became A woman from a man, and so remained While seven options pass When eight were told again he saw them In their former plight, and thus he spoke Since such a power was wrought by one stroke Of a staff, my sex was changed Again I strike, and even as he struck The same two snakes his former sex returned His manhood was restored As both agreed to choose him Empire of the sportive strife He gave decision in support of Jove From this the disappointment Juno felt Surpassed all reason, and enraged Decreed eternal night should seal Tyrrhesius' eyes Immortal deities may never turn Decrease in deeds of other gods to not But Jove to recompense his loss of sight Endowed him with the gift of prophecy Tyrrhesius' fame of prophecy was spread Through all the cities of Ionia For his unerring answers unto all Who listened to his words And first of those that heartened to his faithful prophecies A lovely nymph named Lyriope Came with her dear son, who then fifteen Might seem a man or boy He who was born to her upon the green merge Of Cephas's stream, that mighty river god Whom she declared the father of her boy She questioned him, imploring him to tell her If her son, unequaled for his beauty Whom she called Narcissus, might attain A ripe old age to which the blind seer Answered in these words If he but failed to recognize himself A long life he may have beneath the sun So frivolous the prophet's words appeared And yet the event, the manner of his death The strange delusion of his frenzied love Confirmed it Three times five years so were passed Another five years And the lad might seem a young man or a boy In many a youth In many a damsel sought to gain his love But such his mood and spirit and his pride None gained his favor Once a noisy nymph Who never held her tongue when others spoke Who never spoke till others had begun Mocking echo spied him as he drove And his delusive gnats, some timid stags For echo was a nymph in olden time And more than vapid sound possessed the forum And she was then deprived the use of speech Except to babble and repeat the words once spoken Over and over Juno confused her silly tongue Because she often held that glorious goddess With her endless tales till many a hapless nymph From joves and braze had made escape A down a mountain After this the goddess might have caught him Thus the glorious Juno when she knew her guile Your tongue so freely wagged at my expense Shall be of little use Your endless voice much shorter than your tongue At once the nymph was stricken as the goddess had decreed And ever since she only mocks the sounds of others' voices Or perchance returns their final words One day when she observed Narcissus wondering The pathless woods she loved him And she followed him with soft and stealthy tread The more she followed him the hotter did she burn As when the flame flares upward from the sulfur on the torch Oh how she longed to make her passion known To plead in soft and treaty to implore his love But now till others have begun A mute of nature she must be She cannot choose but wait the moment When his voice may give to her an answer Presently the youth by chance Divided from his trusted friends cries loudly Who is here?  Come here!  Echo cries All let us come together! Never sound seems sweeter to the nymph And from the woods she hastens in accordance with her words And strives to wind her arms around his neck He flies from her And as he leaves her says Take off your hand You shall not fold your arms around me Better death than such a one should ever caress me Not she answers, save, caress me Thus rejected she lies hid in the deep woods Hiding her blushing face with the green leaves And ever after lives concealed In lonely caverns in the hills But her great love increases with neglect Her miserable body wastes away Wakeful with sorrows Lina shrivels up her skin And all her lovely features melt As if dissolved upon the wafting winds Nothing remains except her bones and voice Her voice continues in the wilderness Her bones have turned to stone She lies concealed in the wild woods Nor is she ever seen on lonely mountain range For though we hear her calling in the hills Tis but a voice, a voice that lives That lives among the hills Thus he deceived the nymph and many more Sprung from the mountains or the sparkling waves And thus he slighted many an emmer's youth Therefore someone whom he once despised Lifting his hands to heaven implored the gods If he should love deny him what he loves And as the prayer was uttered It was heard by Nemesis who granted her assent There was a fountain, silver clear and bright Which neither shepherd nor the wild shegoats That ranged the hills nor any cattle's mouth had touched Its waters were unsullied, birds disturbed it not Nor animals nor boughs that fall so often from the trees Around sweet grasses nourished by the stream grew Trees that shaded from the sun let balmy air Temper its waters Here, Narcissus, tired of hunting and the heated noon Lay down, attracted by the peaceful solitudes And by the glassy spring There, as he stooped to quench his thirst Another thirst increased While he is drinking, he beholds himself Reflected in the mirrored pool and loves Loves an imagined body which contains no substance Where he deems the mirrored shade a thing of life to love He cannot move, for so he marvels at himself And lies with countenance unchanged As if indeed a statue carved on party marble Long, supine upon the bank His gaze is fixed on his own eyes, twin stars His fingers shaped as Bacchus might desire His flowing hair, as glorious as Apollos And his cheeks youthful and smooth His ivory neck, his mouth, streaming in sweetness His complexion fair and blushing as the rose in snowdrift white All that is lovely in himself he loves And in his witless way he wants himself He, who approves, is equally approved He seeks, is sought, he burns, and he's burned And how he kisses the deceitful fount And how he thrusts his arms to catch the nag That's pictured in the middle of the stream Yet never may he read his arms around that image of himself He knows not what he there beholds But what he sees inflames his longing And the error that deceives allures his eyes But why, oh foolish boy So vainly catching at this flitting form The cheat that you are seeking has no place Avert your gaze and you will lose your love For this that holds your eyes is nothing Save the image of yourself reflected back to you It comes and waits with you, it has no life It will depart if you only go Nor food nor rest can draw him thence Outstretched upon the overshadowed green His eyes fixed on the mirrored image Never may know their longing satisfied And by their sight he's himself undone Raising himself a moment he extends his arms around And beckoning to the murmuring forest Oh ye, I, old Wood, was every man in love More fatally than I? Your silent paths have sheltered many a one Whose love was told, and you have heard their voices Ages vast have rolled away since your forgotten birth But who is he through all those weary ears That ever pine away as I? Alas, this fatal image wins my love as I behold it But I cannot press my arms around the form I see The form that gives me joy What strange mistake has intervened betwixt us and our love It grieves me more than neither lands nor seas nor mountains No, nor walls with closed gates deny our loves But only a little water keeps as far as under Surely he desires my love and my embraces For as oft I strive to kiss him Bending to the limpid stream my lips So often does he hold his face fondly to me And vainly struggles up It seems that I could touch him This is a strange delusion that is keeping us apart Whatever thou art, come up, deceive me not Oh, whether when I faint pursue art thou Ah, surely I am young and fair The nymphs have loved me And when I behold thy smiles I cannot tell thee What sweet hopes arise When I extend my loving arms to thee Thine also are extended me Thy smiles return my own When I was weeping I have seen thy tears And every sign I make thou cost return And often thy sweet lips have seen to move That, per adventure, words which I have never heard Thou hast returned No more my shade deceives me, I perceive Thus I in thee I love myself The flame arises in my breast and burns my heart What shall I do? Shall I at once implore? Or should I linger till my love is sought? What is it I implore? The thing that I desire is mine Abundance makes me poor Oh, I am tortured by a strange desire Unknown to me before For I would faint put off this mortal form Which only means I wish the object of my love away Grief saps my strength The sense of life are run And in my early youth am I cut off But death is not my bane It ends my woe I would not death for this that is my love As two united in a single soul would die as one He spoke And crazed with love returned to view The same face in the pool And as he grieved his tears disturbed the stream And ripples on the surface glassy clear Defaced his mirrored form And thus the youth, when he beheld that lovely shadow go Ha, wither cause thou fly Oh, I entreat thee, leave me not Alas, thou cruel boy, thus to forsake thy lover Stay with me, that I may see thy lovely form For though I may not touch thee I shall feed my eyes and soothe my wretched pains And while he spoke, he ran his garment from the upper edge And beating on his naked breast all white as marble Every stroke produced a tint as lovely as the apple-streak with red Whereas the glowing grape when purple bloom touches the ripening clusters When as glass again the rippling water smoothed And when such beauty in the stream the youth observed No more could he endure As in the flame the yellow walks or as the whore-frost melts In early morning near the gin of sun So did he pine away by love consumed And slowly wasted by a hidden flame No vermal bloom now mingled in the white of his complexion fair No strength has he, no vigor, nor the comeliness That wrought for love so long Alas, that handsome form by echo fondly loved May please no more But when she saw him in his hapless plight Though angry at his scorn she only grieved As often as the love-lord-boy complained Alas, alas her equine voice returned And as he struck his hands against his arms She ever answered with her equine sounds And as he gazed upon the mirrored pool He sat at last, ah, youth beloved in vain In vain, in vain, the spot returned his words And when he breathed the sad farewell Farewell, sighed Echo too He laid his worried head and rested on the virgin grass And those bright eyes which had so loved to gaze And tranced on their own master's beauty The night closed And now, although among the nether shades His sad sprite roams He ever loves to gaze on his reflection In the stigian wave His nyad sisters mourned And having clipped their shining tresses Layed them on his corpse And all the dryads mourned And Echo made lament anew And these would have upraised his funeral pyre And waved the flaming torch and made his beer But as they turned their eyes where he had been Alas, he was not there And in his body's place a sweet flower grew Golden and white, the white around the gold End of Book 3, Part 2 Recording by Mark Harrington Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nazo Translated by Brooks Moore Book 3, Part 3 Narcissus' fate, when known throughout the land And cities of Achaia, added fame-deserved To blind Tiresius, mighty Seer Yet Pentheus, bold despiser of the gods Son of Echion, scoffed at all his praise And, soul of man deriding the great Seer Uprated him his hapless loss of sight And shaking his white temples, whore with age Tiresius of Pentheus prophesied O glad the day to thee, if light denied Thine eyes, most fortunate, should not behold The back and alien rites The day will come, and soon the light will dawn When Bacchus, born of Semile Deity, shall make his advent known All hail the new god Bacchus Either thou must build a temple to this deity Or shall be torn asunder Thy remains, throughout the forests scattered Will pollute the wood with sanguinary streams And thy lifeblood bespatter with corrupting blots Thy frenzied mother and her sister's twain And all shall come to pass, as I have told Thou wilt not honour the new god And thou shalt wail and marvel at the sight Of blind Tiresius, though veiled in night And as he spoke, lo, Pentheus drove the Seer But all his words, prophetic, were fulfilled And confirmation followed in his steps Bacchus at once appears, and all the fields Resound with shouts of everybody there Ten brides and matrons and a howling rout Nobles and commons and the most refined A motley multitude, resistless born To join those rites of Bacchus there begun Then Pentheus cries, what madness O ye brave descendants of the dragon Sons of Mars, what frenzy has confounded you Can sounds of clanging brass prevail And pipes and horns and magical delusions Drunkenness and yelling women And obscene displays and hollow drums Overcome you, whom the sword nor troops Of war nor trumpet could affright How shall I wonder at these ancient men Who, crossing boundless seas from distant tire Hither transferred their exiled household gods And founded a new tire But now are shorn, and even as captives Would be led away without appeal to Mars And, O young men of active prime Whose vigor equals mine Cast down your ivy-ceptors Take up arms, put on your helmets Strip your brows of leaves, be mindful Of the mighty stock you are And let your souls be animated With the spirit of that dauntless dragon Which, unaided, slew so many And at last died to defend his fountain And his lake. So you may conquer In the hope of fame. He gave the brave to death But with your arms he shall expel the worthless And enhance the glory of your land. If fate decree the fall of Thebes, O, let the engines of war and men Pull down its walls, and let the clash Of steel and roaring flames resound. Thus, blameless in great misery, Our woes would be the theme of lamentations Known to story. And our tears would Shame us not. But now an unarmed boy Will conquer Thebes, a lad whom Neither weapons, wars nor steeds delight Whose ringlets reek with myrrh, Adorned with chaplets purple and embroidered Robes of interwoven gold. Make way for me, And I will soon compel him to confess His father is assumed, and all his rights Are frauds. If, in days gone, Acrecia So held this vain god in deserved contempt And shut the argive gates against his face, Why, therefore, should not Penteous Close the gates of Thebes with equal courage? Hence, away, fetch the vile leader Of these riders and chains, let not My mandate be delayed. Him to restrain his grandsire, Cadmus Strove, and Athomas, and many of his Trusted friends united in vain efforts To rebuke his reckless rage, but greater Violence was gained from every admonition. His rage increased the more it was restrained, And injury resulted from his friends. So have I seen a stream in open course Run gently on its way with pleasant noise, But when, so ever, logs and rocks Detained, it foamed with violence And ceased against obstruction. Presently returning came his servants Stained with blood, to whom he said, What have you done with Bacchus? And to him they made reply, Not Bacchus have we seen, but we have Taken his attendant lad, the chosen Servant of his sacred rites. And they delivered to the noble king A youth whose hands were lashed Behind his back. Then Penteous, The warrior turned his awful gaze Upon the lad, and though he scarce Deferred his doom, addressed him thus, Doomed to destruction, thou art soon To give example to my people by thy death. Tell me thy name, what are thy parents Called? Where is thy land, and where For art thou found attended On these Bacchanalian rites? But fearless, he replied, They call my name Acoates, and That is the land from whence I came. My parents were so poor, my father Left me in either fruitful fields, Tilled by the lusty ox, nor fleecy Sheep, nor lowing kind. For he himself was poor, and with His hook and line was want to catch The leaping fishes landed by his Rod. His skill was all his wealth. And when to me he gave his trade, He said, you are the heir of my Land, therefore unto you all that is Mine I give. And at his death he Left me nothing but the running waves. They are the sum of my inheritance, And after a while, that I might Not be bound forever to my father's Rocky shores, I learned to steer The keel with dexterous hand, and Marked with watchful gaze the Guiding stars, the watery Constellation of the goat, And the bear, the hyades, the Pleiades, the houses of the winds, And every harbor suitable for ships. So chanced it, as I made for Delos, First I veered close to the shores Of kiosk. There I steered by Plying on the starboard oar, and Nimbly leaping, gained the Sea-wet strand. Now, when the night was past And lovely dawn appeared, I rose From slumber, and I bade my men To fetch fresh water, and I Showed the pathway to the stream. Then did I climb a promontory's Height, to learn from there The promise of the winds, which Having done, I called the men And sought once more my ship. O'Felties, first of my companions Cried, behold, we come, and Thinking he had caught a worthy Prize in that unfruitful land, He led a boy, a virgin beauty Formed across the shore, heavy With wine and sleep the lad Appeared to stagger on his way, With difficulty moving. When I Saw the manner of his dress, his Countenance and grace, I knew It was not mortal man, and Being well assured, I said to Them, What deity abideth In that form I cannot say, But is a God in truth? O, whosoever thou art, Vouch safe to us propitious Waters, ease our toils, and Grant to these thy grace. At this, the one of all my Mariners, who was the quickest Hand, whoever was the Nimblus on the yards, and First to slip the ropes, Dictus exclaimed, Pray not for us, And all approved his words. The golden haired, the guardian Of the prow, Melanthus, Libus, and Alchimadon Approved it, and Apopeus, who Should urge the flagging Spirits, and with rhythmic Chance give time and measure In oars, and all the others Praised their leader's words. So blind is greed of Gain. Then I rejoined, Mine is the greatest share In this good ship, which I Will not permit to be destroyed, Nor injured by this sacred Freight, and I opposed Them as they came. Then Lycobus, the most Audacious of that impious Crew, began to rage. He was a criminal, who, for A simple murder, had been sent In exile from a Tuscan city's Gates. Whilst I Opposed, he gripped me by the Throat, and shook me as would Cast me in the deep, had I Not firmly held a rope half Stunned, and all that wicked Crew approved the deed. Then Bacchus, be assured It was the god, as though The noise disturbed his Lethargy from wine, and Reason had regained its power. Feeds are these, what noise Assails my ears, what Means decoyed my wandering Footsteps, whither do ye Lead? Fear not, the Steersman said, but tell Us fair the haven of your hope And you shall land where So your heart desires. To Naxos steer, quoth Bacchus, for it is indeed My home, and there the Mariner finds welcome cheer. Him to deceive, they Swear to themselves, and swore By gods of seas and skies To do his will, and they Commanded me to steer that Way. The Isle of Naxos was upon our right, And when they saw the sails Were set that way, they all Began to shout at once, What ho, thou madman, What insanity is this Acoedes, make our passage To the left? And all the While they made their meaning Whispers in my ears. I was Amazed, and answered, Take the helm, and I Refuse to execute their will Atrocious, and at once Resigned command. Then All began to murmur, and the Crew reviled me. Up Ithallion jumped, and said, As if our only safety is in You, with this he swaggered Up until command, and leaving Naxos steered for other Shores. Then Bacchus Rocking them, as if but Then he had discovered their deceitful Ways, looked on the ocean From the rounded stern, and seemed To sob as he addressed the men, Ah, mariners, what Alien shores are these? It is not the land you promised, Nor the port my heart desires. For what have I deserved this Cruel wrong? What honour Can a crew, if strong men, Mock a boy, a lonely youth If many should deceive? And as he spoke, I also Wept to see their wickedness. The impious gang made Marry at our tears, and Lashed the billows with their Quickening oars. By Bacchus Do I swear to you, and not Celestial is more potent. All the things I tell you are as True as they surpass the limit of Belief. The ship stood still As if a dry dock held it In the sea. The wandering Sailors laboured at the oars, They unfurled the sails, in hopes To gain some headway with redoubled Energies, but twisting Ivy tangled in the oars, and Interlacing held them by its weight. And Bacchus, in the midst Of all, stood crowned with Chaplets of grape leaves, and Shook a lance covered with twisted Frons of leafy vines. Around him crouched the visionary Forms of tigers, lynxes, And the model shapes Of panthers. Then the mariners leaped out, Possessed by fear or madness. Meddon first began To turn a swarthy hue, And fins grew outward From his flattened trunk, and With a curving spine his body Bent. Then Lycobus To him, what prodigy is This that I behold?  And Lybis, as he tried to Pull the oars, could see his own Hands shrivel into fins. Another of the crew began to Grasp the twisted ropes, but Even as he strove to lift his arms They fastened to his sides, With bending body and a crooked Back he plunged into the waves, And as he swam, displayed A tail as crescent as the Moon. Now here, now there, They flounce about the ship, They spray her decks with brine, They rise and sink, they rise again, And dive beneath the waves, They seem in sport of dance Upon the main. Out from their Nostrils they spout sprays Of brine, they toss their supple Sides. And I alone, Of twenty mariners that Manned that ship, remained. A cold chill seized my limbs, I was so frightened, But the gracious God now Spake me fair. Fear not, And steer for Naxos. And when we landed there, I ministered on smoking Alters, Bach and alien rights. But Penteas answered him, A parless tail, And we have listened to the dreary End, hoping our anger Might consume its rage. Away with him, hence Drag him, hurl him out With dreadful torture into Stygian night. Quickly They seized and dragged Aqueiti's forth, and cast him In the rage in triple strong. And while they fixed the instruments Of death, kindled the fires And wrought the cruel irons, The legend says, though No one aided him, the chains Were loosened, and slipped off His arms. The doors flew Open of their own accord. But Penteas, long Persisting in his rage, Not caring to command his men To go, himself went forth To Mount Kitheron, where He was singing and was shrilly Note the votaries of Bacchus At their rights. As when Was sounding brass, the trumpeter Alarms of war, the metal Charger nays, and sensed the Battle, so the clamored Skies resounding with the Dreadful outcries, fret The wrath of Penteas and his Rage in flame. About the middle of the Mount, with groves around His margin, was a treeless And nothing might conceal. Here, as he stood to view The sacred rites with impious eyes His mother saw him first. She was so wrought With frenzy, that she failed To know her son, and cast her Theorces, that it wounded him And shouted, Hi, come hither Ho, come hither My two sisters, a great bore Hath strayed into our fields Come, see me strike and wound Him. As he fled from them Right, the raging multitude rushed After him. And as they gathered Round, in cowardice He cried for mercy, and condemned Himself, confessing he had sinned Against a God. And as they wounded him, he called His aunt. O, tone away, have mercy Let the shade of sad Actaeon move thee to relent. No pity moved her When she heard that name, and a Wild frenzy she forgot her son. While Penteas was imploring Her, she tore his right arm out. Her sister, I know, wrenched The other from his trunk. He could not stretch his arms out To his mother, but he cried, Behold me, mother. When Agave saw his bleeding limbs Torn, scattered on the ground She howled, and tossed her head And shook her hair that streamed Upon the breeze.  Victory, the victory is ours! So when the wind strips From a lofty tree its leaves Which touched by autumn's cold Or loosely held, they fall Not quicker than the wretches Bleeding limbs were torn asunder By their cursed hands. Now frightened by this terrible Event, the women of Isminus Celebrate the new Bakantian Rights, and they revere The sacred altars, heaped In the rank and sense. End of Book 3, Part 3 Book 4, Part 1 Of Ovid's Metamorphosis This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings Are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer Please visit LibriVox.org Metamorphosis by Publius Ovidius Nazo Translated by Brooks Moore Book 4, Part 1 Alsitoe Daughter of King Minius Consents not to the orgies of the God Denies that Bacchus is the son Of Jove, and her two sisters Join her in that crime. To a festival day When matrons and their mates Keeping it sacred Had forbade all toil And having draped their bosoms With wild skins, they loosed Their long hair for the sacred wreaths And took the leafy thurses In their hands For so the priest commanded them Osteer the wrath of Bacchus If his power be scorned Mothers and youthful brides Obed the priest And putting by their wickers and their webs Dropped their unfinished toils To offer up frankincense to the God Invoking him with many names O Bacchus, o twice born O fire begot Thou only child, twice mothered God of all those who plant The luscious grape O Liber All these names and many more For ages known throughout The lands of Greece Thy youth is not consumed By wasting time And lo, thou art an ever youthful boy Most beautiful of all the Gods Of heaven, smoothest of virgin When thy horns are hid The distant east to Tony India's climb Where Rold's remotest Ganges To the sea was conquered by Thy might. O most revered, thou did Destroy the doubting pentheus And hurl the sailor's bodies in the Deep, and smote Lycurgus Wielder of the axe. And thou didst guide thy linksis Double-yoked with showy Harness.  Thou art implored By all Ismanian women To appear peaceful and mild And they perform thy rites. Only the daughters of King Minius Are carding wool Within their fuzzened doors Or twisting with their thumbs The fleazy yarn, or working At the web. So they corrupt the sacred festival With needless toil, keeping their Handmates busy at the work. And one of them, while drawing At the thread with nimble thumb A non began to speak. While others loiter And frequent these rites Fantastic, we the wards of palace Watch to be preferred By speaking novel thoughts May lighten labour. Let us each intern relate To an attentive audience, a novel tale. And so the hours may glide. It pleased her sisters And they ordered her to tell The story that she loved the most. So, as she counted In her well-stored mind The many tales she knew, First doubted she whether to tell Of Dursito, that Babylonian Who, ever the tribes of Palestine, in limpid ponds Yet lives, her body Changed and scales upon her limbs. Or how her daughter, Having taken wings Passed her declining gears In whitened towers. Or should she tell of nice Who with herbs too potent Into fishes had transformed The bodies of her lovers Till she met herself the same Or of that tree, which Sometime bore white fruit But now is changed and darkened By the blood that stained its roots. Pleased with the novelty of this, At once she tells the tale Of Pyramus and Thysbe, And swiftly as she told it Onto them, the fleazy wool Was twisted into threads. When Pyramus and Thysbe, Who were known the one most Handsome of all youthful men, The other loveliest of all Returned girls, lived in Joining houses near the walls That Queen Semiramus had built Of brick around her famous city. They grew fond and loved each other, Meeting often there, And as the days went by, their love Increased. They wished to Join in marriage, but that joy Their fathers had forbidden them To hope. And yet the passion That with equal strength inflamed Their minds, no parents could Forbid. No relatives And I guess their secret love For all their converse was by Knots and signs. And as a Small ring fire may gather heat, The more it is smothered, so their Love increased. Now, it so happened, A partition built between their houses Many years ago, was made Defective with a little chink. A small defect observed by none, Although for ages there. But what is hid from love? Our lovers found the secret Opening, and used its passage to Convey the sounds of gentle, murmured Words, whose tuneful note passed Off in safety through that hidden Way. There, many a time, they Stood on either side, this be On one, and Pyramus the other, And when their warm breath Touched from lip to lip, their size Were such as this. Thou envious wall, why are The standing in the way of those Who die for love? Thou envious wall, why are Thou in the way of those who die for Love? What harm could happen these Should thou permit us to enjoy our Love? But if we ask too much, Let us persuade that thou wilt Open while we kiss but once. For, we are not ungrateful, Unto thee we own our debt. Here thou hast left away That breathed words may enter loving Ears. So vainly, whispered they, And when the night began Made presents that they kissed a fawned farewell, vain kisses that a love might none avail. When dawn removed their glimmering lamps of night, and the bright sun had dried the dewy grass, again they met where they had told their love. And now, complaining of their hapless fate, in murmurs gentle, they at last resolved a way to slip upon the quiet night, elude their parents, and, as soon as free, quit the great-builded city and their homes. Fearful to wander in the potless fields, they chose a twisting place, the tomb of Ninus, where safely they might hide unseen, beneath the shadow of a tall mulberry tree, covered with snow-white fruit, closed by a spring. All is arranged according to their hopes, and now the daylight, seeming slowly moved, sinks in the deep waves, and the tardy night arises from the spot where day declines. Quickly, the clever this bee, having first deceived her parents, opened the closed door. She flitted in the silent night away, and, having veiled her face, reached the great tomb, and sat beneath the tree. Love made her bold. There, as she waited, a great lioness approached the nearby spring to quench her thirst. Her frothing jaws incarnadined with blood of slaughtered oxen. As the moon was bright, this bee could see her, and a frighted fled with trembling footsteps to a gloomy cave. And as she ran, she slipped and dropped her veil, which fluttered to the ground. She did not dare to save it.  But this bee, fortunate, escaped unseen. Now, Pyramus had not gone out so soon as this bee to the priest, and, when he saw the certain traces of that savage beast, imprinted in the yielding dust, his face went white with fear. But when he found the veil covered with blood, he cried, Alas, one night has caused the ruin of two lovers. Thou walt most deserving of completed days, but as for me, my heart is guilty. I destroyed thee. O my love, I bade thee come out in the dark night to a lonely haunt, and failed to go before. O, whatever lurks beneath this rock, thou ravenous lion, tear my guilty flesh, and with most cruel jaws devour my cursed entrails. What? Not so. It is a craven's part to wish for death. So he stopped briefly, and took up the veil, went straight away to the shadow of the tree. And as his tears bedewed the well-known veil, he kissed it oft, and sighing said, Kisses and tears are thine, receive my blood as well. And he imbrewed the steel, gird at his side, deep in his bowels, and plucked it from the wound, a faint with death. As he fell back to earth, his spurting blood shot upward in the air. So when D.K. has ripped a leaden pipe, a hissing jet of water spurts on high. By that dark tide, the berries on the tree assumed a deeper tint. For, as the roots soaked up the blood, the pendant mulberries weddied a purple tint. This bee returned, though trembling still with fright, for now she thought her lover must await her at the tree, and she should haste before he feared for her. Longing to tell him of her great escape, she sadly looked for him with faithful eyes. But when she saw the spot and the changed tree, she doubted could they be the same, for so the colour of the hanging fruit deceived. While doubt dismayed her on the ground, she saw the wounded body covered with its blood. She started backward under face group pale and ashen, and she shuddered like the sea, which trembles when its face is lightly skimmed by the chill breezes. And she paused a space. But when she knew it was the one she loved, she struck her tender breast and tore her hair. Then, breathing in her arms, his loved form, she bade the wound with tears, mingling her grief in his unquenched blood. And as she kissed his death, cold features wailed. Ah, Pyramus! What cruel fate has taken their life away! Pyramus! Pyramus! Awake! Awake! At Tisby's name he raised his eyes, though languorous in death, and darkness gathered frowned him as he gazed. And then she saw her veil, and near it lay his ivory sheath, but not the trusty sword, and once again she wailed. Thy own right hand and thy great passion have destroyed thee, and I, my hand shall be as bold as thine, my love shall nerve me to the fatal deed. Thee I will follow to eternity, though I be censured for the wretched cause, so surely I shall share thy wretched fate, alas whom death could me alone bereave, thou shalt not from my love bereft by death. And, O ye wretched parents, mine and his, let our misfortunes and our pleadings melt your hearts, that ye no more deny to those whom constant love and lasting death unite, in tombless in a single sepulcher, and, O thou tree of many branching bows, spreading dark shadows on the corpse of one destined to cover twain, take thou our fate upon thy head, mourn our untimely deaths, let thy fruit darken for a memory and emblem of our blood. No more, she said, and, having fixed the point below her breast, she fell on the king's word, still warm with this red blood. But though her death was out of nature's law, her prayer was answered, for it moved the gods and moved their parents. Now the gods have chained the ripened fruit which darkens on the branch, and from the funeral pile their parents sealed their gathered ashes in a single urn. So ended she. At once Lucanoi took the narrator's thread, and, as she spoke, her sisters all were silent. Even the son that rules the world was captive made of love. My theme shall be a love song of the son. To set the lord of day, whose wakeful eye beholds at once whatever may transpire, witness the lups of Mars and Venus. Grieved to know the wrong, he called the son of Juno, Vulcan, and gave full knowledge of the deed, showing how Mars and Venus shamed his love as they defiled his bed. Vulcan amazed, the nimble-thoughted Vulcan lost his wits, so that he dropped the work his right hand held. But turning from all erds at once, he set to file out chains of brass, delicate, fine, from which to fashion nets invisible, filmy of mesh and airy as a thread of insect web, that from the rafter swings. Implicit woven that they yielded soft the slightest movement or the gentlest touch. With cunning skill, he drew them round the bed where they were sure to dally. Presently appeared the faithless wife, and on the couch lay down to languish with her paramour. Meshed in the chains, they could not tense arise, nor could they else but lie in strict embrace, cunningly thus entrapped by Vulcan's wit. At once the Lemnian cuckold opened wide the folding ivory doors and called the gods to witness. There they lay disgraced and bound. I what were many of the lighter gods who wished themselves in like disgraceful bonds. The gods were moved to laughter, and the tale was long most noted in the courts of heaven. End of book four, part one. Book four, part two of Ovid's metamorphoses. This is the LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Metamorphoses by Publius Ovidius Nassau, translated by Brooks Moor, book four, part two. The Scytherian Venus brooded on the sun's portrayal of her stolen joys, and thought to torture him in passion's pains and reaquietal for the pain he caused. Son of Hyperion, what avails thy light? What is the profit of thy glowing heat? Lo, thou whose flames have parched in numerous lengths thy self art burning with another flame, and thou whose orbs you joy the universe, art-gazing only on Lakothius' charms, thy glorious eye and one fair maiden is fixed for getting all besides. Too early thou art rising from thy bed of Orion skies, too late thy setting in the western waves, so taking time to gaze upon thy love, thy frenzy lengthens out the wintry hour. And often thou art darkened in eclipse, dark shadows of this trouble in thy mind, unwontured aspect casting man perplexed in abject terror. Still thou art, though not betwixt thee and the earth, the shadow's moon bedims thy devious way, thy passion gives to grief thy countenance, for her thy heart alone is grieving. Clemini and Brodolse and Persa, mother of thy leading Cersei, are all forgotten for thy doting hope. Even Clity, who is yearning for thy love, no more can charm thee, thou art so foredone. Lucothea is the cause of many tears. Lucothea, daughter of Urynymy, most beauty's matron of Arabia's strand where spicy odours blow, Urynymy, in youthful prime, excelled her mother's grace, and, save her daughter, all excelled besides. Lucothea's father, Orchimus, was king where acanemies while him held the sway, and Orchimus from ancient Belis's death might count his reign the seventh in descent. The dark night pastures of Apollo's, Sol's, Steed's, are hid below the western skies. When there and spent with toil, in lieu of nibbling herbs, they take ambrosial food. It gives their limbs restoring strength and nourishes anew. Now, while these quarters eat celestial food, and the night resumes his reign, the god appears disguised, unguessed as old Urynymy to fair Lucothea, as she draws the threads all smoothly twisted from her spindle.  And he spoke to her, Let thy twelve handmaids leave us undisturbed, for I have things of close import to tell, and seemly from a mother to a child. So when they all withdrew, the god began, Lo, I am he who measured the long year, I see all things, and through me the wild world may see all things, I am the glowing eye of the broad universe, thou art to me the glory of the earth. Filled with alarm from her relaxed fingers she let fall the distuff and the spindle, but her fear so lovely in her beauty seemed, the god no longer broke the lay. He changed his form back to his wanted beauty and resumed his bright celestial, startled at the sight the maid recoiled the space, but presently the glory of the god inspired her love, and all her timid doubts dissolved away, without complaint she melted in his arms. So ardently the bright Apollo saw love that clitty ambience of Lucotheus' joy were evil none was known a scandal made, and having published wide their secret love Lucotheus' father also heard the tale. Relentlessly and fierce his cruel hand buried his living dasher in the ground, who, while her arms implored the glowing sun complained, for love of thee my life is lost, and as she willed her father soard her there. Hyperion's son began with piercing heat to scatter the loose sand, a way to open that she might look with beauty's features forth. Too late, for smothered by the compact earth, thou canst not lift thy dripping head, alas, a lifeless gorge remains. No sadder sight since Phaeton was blessed by the bolts down hurled by Jove had ever grieved the god who daily drives his winged steeds. In vain he strives with all the magic of his rays to warm her limbs anew, to deed his done. What vantage gives his mighty fate deny? He sprinkles fragrant nectar on her grave in a lifeless course, and as he wills exclaims, but not shall hinder you to reach the skies. At once the maiden's body, steeped in dews of nectar, sweet and odorate, dissolves and adds its fragrant juices to the earth. Slowly from this a sprout of frankincense takes root enriched soil, and bursting through the sandy hillock shows its top. No more to clitty comes the author of sweet light, for though her love might make excuse of grief and grief may plead to pardon jealous words, his heart disdains the schemest of his woe, and she who turns to sour the sweet of love from that unhallowed moment pined away, envious and hating all her sister-nymphs day after day, and through the lonely nights, all unprotected from the chilly breeze, her hair dishevelled, tangled, and adorned, she sat unmoved upon the bare, hard ground. Nine days the nymph was nourished by the dews, or happily by her own tears bitter brine, all other nourishments were not to her. She never raised herself from the bare ground, though on the god her gaze was ever fixed, she turned her features toward him as he moved.  Although a root now holds her fast to earth, the heliotrope turns ever to the sun, as if to prove that all may change and love through all remains. Thus was the story ended. All were charmed to hear a countenance such mysterious deeds. While some were doubting whether such were true, others affirmed that the living god is nothing to restrain their wondrous works, though surely of the gods immortal, none accorded backers even thought her place. When all had made an end of argument, they bade Alsithuid to take up the word. She, busily working on the pendant web, still shut the shuttle through the warp and said, the amorous of the shepherd Daphnis, known to many of you, I shall not relate, the shepherd Daphnis of Mount Ida, who was turned to stone, obdurate, for the nymph whose love he slighted, said the rivalry of love neglected rouses to revenge. Neither shall I relate the story told of Scython, double sex to first was Menden Alsithuid woman, so I passed the tale of Kalmas turned to Adamant, who reared Almighty Job from tender youth, so likewise to Curites, whom the rain brought forth to life, Smilax and Crocus too transpeciated into little flowers. All these I passed to tell a novel tale, which happily may resolve in pleasant thoughts. Learn how the fountain Selmaekis became so infamous, learn how it enervates and softens the limbs of those who chanced to bathe. Although the fountain's properties are known, the cause is yet unknown. Denead's nursed an infant son of Hermes, surely his affidavitin gotten in the caves of Ida. For the child resembled both the god and the goddess, and his name was theirs. The years passed by, and when the boy had reached the limit of three lusterns, he forsook his native mountains, for he loved to roam through unimagined places by the banks of undiscovered rivers, and the joy of finding wonders made his labour light. Leaving Mount Ida, where his youth was spent, he reached the land of Lycia, and from thence the verge of Keria where a pretty pool of soft, translucent water may be seen. So clear the glistening bottom glads the eye, no barren sedge, no fanny reeds noy, no rushes with their sharpened aeropoints, but all around the edges of that pool, the softest grass and girdles with its green. A nymph dwells there, unsuited to the chase, unskilled to bend the bow, slothful foot, the only Neyad in the world unknown to rapid-running Dianne. Whensoever her Neyad sisters pled in winged words, take up the javelin, sister Selmaekus, take up the panes' quiver, and unite your leisure with the action of the chase. She only scorned the javelin and the quiver, nor joined her leisure to the active chase. Rather, she bades her smooth and shapely limbs, or combs her tresses with a boxwood comb, Cytorian, or, looking in the pool, consult the glassed water of effect's increasing beauty, or she decks herself in gauzy raiment, or reposing lulls on cushioned leaves, or grass and vergeard beds, or gathers posies from the spangled lawns. Now, happily, as she culled the sweetest flowers, she saw the youth, and longing in her heart-made havoc as her greedy eyes beheld. Although her love could scar-sleep her delay, she waited to enhance her loveliness, in beauty hoping to allure his love. All richly died she scand herself in robes, to know that every charm should fair appear, and she be worthy. Wherefore, she began, O God-like youth, if thou art of the skies, thou art no other than the God of love. If mortal, blessed are they who gave thee birth. Happy thy brother, happy fortunate thy sister, happy fortunate and blessed the nurse that gave her bosom, but the joys surpassing all, dearest and tenderest, are hers whom thou shalt wed. So let it be if thou so young have dain to marry, let my joys be stolen, if unmarried join with me in wetlock. So she spoke, and stood in silence, waiting for the youth's reply. He knows, nor cares for love, with loveliness the mounting blushes, tinge his youthful cheeks, as blush-red tint of apples on the tree, ripe in the summer sun, or as the yew of painted ivory, or the round moon red-blushing in her splendor when the clash of brass resounds in vain. And long the news implored, almost clung on his neck as smooth and white as ivory, unceasingly imploring him to kiss her, though as chased as kisses to his sister, but the youth outweighed thus, I do beseech you make an end of this, or must I fly the place and leave you to your tears? The frighted densets I'll make is, to you I freely give, good stranger, you remain. Although she made fair presence to retire, she hid herself, that from a shrub-grown covert on her knees she might observe unseen. As any boy that heedless deems his mischief unobserved, now he and I there he rambled on the green, now in the bubbly ripples dipped his feet, now dallied in the clear pool ankle-deep, the warm-cool feeling of the liquid then so pleased him, that without delay he doft his fleecy garments from his tender limbs. Ah, so make his amazement this thy mead! Thou art consumed to know his naked grace, as the hot glitter of the round-bride sun collected, sparkle from the polished plate, then eyes are glistened with the learious fires. The lace she cannot, panting for his joy, languid for his caressing, craze distract her passion difficult as held in check. He claps his body with his hollow palms and lightly vaults into the limped wave, and darting through the water hand-over-hand shines in the liquid element. As though she'd won in hands the statue's ivory or glazed the lily in a lake of glass. And thus the neyad, I have gained my suit, his love is mine, is mine! Quickly disrobed she plunged into the yielding wave, seized him, caressed him, clung to him a thousand ways, kissed him, thrust down her hand and touched his breast. Reluctant and resisting, he endeavours to make escape, but even as he struggles, she winds herself about him. As entwines the serpent which the royal bird on high holds in his talons. As it hangs, it coils in sinuous folds around the eagle's feet, twisting its coils around his head and wings. Or, as the ivy clings to the sturdy oaks, or as the polypus beneath the waves by pulling down with suckers on all sides, tenacious holds its prey. And yet the youth descended of great atlas, not relents nor gives the neyad joy. Pressing her suit, she winds her lins around him and exclaims, you shall not escape me, struggle as you will perverse and obstinate. Hear me ye gods, let never time release the youth from me, time never let me from the youth release. Propitious deities accord her prayers, the mingled bodies of the pair unite and fashion in a single human form. So one may see two branches underneath a single round, uniting gross one. So these two bodies in a firm embrace no more are twain, but with a two-fold form, nor man nor woman may be cold. Although both in seeming are neither one of twain. When that hermaphrodisus felt the change so wrought upon him by the languid fount, considered that he entered it a man, and now his limbs relaxing in stream, he is not holy male, but only half. He lifted up his hands and thus implored, albeit with no manly voice. Hear me, O Father, hear me, Mother, grant to me this boon, to me whose name is yours, your son. You so shall enter in this fount a man, must leave its waters only half a man. Moved by the words of their by-natured son, both parents yield descent. They taint the fount with essences of dual-working powers. Now, though the daughters of King Mindus have made an end of telling tales, they make no end of labour, for they so despise the deity and desecrate his feast. While busily engaged with sudden beat, they hear resounding tambourines and pipes and crypt horns and tingling brass renew and seam the note. Saffron and mirror dissolve in dulcet odours, and, beyond belief, the woven webs dependent on the loom take tints of green, put forth new ivy leaf or change to grapevine's verdant. There the thread is twisted into tendrils, there the warp is fashioned into many moving leaves. The purple lends its splendour to the grape, and now the day is past. It is the hour when night ambiguous merges in today, which dubious owns nor light nor done obscure. And suddenly the house begins to shake and torch it. Oil dipped seem to flare around, and fires aglow to shine in every room, and phantoms feigned of savage beasts to howl. Full of a fright amid the smoking halls, the sisters faintly hide, and wheresoever they deem security from flaming fires fearfully flit. And while they seek to hide, a membrane stretches over every limb, and light wings open from their slender arms. In the weird darkness they are unaware what measure wrought to change their wanted shape. No plumus fans avail to lift their flight, yet fair they balance on membranous wing. Whenever they would speak a tiny voice diminutive a portion to the size and squeaking note complains. A dread delight their haunts avoid by day the leafy woods for somber attics, where secure the rest still forth the done obscure their wings may stretch at hour of vesper. This accords their name. End of book four.


If you are just joining us, Raffinadar holding a press conference tomorrow, possibly announcing that he will be withdrawing officially from the French Open, word has spread around Twitter at the moment on Twitter. People are talking about that. He's pulling out, he's pulling out. He's actually come out with a tweet from his PR team talking about that tomorrow he's going to announce whether or not he's playing. Let's go have a read of that tweet. Alright, so via the tennis podcast from Raffinadar's PR team, good afternoon. Raffinadar will hold a press conference tomorrow at 4pm at the Raffinadar Academy to inform about his participation in Roland Garros. If he plays or not, and the reasons either way will only be communicated tomorrow. So not good signs. Not good signs. Not official from Raffa, but not good signs as most of Twitter are saying he's not going to play, he's going to be out. At this stage, it doesn't, I mean why would you have a press conference to say I'm playing? You know what I mean? Like that seems very strange to say that I would be playing the French Open. Just wanted to have a chat with everybody. Let me know down in the comments below if you're watching this later or let me know in the chat. What do you think? Do you think Raffa, you know, when do you think he's going to be back? If he's not playing the French, when do you think he's going to be back? Do you think he's going to be back at Wimbledon? Do you think he's going to be back after the grass season, maybe on the American hardcourts? But Raffa, all but confirmed to not be playing the French Open as multiple sources on Twitter and also from his PR team. Press conference coming tomorrow, so we make sure that we'll keep an eye on that as well on the news tomorrow when he does make the official press conference and officially withdraw or whatever he says tomorrow, but doesn't look good for Raffa for the French Open.


In a red auto Greg Maddox two of five cubs What a hit Dude, I was not expecting a great Mike K. I was not expecting a Greg Maddox right there color match cubs on the red as well That is sick I'm gonna get down with Mags.


We'll talk about the Pittsburgh Steelers and where they sit now in the overall NFL picture. Maybe the AFC specifically. They are a team that is proven that they need to be thought about here down the stretch. No doubt. And I think early on people maybe wanted to ride them off. But now here they've won five in a row and they've got the makings of what constitutes a good team and what can travel and what can carry through the rest of the season. And that is they got a top flight quarterback, great offensive line. They got balance. They can run the football. And they've got people who can rush the passers. So as I look at it, yes, the Pittsburgh Steelers will be in the hunt. The New England Patriots, of course. We've never take them out of it. Kansas City Chiefs and what they've done. And then maybe another team who's kind of been flying a little under the radar, even though they've won six straight, is the Houston Texans. And we saw them a few weeks ago and they look awfully good. So that AFC is shaping up to be a really great conference as we move through the second half of the season. Yeah, but the Pittsburgh Steelers said tonight, do not forget about us. They have won five in a row and they sit on top in the AFC north. That's it from Pittsburgh.


Hello there everyone, welcome. This is Melissa Armo with the Stock Swoosh and Light to invite you to a free webinar, which is Monday, September 16th, making money trading volatility, a very important right now in this market. And man, are we gonna have volatility next week?  Kind of a light week this week, people still off from the labor day market, hasn't had earnings really yet going. And I'm telling you, it's gonna be a wild one next week. If you'd like more information, you can email me at Melissa at thestockswoosh.com or call me at 929-3200-GAP, follow me on Twitter, Facebook, YouTube, or Skype. So you gotta remember, successful people don't rely on luck. They make a plan, they hire the best, and then they move towards the goal with the utmost efficiency. It's very important to understand what you're doing before you risk money in the market. And it also is important right now to understand volatility, because there's a lot of it, a huge amount of volatility. And people say, wow, how can we say that? Because the month of August, we were in a range. No, we were up, then we were down. Then we were up, then we were down. That's volatility. You think it's going in one direction then it goes in another. And I'm telling you, it's important to understand what move to play and the timing, the timing of that move. Again, as a day trader, an option. But it's time to get somewhere for 2019. If you are behind the eight ball for the year, you don't have a lot of time left to tell you that. You have some time left, but not a lot. To start going and making money, whether you wanna trade full time or part time, it's really up to you. An earning season and file trading is an important time to get started. And that's why this is going to be a really nice webinar. So I teach a class once a month. It's called the Golden Gap course. And I'll talk about that more in the webinar. If you'd like more information, you can email me. Just go to this link. Class starts at 4.30, Monday, September 16th. If you're interested again, this is free. I'm also doing an open house next week. If you'd like to come, you can email me for that information too. Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday, Friday in the trading room, 8.30 to 11 a.m. Eastern time. If you've been thinking about trading and you wanna see how it goes and see what it's all about, then shoot me an email at melissa at thestockswitch.com. We do gaps, we do momentum, and it really is about becoming independent, supporting yourself. If you have full-time job, then you can trade on the side until you're making enough money to do this full-time, or you can just do a part-time if that's all your interest is. Either way, it's your choice, it's your life. The class is September 21st and 22nd, 9 a.m. to 5 p.m. Eastern time. Class tuition is 64.99 US dollars. And again, here's the link for the free webinar to come and learn more. Click on it, sign up, 4.30 Eastern time Monday. Have a great weekend everyone, and have a fantastic week.