Metamorphoses

by Ovid

At once Minerva went to Envy’s cave, A hovel, dark with blood, in a deep valley, Hidden where no sun ventures, no wind stirs, And night air falling with continual cold; No fires were lit to temper rain and fog. War’s virgin stood aside, nor would she enter That fouled dwelling, but clanged her spear against Its sagging doors, which, swaying inward, showed Envy at feast, eating great snakes and vipers, A perfect diet for increase of venom. The goddess, sick at the unholy sight, Turned eyes away, while Envy, leaving scraps Of half-chewed meats upon the floor, lunged To her feet and shambled toward Minerva Who stately stood in armour. Envy moaned, Changing her face to suit Minerva’s sigh, Grew death-pale, and her body seemed to shrink, Eyes wild, teeth thick with mold, gall dripping green To breast, green from her tongue, for Envy never Smiles unless she sees another’s misery; Envy is sleepless, her heart anxiety, And at the sight of any man’s success She withers, is bitten, eats herself away. Although Minerva hated what she saw In the foul creature’s face, she gave instructions, Clipping her speech: “Make it your duty, woman, To infect Aglauros, one of Cecrops’ daughters, So that your poison streams within her veins,” And with this said, she thrust her spear to earth, And swiftly, lightly vaulted back to heaven.