Metamorphoses

by Ovid

At which the tyrant’s anger rose in flames, No less his fear; quickened by both, he drew Sword from its scabbard at his side, and seized His mistress by her hair and pinned her arms Behind her as he bound them. Philomela Saw the sword flash before her eyes and gave Her neck to meet the blow, to welcome death; Instead he thrust sharp tongs between her teeth, Her tongue still crying out her father’s name. Then as the forceps caught the tongue, his steel Sliced through it, its roots still beating while the rest Turned, moaning on black earth; as the bruised tail Of a dying serpent lashes, so her tongue Crept, throbbed, and whimpered at her feet. This done The tryant (it was said; we scarce accept it) Renewed his pleasure on her wounded body. Carrying his guilt he entered Procne’s rooms, And when his wife asked where her sister was, He lied and sobbed, spoke of her sister’s death: His very tears made what he said seem true.