Book IX, 277

Way, torrent, in thy furious march dost thou lift thyself up so high and shut off the progress of travellers on foot? Art thou drunk with the rain, and no more content with a stream the Nymphs make transparent? Hast thou borrowed water from the turbid clouds? One day I shall see thee burnt up by the sun, who knows how to test the water of rivers, distinguishing the true from the bastard.