So abode she till wise Iambe with jests and many mockeries beguiled the lady, the holy one, to smile and laugh and hold a happier heart, and pleased her moods even thereafter.  Then Metaneira filled a cup of sweet wine and offered it to her, but she refused it, saying, that it was not permitted for her to drink red wine; but she bade them mix meal and water with the tender herb of mint, and give it to her to drink.  Then Metaneira made a potion and gave it to the Goddess as she bade, and Lady Deo took it and made libation, and to them fair-girdled Metaneira said: 

“Hail, lady, for methinks thou art not of mean parentage, but goodly born, for grace and honour shine in thine eyes as in the eyes of doom-dealing kings.  But the gifts of the Gods, even in sorrow, we men of necessity endure, for the yoke is laid upon our necks; yet now that thou art come hither, such things as I have shall be thine.  Rear me this child that the Gods have given in my later years and beyond my hope; and he is to me a child of many prayers.  If thou rear him, and he come to the measure of youth, verily each woman that sees thee will envy thee, such shall be my gifts of fosterage.”

Then answered her again Demeter of the fair garland: 

“And mayst thou too, lady, fare well, and the Gods give thee all things good.  Gladly will I receive thy child that thou biddest me nurse.  Never, methinks, by the folly of his nurse shall charm or sorcery harm him; for I know an antidote stronger than the wild wood herb, and a goodly salve I know for the venomed spells.”

So spake she, and with her immortal hands she placed the child on her fragrant breast, and the mother was glad at heart.  So in the halls she nursed the goodly son of wise Celeus, even Demophoon, whom deep-breasted Metaneira bare, and he grew like a god, upon no mortal food, nor on no mother’s milk.  For Demeter anointed him with ambrosia as though he had been a son of a God, breathing sweetness over him, and keeping him in her bosom.  So wrought she by day, but at night she was wont to hide him in the force of fire like a brand, his dear parents knowing it not. {196} Nay, to them it was great marvel how flourished he and grew like the Gods to look upon.  And, verily, she would have made him exempt from eld and death for ever, had not fair-girdled Metaneira, in her witlessness, spied on her in the night from her fragrant chamber.  Then wailed she, and smote both her thighs, in terror for her child, and in anguish of heart, and lamenting she spake winged words:  “My child Demophoon, the stranger is concealing thee in the heart of the fire; bitter sorrow for me and lamentation.”