The Beginning of the Sixth Book of Ovid's Metamorphofis.
Allas, attentive heard the Mufes Song,
Pleas'd that fo well they had reveng'd their Reflecting thus,-A Vulgar Soul can praise, My Fame let glorious Emulation raise,
Swift Vengeance shall pursue th' audacious Pride That dares my Sacred Deity deride.
Revenge the Goddess in her Breast revolves,
And ftrait the bold Arachne's Fate refolves.
Her haughty Mind to Heav'n difdain'd to bend,
And 'durft with Pallas in her Art contend.
No famous Town she boasts, or noble Name,
But to her Work alone owes all her Fame;
Idmon her Father on his Trade rely'd,
And thirsty Wool in purple Juices dy'd ;
Her Mother, whom the Shades of Death confine,
Was, like her Husband, born of Vulgar Line.
At fmall Hypapa though she did reside,
Yet Industry proclaim'd what Birth deny'd,
All Lydia to her Name due Honour pays,
And ev'ry City speaks Arachne's Praise.
Nymphs of Timolus quit their fhady Woods,
Nymphs of Pactolus leave their Golden Floods,
And oft with Pleasure round her gazing stand,
Admire her Work, and praise her artful Hand,
They view each Motion, with new Wonder feiz'd; More than the Work her graceful Manner pleas'd.
Whether raw Wool in its first Orbs fhe wound,
Or with swift Fingers twirl'd the Spindle round,
Whether the pick'd with care the knotty Piece,
[Fleece,
Or comb'd like ftreaky Clouds the stretching
Whether her Needle play'd the Pencil's part;
'Twas plain from Pallas fhe deriv'd her Art.
But fhe, unable to restrain her Pride,
The very Mistress of her Art defy'd.
Pallas obfcures her bright Celestial Grace,
And takes an Old decrepid Beldam's Face.
Her Head is fcatter'd o'er with Silver Hairs,
Which feems to bend beneath a load of Years.>
Her trembling Hand, emboss'd with livid Veins,
On trusty Staff her feeble Limbs fuftains.
She thus accofts the Nymph, "Be timely Wife, "Do not the wholfome Words of Age defpife, "For in the Hoary Head Experience lies.
"On Earth contend the greatest Name to gain; "To Pallas yield; withHeav'n thou striv❜st in vain
Contempt contracts her Brow, her Paffions rise, And proud Difdain glares in her rolling Eyes: Enrag'd, the tangling Thread away the throws, [Blows, And scarce can curb her threatning Hands from "Worn out with Age, and by Disease declin'd,
(She cries) thy Carcafe has furviv'd thy Mind; "These Lectures might thy fervile Daughters
"And wary Doctrines for thy Neices prove; My Counsel's from my felf; my Will commands, "And my first Refolution always ftands: "Let Her contend, or does her Fear impart, "That Conqueft waits on my fuperior Art?
The Goddess ftrait throws off her old Disguise,
And heav'nly Beauty sparkles in her Eyes,
A youthful Bloom fills up each wrinkled Trace,
And Pallas fimiles with ev'ry wonted Grace.
The Nymphs furpriz'd the Deity adore,
And Lydian Dames confess her matchless Pow'r;
The Rival Maid alone unmov'd remains,
Yet a fwift Blush her guilty Features stains;
In her unwilling Cheek the Crimson glows,
And her check'd Pride a fhort Confusion knows.
So when Aurora firft unveils her Eyes,
A Purple Dawn invests the blushing Skies,
But foon bright Phoebus gains th'Horizon's height,
And gilds the Hemifphere with fpreading Light.
Defire of Conqueft fways the giddy Maid, To certain Ruin by vain Hopes betray'd,
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