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T HE

Story of ARACHNE,

FROM The Beginning of the Sixth Book of

Ovid's Metamorphosis.

By Mr. J. Ĝ A T.

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Allas, attentive heard the Muses Song,

[Wrong; Pleas'd that so well they had revengd 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.

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Revenge

Revenge the Goddess in her Breast revolves,
And strait the bold Arachnie's Fate resolves.
Her haughty Mind to Heav'n disdain'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 small Hypæpe 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 Arachine's Praise.
Nymphs of Timolus quit their shady 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

They view each Motion, with new Wonder seiz’d; More than the Work her graceful Manner pleas’d.

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Whether raw Wool in its first Orbs she wound, Or with swift Fingers twirld the Spindle round, Whether the pick'd with care the knotty Piece,

[Fleece, Or comb'd like streaky Clouds the stretching Whether her Needle play'd the Pencil's part ; 'Twas plain from Pallas she deriv'd her Art. But she, unable to restrain her Pride, The very Mistress of her Art defy'd. Pallas obscures her bright Celestial Grace, And takes an Old decrepid Beldam's Face.. Her Head is scatter'd o'er with Silver Hairs, Which seems to bend beneath a load of Years. Her trembling Hand, emboss'd with livid Veins, On trusty Staff her feeble Limbs sustains.

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Shethus accosts the Nymph, “Betimely Wife, “ Do not the wholsome Words of Age despise, « For in the Hoary Head Experience lies. « On Earth contend the greatest Name to gain; “ To Pallas yield;with Heav'nthouftriv'stin vain

Contempt contracts her Brow, her Passions rise, And proud Disdain glares in her rolling Eyes: Enragd, 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 surviv'd thy Mind; “ These Ledures might thy servile Daughters “ And wary Doctrines for thy Neices prove; “My Counsel's from my self; my Will commands, And my first Resolution always stands: “Let Her contend; or does her Fear impart, “That Conquest waits on my superior Art?

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The Goddess strait throws off her old Disguise, And heav'nly Beauty sparkles in her Eyes, A youthful Bloom fills up each wrinkled Trace, And Pallas smiles with ev'ry wonted Grace. The Nymphs surpriz'd the Deity adore, And Lydian Dames confess her matchless Pow'r; The Rival Maid alone unmov'd remains, Yet a swift Blush her guilty Features stains ; In her unwilling Cheek the Crimson glows, And her checkd Pride a short Confusion knows. So when Aurora first unveils her Eyes, A Purple Dawn invests the blushing Skies, But soon bright Phebus gains th’Horizon's height, And gilds the Hemisphere with spreading Light.

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Desire of Conquest sways the giddy Maid, To certain Ruin by vain Hopes betray'd,

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