The Scene of heav'nly Guilt with haste she tore,
Nor longer the Affront with Patience bore;
A boxen Shuttle in her Hand she took,
And more than once Arachne's Forehead struck.
Th' unhappy Maid, impatient of the Wrong,
Down from a Beam her injur'd Person hung;
When Pallas, pitying her wretched State,
At once prevented, and pronounc'd her Fate;
Live; but depend, vile Wretch, the Goddess cry'd,
Doom'd in suspence for ever to be ty'd;
That all your Race, to utmost Date of Time,
May feel the Vengeance, and detest the Crime.
Then, going off, she sprinkled her with Juice,
Which Leaves of baleful Aconite produce.
Touch'd with the pois'nous Drug, her flowing Hair
Fell to to the Ground, and left her Temples bare;
Her usual Features vanish'd from their Place,
Her Body lessen'd all, but most her Face.
Her slender Fingers, hanging on each Side
With many Joynts, the use of Legs supply'd:
A Spider's Bag the rest, from which she gives
A Thread, and still by constant Weaving lives.
The Story of Niobe.
Swift thro' the Phrygian Towns the Rumour flies,
And the strange News each Female Tongue employs:
Niobe, who before she married knew
The famous Nymph, now found the Story true;
Yet, unreclaim'd by poor Arachne's Fate,
Vainly above the Gods assum'd a State.
Her Husband's Fame, their Family's Descent,
Their Pow'r, and rich Dominion's wide Extent,
Might well have justify'd a decent Pride;
But not on these alone the Dame rely'd.
