Pygmalion loathing their lascivious life, Abhorr’d all womanhood, but most a wife: So single chose to live, and shunn’d to wed, Well pleas’d to want a consort of his bed. Yet fearing idleness, the nurse of ill, In sculpture exercis’d his happy skill; And carv’d in iv’ry such a maid, so fair, As nature could not with his art compare, Were she to work; but in her own defence, Must take her patterns here, and copy hence. Pleas’d with his idol, he commends, admires, Adores; and last, the thing ador’d, desires. A very virgin in her face was seen, And had she mov’d, a living maid had been: One wou’d have thought she could have stirr’d; but strove With modesty, and was asham’d to move. Art hid with art, so well perform’d the cheat, It caught the carver with his own deceit: He knows ’tis madness, yet he must adore, And still the more he knows it, loves the more: The flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft. Fir’d with this thought, at once he strain’d the breast, And on the lips a burning kiss impress’d. ’Tis true, the harden’d breast resists the gripe, And the cold lips return a kiss unripe: But when, retiring back, he look’d again, To think it iv’ry, was a thought too mean: So wou’d believe she kiss’d, and courting more, Again embrac’d her naked body o’er; And straining hard the statue, was afraid His hands had made a dint, and hurt his maid: Explor’d her, limb by limb, and fear’d to find So rude a gripe had left a livid mark behind: With flatt’ry now he seeks her mind to move, And now with gifts, (the pow’rful bribes of love:) He furnishes her closet first; and fills The crowded shelves with rarities of shells; Adds orient pearls, which from the conch he drew, And all the sparkling stones of various hue: And parrots, imitating human tongue, And singing-birds in silver cages hung; And ev’ry fragrant flow’r, and od’rous green, Were sorted well, with lumps of amber laid between: Rich, fashionable robes her person deck: Pendants her ears, and pearls adorn her neck: Her taper’d fingers too with rings are grac’d, And an embroider’d zone surrounds her slender waist. Thus like a queen array’d, so richly dress’d, Beauteous she shew’d, but naked shew’d the best. Then, from the floor, he rais’d a royal bed, With cov’rings of Sidonian purple spread: The solemn rites perform’d, he calls her bride, With blandishments invites her to his side, And as she were with vital sense possess’d, Her head did on a plumy pillow rest. The feast of Venus came, a solemn day, To which the Cypriots due devotion pay;