Though she be none, as well as you suppress In modest cheeks your inward wantonness? How often have we drawn you from above, 280 T' exchange with mortals rites for rites in love! Why in your priest, then, call you that offence, That shines in you, and is[90] your influence?" With this, the Furies stopp'd Leucote's lips, Enjoin'd by Venus; who with rosy whips Beat the kind bird. Fierce lightning from her eyes Did set on fire fair Hero's sacrifice, Which was her torn robe and enforcËd hair; And the bright flame became a maid most fair For her aspËct: her tresses were of wire, 290 Knit like a net, where hearts set all on fire, Struggled in pants, and could not get releast; Her arms were all with golden pincers drest, And twenty-fashioned knots, pulleys, and brakes, And all her body girt with painted snakes; Her down-parts in a scorpion's tail combined, Freckled with twenty colours; pied wings shined Out of her shoulders; cloth had never dye, Nor sweeter colours never viewËd eye, In scorching Turkey, Cares, Tartary, 300 Than shined about this spirit notorious; Nor was Arachne's web so glorious. Of lightning and of shreds she was begot; More hold in base dissemblers is there not. Her name was Eronusis.[91] Venus flew From Hero's sight, and at her chariot drew This wondrous creature to so steep a height, That all the world she might command with sleight Of her gay wings; and then she bade her haste,-- Since Hero had dissembled, and disgraced 310 Her rites so much,--and every breast infect With her deceits: she made her architect Of all dissimulation; and since then Never was any trust in maids or men. O, it spited Fair Venus' heart to see her most delighted, And one she choos'd, for temper of her mind To be the only ruler of her kind, So soon to let her virgin race be ended! Not simply for the fault a whit offended, 320 But that in strife for chasteness with the Moon, Spiteful Diana bade her show but one That was her servant vow'd, and liv'd a maid; And, now she thought to answer that upbraid, Hero had lost her answer: who knows not Venus would seem as far from any spot Of light demeanour, as the very skin 'Twixt Cynthia's brows? sin is asham'd of sin. Up Venus flew, and scarce durst up for fear Of Phoebe's laughter, when she pass'd her sphere: 330 And so most ugly-clouded was the light, That day was hid in day; night came ere night; And Venus could not through the thick air pierce, Till the day's king, god of undaunted verse, Because she was so plentiful a theme To such as wore his laurel anademe. Like to a fiery bullet made descent,