Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the fair;
  Her touch endows her with imperious air,
  Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride,
  Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide:  60
  For which an eloquence, that aims to vex,
  With native tropes of anger arms the sex.

   Minerva, skilful goddess, train’d the maid
  To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread,
  To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part,
  Cross the long weft, and close the web with art: 
  An useful gift; but what profuse expense,
  What world of fashions, took its rise from hence!

   Young Hermes next, a close-contriving god,
  Her brows encircled with his serpent rod; 70
  Then plots, and fair excuses, fill’d her brain,
  The views of breaking amorous vows for gain,
  The price of favours, the designing arts
  That aim at riches in contempt of hearts;
  And for a comfort in the marriage life,
  The little, pilfering temper of a wife.

   Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung,
  And fond persuasion tipp’d her easy tongue;
  He gave her words, where oily flattery lays
  The pleasing colours of the art of praise; 80
  And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone,
  Which frets another’s spleen to cure its own.

   Those sacred virgins whom the bards revere,
  Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness there,
  To make her sense with double charms abound,
  Or make her lively nonsense please by sound.

   To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought
  A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought,
  And placed their boxes o’er a rich brocade
  Where pictured loves on every cover play’d; 90
  Then spread those implements that Vulcan’s art
  Had framed to merit Cytherea’s heart;
  The wire to curl, the close-indented comb,
  To call the locks that lightly wander, home;
  And chief, the mirror, where the ravish’d maid
  Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.

   Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled hours
  Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers;
  Within the wreath arose a radiant crown;
  A veil pellucid hung depending down; 100
  Back roll’d her azure veil with serpent fold,
  The purfled border deck’d the flower with gold. 
  Her robe (which, closely by the girdle braced,
  Reveal’d the beauties of a slender waist)
  Flow’d to the feet; to copy Venus’ air,
  When Venus’ statues have a robe to wear.

   The new-sprung creature finish’d thus for harms,
  Adjusts her habit, practises her charms,
  With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles,
  Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles:  110
  Then conscious of her worth, with easy pace
  Glides by the glass, and, turning, views her face.

   A finer flax than what they wrought before,
  Through Time’s deep cave the sister Fates explore,
  Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave,
  And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive: