Then while Eurynome the mandate bears,
From heaven Minerva shoots with guardian cares;
O’er all her senses, as the couch she press’d,
She pours, a pleasing, deep and death-like rest,
With every beauty every feature arms,
Bids her cheeks glow, and lights up all her charms;
In her love-darting eyes awakes the fires
(Immortal gifts! to kindle soft desires);
From limb to limb an air majestic sheds,
And the pure ivory o’er her bosom spreads. 
Such Venus shines, when with a measured bound
She smoothly gliding swims the harmonious round,
When with the Graces in the dance she moves,
And fires the gazing gods with ardent loves.

Then to the skies her flight Minerva bends,
And to the queen the damsel train descends;
Waked at their steps, her flowing eyes unclose;
The tears she wipes, and thus renews her woes: 
“Howe’er ’tis well that sleep awhile can free,
With soft forgetfulness a wretch like me;
Oh! were it given to yield this transient breath,
Send, O Diana! send the sleep of death! 
Why must I waste a tedious life in tears,
Nor bury in the silent grave my cares? 
O my Ulysses! ever honour’d name! 
For thee I mourn till death dissolves my frame.”

Thus wailing, slow and sadly she descends,
On either band a damsel train attends: 
Full where the dome its shining valves expands,
Radiant before the gazing peers she stands;
A veil translucent o’er her brow display’d,
Her beauty seems, and only seems, to shade: 
Sudden she lightens in their dazzled eyes,
And sudden flames in every bosom rise;
They send their eager souls with every look. 
Till silence thus the imperial matron broke: 

“O why! my son, why now no more appears
That warmth of soul that urged thy younger years? 
Thy riper days no growing worth impart,
A man in stature, still a boy in heart! 
Thy well-knit frame unprofitably strong,
Speaks thee a hero, from a hero sprung: 
But the just gods in vain those gifts bestow,
O wise alone in form, and grave in show! 
Heavens! could a stranger feel oppression’s hand
Beneath thy roof, and couldst thou tamely stand! 
If thou the stranger’s righteous cause decline
His is the sufferance, but the shame is thine.”

To whom, with filial awe, the prince returns: 
“That generous soul with just resentment burns;
Yet, taught by time, my heart has learn’d to glow
For others’ good, and melt at others’ woe;
But, impotent those riots to repel,
I bear their outrage, though my soul rebel;
Helpless amid the snares of death I tread,
And numbers leagued in impious union dread;
But now no crime is theirs:  this wrong proceeds
From Irus, and the guilty Irus bleeds. 
Oh would to Jove! or her whose arms display
The shield of Jove, or him who rules the day! 
That yon proud suitors, who licentious tread
These courts, within these courts like Irus bled: 
Whose loose head tottering, as with wine oppress’d,
Obliquely drops, and nodding knocks his breast;
Powerless to move, his staggering feet deny
The coward wretch the privilege to fly.”