The Lady whom you here behold
Was once Pigmalion’s Wife
He made her first from marble cold
And Venus gave her life.
When fate remov’d her from his arms
Thro’ sundry Forms she pass’d
And conquering hearts by various charms
This shape she took at last.
We caught her, true tho’ strange th’ account
Among a troop of Fairies
Who nightly frisk on our green Mount
And practise strange vagaries.
Her raiment then was scant, so we
Bestowed some pains upon her
Part for the sake of decency
And part to do her honor.
But as no doubt ’twas for her sins
We found her in such plight
She shall do penance stuck with pins
And serve you day and night.