To his immortal dome the finish’d snares:

Above, below, around, with art dispread,

The sure inclosure folds the genial bed:

Whose texture even the search of gods deceives,

Thin as the filmy threads the spider weaves,

Then, as withdrawing from the starry bowers,

He feigns a journey to the Lemnian shores,

His favourite isle: observant Mars descries

His wish’d recess, and to the goddess flies;

He glows, he burns, the fair-hair’d queen of love

Descends, smooth gliding from the courts of Jove,

Gay blooming in full charms: her hand he press’d

With eager joy, and with a sigh address’d:


“Come, my beloved! and taste the soft delights:

Come, to repose the genial bed invites:

Thy absent spouse, neglectful of thy charms,

Prefers his barbarous Sintians to thy arms!”


Then, nothing loth, the enamour’d fair he led,

And sunk transported on the conscious bed.

Down rush’d the toils, inwrapping as they lay

The careless lovers in their wanton play:

In vain they strive; the entangling snares deny

(Inextricably firm) the power to fly.

Warn’d by the god who sheds the golden day,

Stern Vulcan homeward treads the starry way:

Arrived, he sees, he grieves, with rage he burns:

Full horribly he roars, his voice all heaven returns.


“O Jove (he cried) O all ye powers above,

See the lewd dalliance of the queen of love!

Me, awkward me, she scorns; and yields her charms

To that fair lecher, the strong god of arms.

If I am lame, that stain my natal hour

By fate imposed; such me my parent bore.

Why was I born? See how the wanton lies!

Oh sight tormenting to a husband’s eyes!

But yet, I trust, this once e’en Mars would fly

His fair-one’s arms—he thinks her, once, too nigh.

But there remain, ye guilty, in my power,

Till Jove refunds his shameless daughter’s dower.

Too dear I prized a fair enchanting face:

Beauty unchaste is beauty in disgrace.”


Meanwhile the gods the dome of Vulcan throng;