Fair Maid of Argos! dry thy tears, nor shun
The bright embrace of Saturn's amorous son.
Pour'd from high Heaven, athwart thy brazen tower,
Jove bends propitious in a glittering shower.
Take, gladly take, the boon the Fates impart;
Press the gilt treasure to thy panting heart;
And to thy venal sex this truth unfold—
How few, like Danae, clasp both god and gold!