Thus to the Muses spoke the Cyprian dame;
" Adorn my altars, and revere my name.
My son shall else assume his potent darts,
Twang goes the bow, my girls; have at your hearts! "
The Muses answer'd, " Venus, we deride
The vagrant's malice, and his mother's pride;
Send him to nymphs who sleep on Ida's shade,
To the loose dance, and wanton masquerade;
Our thoughts are settled, and intent our look,
On the instructive verse, and moral book;
On female idleness his power relies;
But, when he finds us studying hard, he flies. "