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, grasp both god and gold.