“Before the spacious front a herd we find Of beasts, the fiercest of the savage kind. Our trembling steps with blandishments they meet, And fawn, unlike their species, at our feet. Within, upon a sumptuous throne of state, On golden columns raised, the enchantress sate; Rich was her robe, and amiable her mien, Her aspect awful, and she look’d a queen; Her maids not mind the loom, nor household care, Nor wage in needlework a Scythian war, But cull, in canisters, disastrous flowers, And plants from haunted heaths, and fairy bowers, With brazen sickles reap’d at planetary hours. Each dose the goddess weighs with watchful eye, So nice her art in impious pharmacy. Entering, she greets us with a gracious look, And airs, that future amity bespoke. Her ready nymphs serve up a rich repast; The bowl she dashes first, then gives to taste. Quick, to our own undoing we comply; Her power we prove, and show the sorcery.