“The unhappy maid, impatient of the wrong, Down from a beam her injured person hung; When Pallas, pitying her wretched state, At once prevented and pronounced her fate: ‘Live; but depend, vile wretch!’ the goddess cried, ‘Doomed in suspense forever to be tied; That all your race, to utmost date of time, May feel the vengeance and detest the crime.’ Then, going off, she sprinkled her with juice Which leaves of baneful aconite produce. Touched with the poisonous drug, her flowing hair Fell to the ground and left her temples bare; Her usual features vanished from their place, Her body lessened all, but most her face. Her slender fingers, hanging on each side With many joints, the use of legs supplied; A spider’s bag the rest, from which she gives A thread, and still by constant weaving lives.” ↩