Classic Poem

The Lady whom you here behold
Was once Pygmalion's Wife,
He made her first from marble cold
And Venus gave her life.

When fate removed her from his arms
Through sundry Forms she passed;
And conquering hearts by various charms
This shape she took at last.

We caught her, true though strange the account,
Among a troop of Fairies,
Who nightly frisk on our green Mount
And practise strange vagaries.

Her raiment then was scant, so we
Bestowed some pains upon her;
Part for the sake of decency
And part to do her honour.

But as, no doubt, 'twas for her sins
We found her in such plight,
She shall do penance stuck with pins
And serve you day and night.