
And she had moved, a living Maid had been: One would have thought she could have stirred; but strove With Modesty, and was ashamed to move. Art hid with Art, so well performed the Cheat, It caught the Carver with his own Deceit: He knows ‘tis Madness, yet he must adore, And still the more he knows it, loves the more: The Flesh, or what so seems, he touches oft, Which feels so smooth, that he believes it soft. - from “Pygmalion and the Statue,” Metamorphoses, book X, Ovid.













