Now this is only what folks guest;
But trust the Muse, for she knows bost.
, the  of the skies,
Was always piqu'd at her bright eyes;
And saw with pain, at  throne,
Such crouds of vot'ries, not her own.
For which good reason, when it dropt,
The goddess stoop'd, and pick'd it up:
And to repair the nymph's disgrace,
Clapt her own orbit in the place.