A beauteous Fay, or heav'n-descended spright,
Sprung from her sire, withouten female's aid,
(As erst Minerva did) and Psyche hight,
In that inclosure happy sojourn made.
No art some heel'd uncomelyness betray'd,
But nature wrought her many-colour'd stole;
Ne tarnish'd like an Aethiopian maid,
Scorch'd with the suns that ore her beauties roll;
Ne faded like the dames who bleach beneath the pole.