Her father gave her, yet a spotless maid; Pygmalion then the Tyrian scepter sway’d: One who condemn’d divine and human laws.
They seize a fleet, which ready rigg’d they find; Nor is Pygmalion’s treasure left behind.
Must I attend Pygmalion’s cruelty, Or till Hyarba shall in triumph lead A queen that proudly scorn’d his proffer’d bed?
A lofty city by my hands is rais’d, Pygmalion punish’d, and my lord appeas’d.
This little spot of land, which Heav’n bestows, On ev’ry side is hemm’d with warlike foes; Gaetulian cities here are spread around, And fierce Numidians there your frontiers bound; Here lies a barren waste of thirsty land, And there the Syrtes raise the moving sand; Barcaean troops besiege the narrow shore, And from the sea Pygmalion threatens more.
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Jojo Moyes -- Me Before You
This is the secret of her birth: a Gothic Pygmalion, who was making gargoyles for cathedrals, fell in love with one of them, the most horrible, one fine morning.