Pallas Minerva pretends to be an old woman: disguised and slender, she adds white to her temples and ages her limbs, which she supported with a stick. Then she spoke to the girl " Not all which older age holds we should be shun: experience comes from the going of years. Don't reject my advice: may very great fame be sought by you between mortals for the making of wool; but give way for your god, you reckless girl, and with your words, ask for forgiveness with a begging voice: She will give you pardon if you ask."

Arachne watched with savageness and having begun left behind these strings and with difficulty her hands are restrained and having dark anger in the face.

​

Pallas Minerva, hiding in such a way, received these words:  "With weak mind and worn out tedious age, you come here, and having lived too long does harm to you. If you have a daughter in law, if you have a daughter, let her listen to your voice; there is enough knowledge in me, and you think that no one takes advantage of your warning, that is the same opinion for us both. Why does she not come here? Why is she avoiding this contest?"

Then the goddess said "She comes!!!!" and removed her old woman form and revealed Pallas Minerva:  The nymphs and the Phrygian women worshipped the divine power; the girl alone was not afraid, but nevertheless she reddened, then approached pale—then reddened again, reluctant, as the sky is accustomed to redden when Aurora is first moved, and for a short time afterwards, to whiten at the sun from the east.

​

She continues stuck in her attempt and hurries into her own fate with desire of a solid symbol of victory; for neither does Jupiter's daughter refuse, she doesn't give warning, nor does she divert for a moment the competition. With no delay, they both establish themselves in different parts and they stretch the twin warps on the slender looms: the loom is bound, they pull apart with the reed, the weft thread is inserted between the sharpened staff, which the fingers prepared, and drew through the loom, the incised threads are struck into place, thrust through the comb's pierced teeth. Both make haste and with their clothes cinched at their breasts they move their skillful arms, with the passion of causing the study to fall unlike work.

There purple, made in Tyrian copper, is woven into clothes with subtle shadows with little difference; just as the vast sky, after a storm, pierced by sunlight, is accustomed to be dyed by a rainbow with an enormous arch; in which thousands of diverse colors shine, yet the eye itself doesn't observe the transition: Thus so much, which it touches, that is, nevertheless very far away. There is inserted gold into the flexible threads and an ancient story is spun out in the loom.