The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd defire
Would own its melting in a mutual fire;
Gay fmiles to comfort; April fhowers to move;
And all the nature, all the art of love,
Gold fcepter'd Juno next exalts the fair;
Her touch endows her with imperious air,
Self-valuing fancy, highly-crefted pride,
Strong fovereign will, and fome desire to chide;
For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex,
With native tropes of anger, arms the fex.
Minerva, fkilful goddefs, train'd the maid
To twirle the spindle by the twifting thread;
To fix the loom, inftru&t the reeds to part,
Crofs the long weft, and clofe the web with art,
An useful gift; but what profuse expence,
What world of fashions, took its rife from hence!
Young Hermes next, a close contriving God,
Her brows encircled with his ferpent rod;
Then plots and fair excufes fill'd her brain,
The views of breaking amorous vows for gain;
The price of favours; the defigning arts
That aim at riches in contempt of hearts;
And, for a comfort in the marriage life,
The little pilfering temper of a wife.
Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung,
And fond perfuafion tipp'd her eafy tongue;
He gave her words, where oily flattery lays
The pleafing colours of the art of praife;
And wit, to scandal exquifitely prone,
Which frets another's fpleen to cure its own.
B 4
Thofe facred Virgins whom the Bards revere,
Tun'd all her voice, and fhed a fweetnefs there,
To make her fenfe with double charms abound,
Or make her lively nonfenfe please by found.
To drefs the maid, the decent Graces brought
A robe in all the dies of beauty wrought,
And plac'd their boxes o'er a rich brocade,
Where pictur'd Loves on every cover play'd;
Then spread thofe implements that Vulcan's art
Had fram'd to merit Cytherea's heart;
The wire to curl, the clofe indented comb
To call the locks, that lightly wander, home;
And chief, the mirrour, where the ravish'd maid
Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.
Fair Flora lent her ftores; the purpled Hours
Confin'd her treffes with a wreath of flowers. ;
Within the wreath arofe a radiant crown;
A veil pellucid hung depending down;
Back roll'd her azure veil with ferpent fold,
The ри fled border deck'd the floor with gold.
Her robe (which closely by the girdle brac'd
Reveal'd the beauties of a flender waift)
Flow'd to the feet, to copy Venus' air,
When Venus' ftatues have a robe to wear.
The new-fprung creature, finifh'd thus: for harms, Adjusts her habit, practifes her charms,
With blushes glows, or fhines with lively fmiles,
Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles:
Then, confcious of her worth, with eafy pacé
Glides by the glafs, and turning views her face.
A finer flax than what they wrought before,
Through time's deep cave, the Sifter Fates explore,
Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave,
And thus their toil prophetic fongs deceive.
Flow from the rock, my flax! and fwiftly flow,
Purfue thy thread; the fpindle runs below.
A creature fond and changing, fair and vain,*
The creature woman, rifes now to reign.
New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly;
New love begins, a love produc'd to die;
New parts diftrefs the troubled fcenes of life,
The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife.
Men born to labour, all with pains provide;
Women have time to facrifice to pride:
They want the care of man, their want they know,
And drefs to please with heart-alluring show;
The show prevailing, for the fway contend,
And make a servant where they meet a friend.
Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts
A loitering race the painful bee fupports;
From fun to fun, from bank to bank he flies,
With honey loads his bag, with wax his thighs;
Fly where he will, at home the race remain,
Prune the filk dress, and murmuring eat the gain.
Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride,
Whose temper betters by the father's fide;
Unlike the reft that double human care,
Fond to relieve, or refolute to fhare:
Happy the man whom thus his stars advance!
The curfe is general, but the bleffing chance.
Thus fung the Sisters, while the Gods admire
Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire;
The young Pandora she, whom all contend
To make too perfect not to gain her end:
Then bid the winds, that fly to breathe the spring,
Return to bear her on a gentle wing;
With wafting airs the winds obfequious blow,
And land the fhining vengeance fafe below.
A golden coffer in her hand fhe bore,
The prefent treacherous, but the bearer more;
'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above,
That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love.
Her gay defcent the man perceiv'd afar,
Wondering he ran to catch the falling ftar:
But fo furpriz'd, as none but he can tell,
Who lov'd fo quickly, and who lov'd fo well.
O'er all his veins the wandering paffion burns.
He calls her Nymph, and every Nymph by turns.
Her form to lovely Venus he prefers,
Or fwears that Venus' must be fuch as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teaze,
Neglects his offers while her airs fhe plays,
Shoots fcornful glances from the bended frown,
In brifk diforder trips it up and down;
Then hums a carelefs tune to lay the storm,
And fits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in form.
"Now take what Jove defign'd, fhe foftly cry'd,
"This box thy portion, and myself the bride."
Fir'd with the prospect of the double charms,
He fnatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms.
Unhappy man! to whom fo bright fhe fhone,
The fatal gift, her tempting self, unknown!
The winds were filent, all the waves asleep,
And heaven was trac'd upon the flattering deep:
But, whilst he looks unmindful of a storm,
And thinks the water wears a stable form,
What dreadful din around his ears fhall rife!
What frowns confufe his picture of the skies!
At first the creature man was fram'd alone,
Lord of himself, and all the world his own.
For him the Nymphs in green forfock the woods,
For him the Nymphs in blue forfook the floods;
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,
They bore him heroes in the fecret cave.
No care destroy'd, no fick disorder prey'd,
No bending age his fprightly form decay'd,
No wars were known, no females heard to rage,
And, Poets tell us, 't was a golden age.
When woman came, thofe ills the box confin'd
Burft furious out, and poifon'd all the wind
From point to point, from pole to pole they flew,
Spread as they went, and in the progrefs grew:
The Nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And altering nature wore a fickly face:
New terms of folly rose, new states of care;
New plagues, to fuffer, and to please, the Fair!
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues;
The mean defigns of well-diffembled love;
The fordid matches never join'd above;
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