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 pleafe 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 fpread 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 fhade.
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 purfled border deck'd the floor with gold.
Her robe (which clofely 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, finish'd thus for harms, -Adjusts her habit, practises her charms,
With blushes glows, or fhines with lively fimiles,
Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles:
Then, confcious of her worth, with easy pace
Glides by the glass, 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,
Pursue 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 scenes of life,
The fondling miftrefs, 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 fhow;
The fhow prevailing, for the fway contend,
And make a fervant 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 drefs, and murmuring eat the gain.
Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride,
Whofe 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 ftars advance!
The curfe is general, but the bleffing chance.
Thus fung the Sifters, while the Gods admire
Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire;
The young Pandora fhe, 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 safe below.
A golden coffer in her hand fhe bore,
The present treacherous, but the bearer more;
'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above,"
That gold fhould 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' muft be fuch as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet ftrangely fram'd to teaze,
Neglects his offers while her airs fhe plays,
Shoots fcornful glances from the bended frown,
In brisk diforder trips it up and down;
Then hums a carelefs tune to lay the storm,
And fits, and blushes, fmiles, and yields, in form.
"Now take what Jove defign'd, she softly 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 so bright she shone,
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, whilft he looks unmindful of a storm,
And thinks the water wears a stable form,
What dreadful din around his ears shall 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 forfook 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' Burft furious out, and poison'd all the wind, From point to point, from pole to pole they flew, Spread as they went, and in the progress grew: The Nymphs regretting left the mortal race, And altering nature wore a fickly face: New terms of folly rofe, new ftates 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 designs of well-diffembled love; The fordid matches never join'd above;
Abroad the labour, and at home the noife,
(Man's double fufferings for domestic joys)
The curfe of jealoufy; expence and strife;
Divorce, the public brand of shameful life;
The rival's fword; the qualm that takes the fair,
Difdain for paffion, paffion in defpair-
Thefe, and a thoufand yet unnam'd, we find;
Ah fear the thoufand yet unnam❜d behind!
Thus on Parnaffus tuneful Hefiod fung,
The mountain echoed, and the valley rung,
The facred groves a fix'd attention show,
The cryftal Helicon forbore to flow,
The fky grew bright, and (if his verfe be true)
The Mufes came to give the laurel too.
But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit,
If Love fwore vengeance for the tales he writ?
Ye Fair offended, hear your friend relate
What heavy judgment prov'd the writer's fate,
Though when it happen'd no relation clears,
Tis thought in five, or five and twenty years.
Where, dark and filent, with a twisted shade
The neighouring woods a native arbour made,
There oft a tender pair, for amorous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away;
A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Milefian, kind Evanthe the:
But fwelling nature in a fatal hour
Betray'd the fecrets of the conscious bower;
The dire difgrace her brothers count their own, And track her fteps, to make its author known.
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