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He carved the turf to mould a manly frame,
And stole from Jove his animating flame.
The sly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
When thus the monarch of the stars began:
'Oh, versed in arts! whose daring thoughts aspire
To kindle clay with never-dying fire!
Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine;
The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd,
As suits the counsel of a god to find;
A pleasing bosom-cheat, a specious ill,
Which, felt, they curse, yet covet still to feel.'
He said, and Vulcan straight the sire commands,
To temper mortar with etherial hands;

In such a shape to mould a rising Fair,
As virgin-goddesses are proud to wear;
To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,
And form her organs for a voice divine.
"Twas thus the sire ordain'd; the power obey'd;
And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made;
The fairest, softest, sweetest frame beneath,
Now made to seem, now more than seem to breathe.

As Vulcan ends, the cheerful queen of charms
Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms;
From that embrace a fine complexion spread,
Where mingled whiteness glow'd with softer red.
Then in a kiss she breathed her various arts,
Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;
A mind for love, but still a changing mind;
The lisp affected, and the glance design'd;
The sweet confusing blush, the secret wink;
The gentle-swimming walk, the courteous sink;
The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown;
For decent yielding, looks declining down;

The practised languish, where well-feign'd desire Would own its melting in a mutual fire;

Gay smiles, to comfort; April showers, to move; And all the nature, all the art of love.

Gold-sceptred Juno next exalts the Fair; Her touch endows her with imperious air, Self-valuing fancy, highly-crested pride, Strong sovereign will, and some desire to chide : For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex, With native tropes of anger, arms the sex. Minerva, skilful goddess, train'd the maid To twirl the spindle by the twisting thread, To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part, Cross the long weft, and close the web with art. An useful gift; but what profuse expense, What world of fashions, took its rise from hence! Young Hermes next, a close contriving god, Her brows encircled with his serpent-rod : Then plots and fair excuses fill'd her brain, The views of breaking amorous vows for gain; The price of favours; the designing 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 persuasion tipp'd her easy tongue; He gave her words, where oily flattery lays The pleasing colours of the art of praise; And wit, to scandal exquisitely prone, Which frets another's spleen, to cure its own. Those sacred Virgins whom the bards revere, Tuned all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, To make her sense with double charms abound, Or make her lively nonsense please by sound.

To dress the maid, the decent Graces brought A robe in all the dyes of beauty wrought, And placed their boxes o'er a rich brocade, Where pictured Loves on every cover play'd; Then spread those implements that Vulcan's art Had framed to merit Cytherea's heart; The wire to curl, the close-indented comb To call the locks that lightly wander, home; And chief, the mirror, where the ravish'd maid Beholds and loves her own reflected shade.

Fair Flora lent her stores; the purpled Hours
Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers;
Within the wreath arose a radiant crown;
A veil pellucid hung depending down;
Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold,
The purfled border deck'd the floor with gold.
Her robe (which closely by the girdle braced
Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist)
Flow'd to the feet, to copy Venus' air,
When Venus' statues have a robe to wear.
The new-sprung creature finish'd thus for harms,
Adjusts her habit, practises her charms;

With blushes glows, or shines with lively smiles,
Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles:
Then, conscious 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 sister Fates explore,
Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave,
And thus their toil prophetic songs deceive:

Flow from the rock, my flax! and swiftly flow,
Pursue thy thread; the spindle runs below.
A creature fond and changing, fair and vain,
The creature woman, rises now to reign,

New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; New love begins, a love produced to die; New parts distress the troubled scenes of life, The fondling mistress, and the ruling wife.

Men, born to labour, all with pains provide; Women have time to sacrifice to pride: They want the care of man, their want they know, And dress to please with heart-alluring show; The show prevailing, for the sway contend, And make a servant where they meet a friend. 'Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts A loitering race the painful bee supports; From sun to sun, 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 silk dress, and murmuring eat the gain. 'Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride, Whose temper betters by the father's side; Unlike the rest that double human care, Fond to relieve, or resolute to share : Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! The curse is general, but the blessing chance.' Thus sung 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 obsequious blow, And land the shining vengeance safe below. A golden coffer in her hand she bore, The present 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 descent the man perceived afar,
Wondering he ran to catch the falling star;
But so surprised, as none but he can tell,
Who loved so quickly, and who loved so well.
O'er all his veins the wandering passion burns,
He calls her nymph, and every nymph, by turns.
Her form to lovely Venus he prefers,

Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet strangely framed to tease,
Neglects his offers while her airs she plays,
Shoots scornful glances from the bended frown,
In brisk disorder trips it up and down ;
Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm,
And sits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in form.
Now take what Jove design'd, (she softly cried)
This box thy portion, and myself thy bride.'
Fired with the prospect of the double charms,
He snatch'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 silent, all the waves asleep,
And Heaven was traced 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 shall rise!
What frowns confuse his picture of the skies!

At first the creature man was framed alone,
Lord of himself, and all the world his own.
For him the nymphs in green forsook the woods,
For him the nymphs in blue forsook the floods,
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,
They bore him heroes in the secret cave.
No care destroy'd, no sick disorder prey'd,
No bending age his sprightly form decay'd,

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