A foul fupreme, in each hard instance try'd,
Above all pain, all anger, and all pride;
The rage of power, the blast of public breathry
The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to deferts thy retreat is made;
The Muse attends thee to thy filent shade:
Tis hers, the brave man's latest steps to trace,
Re-judge his acts, and dignify disgrace,
When intereft calls off all her sneaking train,.
When all th' oblig'd defert, and all the vain;
She waits, or to the scaffold, or the cell,
When the last lingering friend has bid farewell.
Ev'n now she shades thy evening-walk with bays,
(No hireling she, no proftitute to praise)
Ev'n now obfervant of the parting ray,
Eyes the calm fun-fet of thy various day;
Through Fortune's cloud one truly great can fee,
Nor fears to tell, that Mortimer is he.

Sept. 25, 1721.

A. POP E.

HESIOD:

HE SI O D:

OR,

THE RISE OF WOMAN..

WHAT antient times (thofe times we fancy wife)

Have left on long record of woman's rife,

What morals teach it, and what fables hide,
What author wrote it, how that author dy'd,
All these I fing. In Greece they fram'd the tale
(In Greece 'twas thought a woman might be frail);
Ye modern beauties! where the Poet drew
His fofteft pencil, think he dreamt of you;
And, warn'd by him, ye wanton pens beware
How Heaven's concern'd to vindicate the fair.
The cafe was Hefiod's; he the fable writ;
Some think with meaning, fome with idle wit:
Perhaps 'tis either, as the Ladies please;
I wave the conteft, and commence the lays.

In days of yore (no matter where or when,
'Twas ere the low creation swarm'd with men)
That one Prometheus, fprung of heavenly birth,
(Our Author's fong can witness) liv'd on earth:
He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame,
And fole from Jove his animating flame.
The fly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,
When thus the Monarch of the Stårs began.

O vers'd in arts! whofe daring thoughts aspire, To kindle clay with never-dying fire!

Enjoy thy glory paft, that gift was thine;

The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And fuch a gift, a vengeance fo defign'd,
As fuits the counfel of a God to find. ;
A pleafing bofom-cheat, a fpecious ill,
Which felt the curfe, yet covets ftill to feel.

He faid, and Vulcan strait the Sire commands,
To temper mortar with ætherial hands;

In fuch a shape to mold a rising fair,
As virgin goddeffes 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 faireft, fofteft, sweetest frame beneath,
Now made to feem, now more than feem to breathe.
As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of Charms
Clafp'd the new-panting creature in her arms:
From that embrace a fine complexion spread,
Where mingled whitenefs glow'd with fofter red.
Then in a kifs fhe breath'd her various arts,
Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;
A mind for love, but still a changing mind;
The lifp affected, and the glance design'd;
The fweet confufing blufh, the fecret wink,
The gentle fwimming walk, the courteous fink
The fare for ftrangeness fit, for fcorn the frown;
For decent yielding, looks declining down;

The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd defire
Would own its melting in a mutual fire;
Gay fmiles to comfort; April showers to move;
And all the nature, all the art of love.

Gold feepter'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 sex.
Minerva, fkilful goddefs, train'd the maid
To twirle the spindle by the twisting thread;
To fix the loom, inftruct the reeds to part,
Crofs the long weft, and clofe the web with art,
An ufeful gift; but what profufe expence,
What world of fashions, took its rife from hence!
Young Hermes next, a clofe 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 praise;
And wit, to fcandal exquifitely prone,
Which frets another's spleen to curé its own.