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 murm'ring eat the gain.

Yet here and there we grant a gentle bride,
Whofe temper betters by the father's fide;
Unlike the rest that double human care,
Fond to relieve, or refolute to fhare:
Happy the man whom thus his stars advance!
The curfe is gen'ral, 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 fafe below,
A golden coffer in her hand she bore,

(The present treach'rous, 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 perceiv'd afar,
Wond'ring he run to catch the falling star;
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 wand'ring paffion burns,
He calls her nymph, and ev'ry 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 teize,
Neglects his offers while her airs fhe plays,
Shoots fcornful glances from the bended frown,
In brisk disorder trips it up and down,
Then hums a careless tune to lay the storm,
And fits, and blushes, fmiles, and yields, in form.
"Now take what Jove defign'd (fhe foftly cry'd)
"This box thy portion, and myfelf thy bride:
Fir'd with the profpect of the double charms,
He fnatch'd the box, and bride, with eager arms.
Unhappy man! to whom so bright she fhone:
The fatal gift, her tempting felf, unknown!
The winds were filent, all the waves afleep,
And heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring deep;
But whilst he looks unmindful of a storm,
And thinks the water wears a ftable 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 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 deftroy'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, 'twas a golden age.

When Woman came, thofe ills the box confin'd
Burst 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 progress grew:
The nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And alt'ring nature wore a fickly face;
New terms of folly rofe, new states of care;
New plagues, to fuffer, and to please, the fair!
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finifh'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 fuff'rings for domeftic joys)
The curfe of jealoufy; expence, and strife;
Divorce, the public brand of fhameful life;
The rival's fword: the qualm that takes the fair;
Difdain for paffion, paffion in despair-
Thefe and a thousand, yet unnam'd, we find;
Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam❜d behind!

Thus on Parnaffus tuneful Hefiod fung, The mountain echo'd, and the valley rung, The facred groves a fix'd attention show, The chrystal 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,
Tho' 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 neighb'ring woods a native arbour made,
There oft a tender pair for am'rous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd hours away;
A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Milefian, kind Evanthe she,
But fwelling nature in a fatal hour

Betray'd the fecrets of the conscious bow'r; The dire disgrace her brothers count their own, And track her steps, to make its author known.

It chanc'd one evening, ('twas the lover's day) Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay; When Hefiod wand'ring, mus'd along the plain, And fix'd his feat where love had fix'd the scene: A strong suspicion strait poffeft their mind, (For poets ever were a gentle kind.) But when Evanthe near the paffage stood, Flung back a doubtful look and fhot the wood, "Now take (at once they cry) thy due reward," And urg'd with erring rage, affault the bard.

B

His corps the fea receiv'd. The dolphins bore ('Twas all the Gods would do) the corps to shore. Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes, And fee the dreams of antient wisdom rife; I fee the Mufes round the body cry, But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by; He wheels his arrow with infulting hand, And thus infcribes the moral on the fand. "Here Hefiod lies: ye future bards, beware 66 How far your moral tales incense the fair: "Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his fate to bleed; "Without his quiver Cupid caus'd the deed: "He judg'd this turn of malice justly due, "And Hefiod dy'd for joys he never knew.”