A mind for love, but ftill a changing mind;
The lifp affected, and the glance defign'd;
The sweet confufing blush, the secret wink,
The gentle-fwimming walk, the courteous sink,
The stare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown,
For decent yielding looks declining down,

The practis'd languish, where well-feign'd defire
Wou'd own its melting in a mutual fire;
Gay fmiles to comfort; April fhow'rs 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 fov'reign will, and fome defire to chide:
For which, an eloquence, that aims to vex,
With native tropes of anger, arms the sex.
Minerva (fkilful goddess) train'd the maid
To twirl the spindle by the twifting thread,
To fix the loom, instruct the reeds to part,
Crofs the long weft, and close 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 am'rous 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 pilf'ring temper of a wife.

Full on the fair his beams Apollo flung,
And fond perfwafion tip'd her eafy tongue;
He gave her words, where oily flatt'ry lays
The pleafing colours of the art of praise;
And wit, to fcandal exquifitely prone,
Which frets another's fpleen to cure

its own.

Thofe facred virgins whom the bards revere,
Tun'd all her voice, and fhed a fweetness there,
To make her sense with double charms abound,
Or make her lively nonfenfe please by found.
To dress 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 ev'ry 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 shade.

Fair Flora lent her ftores, the purpled Hours
Confin'd her treffes with a wreath of flow'rs;
Within the wreath arose 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't
Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waste)
Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air,
When Venus' ftatues have a robe to wear.

The new sprung creature finish'd thus for harms, Adjusts her habit, practises her charms,

With blushes glows, or fhines with lively fmiles,
Confirms her will, or recollects her wiles :
Then confcious of her worth, with eafy pace
Glides by the glafs, and turning views her face.

A finer flax than what they wrought before,
Thro' 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 spindle 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 dye;

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 facrifice 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 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 dress, and murm'ring 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 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 fhe bore,

(The present treach'rous, 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,
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 brifk 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 (the foftly cry'd)
"This box thy portion, and myself thy 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 heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring 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 confuse 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.