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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 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 twirl the fpindle by the twifting thread,
To fix the loom, inftruct 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 excuses fill'd her brain,
The views of breaking am'rous vows for gain..


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The price of favors; 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 perfuafion tip'd her easy tongue;
He gave her words, where oily flatt'ry lays
The pleasing colours of the art of praise;
And wit, to scandal exquifitely prone,
Which frets another's fpleen to cure its own.

Those facred virgins whom the Bards revere, Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, To make her sense with double charms abound, Or make her lively nonsense 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 plaid; Then spread those 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 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 closely by the girdle brac❜t
Reveal'd the beauties of a flender waist)
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 fmiles,
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

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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 swiftly 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 fcenes 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 drefs to please with heart-alluring show, The show prevailing, for the sway contend, And make a fervant where they meet a friend. Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts

A loitering race the painful bee supports,


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 share :
Happy the man whom thus his stars advance!
The curfe is genʼral, but the blessing 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 fpring,

Return to bear her on a gentle wing';
With wafting airs the winds obfequious blow,
And land the shining vengeance fafe below. !
A golden coffer in her hand fhe bore,
The prefent treach'rous, but the bearer more,

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