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'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 such as hers.

She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram❜d to tease,
Neglects his offers while her airs she plays,
Shoots fcornful glances from the bended frown,
In brisk disorder trips it up and down,

Then hums a carelefs tune to lay the form,
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 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 felf, unknown! The winds were filent, all the waves afleep, And heav'n was trac'd upon the flatt'ring deep; But whilft he looks unmindful of a storm, And thinks the water wears a stable form, What dreadful din around his ears shall rife! What frowns confuse his picture of the fkies!

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 destroy'd, no fick diforder prey'd, No bending age his sprightly 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 poison'd all the wind,


From point to point, from pole to pole they flew,
Spread as they went, and in the progrefs grew:
The Nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And alt'ring nature wore a fickly face:

New terms of folly rofe, new ftates of care;
New plagues, to fuffer, and to please, the Fair!
The days of whining, and of wild intrigues,
Commenc'd, or finish'd, with the breach of leagues;
The mean defigns of well-diffembled love;
The fordid matches never join'd above;
Abroad the labour, and at home the noise,

(Man's double suff'rings for domeftic joys)
The curfe of jealousy; expence, and strife;
Divorce, the publick brand of shameful life;
The rival's fword; the qualm that takes the Fair;
Disdain for paffion, paffion in despair-

These, 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 chryftal Helicon forbore to flow,
The sky grew bright, and (if his verse be true)
The Muses came to give the laurel too.
But what avail'd the verdant prize of wit,
If Love swore 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 twifted fhade
The neighbouring woods a native arbour made,
There oft the tender pair for am'rous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravifh'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 difgrace 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 fcene:

A strong suspicion strait possess'd their mind, (For Poets ever were a gentle kind)

But when Evanthe near the paffage stood,

Flung back a doubtful look, and shot the wood, "Now take, at once they cry, thy due reward," And urg'd with erring rage, assault the Bard: 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 rise;

I fee the Mufes round the body cry,

But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by ;
He wheels his arrow with insulting hand,
And thus infcribes the moral on the fand.
"Here Hefiod lies: ye future Bards, beware
"How far your moral tales incense the Fair:

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