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With wafting Airs the Winds obfequious blow,
And land the thining Vengeance safe 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 shou'd aid, and Pangs attend on Love.

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Her gay Descent the Man perceiv'd afar,
Wond'ring he run to catch the falling Star
But so surpriz’d, as none but he can tell,
Who lov'd so quickly, and who lov'd so well.
O’er all his Veins the wand'ring Passion burns,
He calls her Nymph, and ev'ry Nymph by turns.
Her Form to lovely Venus he prefers,
Or swears that Venus' must be such as hers.
She, proud to rule, yet strangely fram'd to teize,
Neglects his Offers while her Airs she plays,

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Shoots scornful Glances from the bended Frown,
In brisk Disorder trips it up and down,
Then hums a careless Tune to lay the Storm,
And sits, and blushes, smiles, and yields, in Form.

« Now take what Jove design'd (she softly cry'd) « This box thy Portion, and my self 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 self, unknown! The Winds were silent, all the Waves asleep, And Heav'n was trac'd upon the flate’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 rise!

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 forsook 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 secret Cave. No Care destroy'd, no sick Disorder 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, those Ills the Box confin'd Burst furious out, and poisoin'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 sickly Face:


New Terms of Folly rose, new States of Care;
New Plagues, to suffer, 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 Designs of well-dissembled Love;
The fordid Matches never join'd above;
Abroad, the Labour, and at home the Noise,
(Man's double Suff'rings for domestick Joys)
The Curse of Jealousy; Expence, and Strife;
Divorce, the publick Brand of shameful Life ;
The Rival's Sword; the Qualm that takes the Fair ;
Disdain for Passion, Paflion in Despair
These, and a thousand, yet unnam'd, we find;
Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam'd behind !

Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hefiod sung, The Mountain echo'd, and the Valley rung,


The facred Groves a fix'd Attention show,
The chrystal Helicon forbore to flow,
The Sky grew bright, and (if his Verse be true)
The Mufes came to give the Laurel too.
But what availd 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 silent, with a twisted Shade The reighb’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 Milesian, kind Evanthe fhe:


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