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Thus sung the Sisters, while the Gods admire
Their beauteous creature, made for man in ire ;

Pandora she, 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 shining vengeance safe below.
A golden coffer in her hand she bore,
The present treacherous, but the bearer more ;
'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain’d above,
That gold should aid, and pang's attend on love.

Her gay descent the man perceiv'd afar, Wondering he ran 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 wandering paffion burns, He calls her Nymph, and every 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 teaze, Neglects his offers while her airs the plays, 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, the softly cry'd, “ This box thy portion, and myself the 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 asleep,
And heaven was trac'd upon the flattering deep:
But, whilst he looks unmindful of a storm,
And thinks the water wears a stable form,
What dreadful din around his ears fhall rise !
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 forsook the woods,
For him the Nymphs in blue forsook the floods ;
In vain the Satyrs rage, the Tritons rave,
They bore him heroes in the secret cave.
No care destroy'd, no fick disorder prey'd,
No bending age his sprightly form decay'd,
No wars were known, no females heard to rage,
And, Poets tell us, 't was a golden age.

When woman came, those 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 progress grew :
The Nymphs regretting left the mortal race,
And altering 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 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 noise,
(Man's double sufferings for domestic joys)
The curse of jealousy; expence and strife;
Divorce, the public brand of shameful life;
The rival's sword ; the qualm that takes the fair ;
Disdain for passion, passion in despair-
These, and a thousand yet unnam’d, we find ;
Ah fear the thousand yet unnam'd behind !

Thus on Parnassus tuneful Hesiod fung,
The mountain echoed, and the valley rung,
The sacred groves a fix'd attention fhow,
The crystal 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,
Though 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 neighbouring woods a native arbour made,
There oft a tender pair, for amorous play
Retiring, toy'd the ravilh'd hours away ;
A Locrian youth, the gentle Troilus he,
A fair Milesian, kind Evanthe fhe :
But swelling nature in a fatal hour
Betray'd the secrets of the conscious bower ;
The dire disgrace her brothers count their own,
And track her steps, to make its author known.

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It chanc'd one evening, 't was the lover's day,
Conceal'd in brakes the jealous kindred lay;
When Hefiod, wandering, mus’d along the plain,
And fix'd his seat where love had fix'd the scene ;
A strong suspicion strait poffefs their mind
(For Poets ever were a gentle kind),
But when Evanthe near the passage 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 corpse the sea receiv'd. The dolphins bore
('Twas all the Gods would do) the corpse to shore.

Methinks I view the dead with pitying eyes,
And see the dreams of ancient wisdom rise ;
I see the Muses round the body cry,
But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by;
He wheels his arrow with insulting hand,
And thus inscribes the moral on the sand.
“ Here Hesiod lies : ye future Bards, beware
How far

moral tales incense the Fair.
“ Unlov'd, unloving, 't was his fate to bleed;
“Without his quiver, Cupid caus'd the deed :
“He judg'd this turn of malice justly due,
“ And Hesiod dy'd for joys he never knew.”


S O N G.

WHEN thy beauty appears

In its graces and airs,
All bright as an angel new dropt from the sky;
At distance I

gaze, and am aw'd by my fears,
So strangely you dazzle my eye!
But when without art,

Your kind thought you impart, When your love runs

in blushes through every vein ; When it darts from your eyes, when it pants in

your heart,

Then I know you're a woman again.
There's a passion and pride

In our sex, she reply'd,
And thus, might I gratify both, I would do :

Still an angel appear to each lover beside,
But still be a woman to you.


Thyrsis, a young and amorous swain,

Saw two, the beauties of the plain,

Who both his heart subdue : Gay Cælia's eyes were dazzling fair, Sabina's easy shape and air

With softer magic drew.

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