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Have left on long record of woman's rife,
What morals teach it, and what fables hide,
What Author wrote it, how that Author dy'd,
All these I fing. In Greece they fram'd the tale;
(In Greece 'twas thought, a woman might be frail)
Ye modern Beauties! where the Poet drew
His fofteft pencil, think he dream'd of you;
And warn'd by him, ye wanton pens, beware
How heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the Fair.
The cafe was Hefiod's; he the fable writ;
Some think with meaning, fome with idle wit:

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Perhaps 'tis either, as the Ladies please ;
I wave the contest, and commence the lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation fwarm'd with men) That one Prometheus, fprung of heavenly birth, (Our Author's fong can witness) liv'd on earth. He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame, And ftole from Jove his animating flame. The fly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,

When thus the monarch of the stars began.

Oh vers'd in arts! whofe daring thoughts afpire,

To kindle clay with never-dying fire!

Enjoy thy glory past, that gift was thine

;

The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And fuch a gift, a vengeance fo defign'd,

As fuits the counfel of a God to find;

A pleafing bofom-cheat, a fpecious ill,

Which felt they curse, yet covet still to feel.

He faid, and Vulcan ftrait the Sire commands, To temper mortar with etherial hands;

In fuch a shape to mold a rifing Fair,

As virgin goddeffes are proud to wear;
To make her eyes with diamond-water shine,
And form her organs for a voice divine.

'Twas thus the Sire ordain'd; the Pow'r obey'd; And work'd, and wonder'd at the work he made; The faireft, fofteft, fweeteft frame beneath,

Now made to feem, now more than seem to breathe.
As Vulcan ends, the chearful Queen of charms.
Clasp'd the new-panting creature in her arms;
From that embrace a fine complexion spread,
Where mingled whiteness glow'd with fofter red.
Then in a kifs fhe breath'd her various arts,
Of trifling prettily with wounded hearts;

A mind for love, but still a changing mind

The lifp affected, and the glance defign'd;

;

The sweet confufing blush, the secret wink,
The gentle-fwimming walk, the courteous fink,
The ftare for strangeness fit, for scorn the frown,
For decent yielding, looks declining down,

The

Perhaps 'tis either, as the Ladies please ;
I wave the conteft, and commence the lays.

In days of yore, (no matter where or when, 'Twas ere the low creation fwarm'd with men) That one Prometheus, fprung of heavenly birth, (Our Author's fong can witness) liv'd on earth. He carv'd the turf to mold a manly frame, And ftole from Jove his animating flame. The fly contrivance o'er Olympus ran,

When thus the monarch of the stars began.

Oh vers'd in arts! whofe daring thoughts afpire,

To kindle clay with never-dying fire!
Enjoy thy glory paft, that gift was thine;

The next thy creature meets, be fairly mine:
And such a gift, a vengeance so design'd,
As fuits the counfel of a God to find;

A pleafing bofom-cheat, a specious ill,

Which felt they curfe, yet covet still to feel.

He faid, and Vulcan ftrait the Sire commands, To temper mortar with etherial hands;

The price of favors; the designing 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 Aung,
And fond perfuafion tip'd her eafy tongue;
He gave her words, where oily flatt'ry lays
The pleafing colours of the art of praife;
And wit, to scandal exquifitely prone,

Which frets another's fpleen to cure its own.

Thofe facred virgins whom the Bards revere, Tun'd all her voice, and shed a sweetness there, To make her fenfe with double charms abound, Or make her lively nonsense please by found.

To drefs 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

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