But whilft he looks unmindful of a Storm, And thinks the Water wears a ftable Form, What dreadful Din around his Ears fhall rife! 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 theNymphs 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 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, thofe Ills the Box confin'd Burst furious out, and poison'd all the Wind,

From

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 fickly Face:
New Terms of Folly rofe, new States 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 Designs of well-diffembled Love;
The fordid Matches never joyn'd above;
Abroad, the Labour, and at home the Noise,
(Man's double Suff'rings for domeftick Joys)
The Curfe of Jealoufy; Expence, and Strife ;
Divorce, the publick Brand of fhameful Life;
The Rival's Sword; the Qualm that takes the Fair;
Difdain for Paffion, Paffion in Despair-

These, and a thoufand, yet unnam'd, we find;

Ah fear the thousand, yet unnam'd behind!

Thus

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 Mufes 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 twisted Shade The neighb'ring Woods a native Arbour made, There oft a tender Pair for am'rous Play.

Retiring, toy'd the ravish'd Hours away;

A

A Locrian Youth, the gentle Troilus he,

A fair Milefian, kind Evanthe fhe;

But fwelling Nature in a fatal Hour

Betray'd the Secrets of the conscious Bow'r ; The dire Disgrace 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 Seat where Love had fix'd the Scene:

A strong Sufpicion ftrait poffeft their Mind,
(For Poets ever were a gentle kind.)

But when Evanthe near the Paffage ftood,
Flung back a doubtful Look, and fhot the Wood,
"Now take, (at once they cry) thy due Reward,"
And urg'd with erring Rage, affault the Bard.

His Corps the Sea 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 Muses round the Body cry, But hear a Cupid loudly laughing by ; He wheels his Arrow with infulting Hand, And thus infcribes the Moral on the Sand. "Here Hefiod lies: Ye future Bards, beware "How far your Moral Tales incense the Fair: "Unlov'd, unloving, 'twas his Fate to bleed; "Without his Quiver Cupid caus'd the Deed: "He judg'd this Turn of Malice juftly due, "And Hefiod dy'd for Joys he never knew.