HESIOD: OR, THE Rise of WOMAN.

HESIOD : OR , THE Rise of WOMAN . HESIOD : OR , THE Rise of WOMAN . WHAT antient Times ( those Times we fancy wise ) Have left on long Record of Woman's Rise , What Morals teach it , and what Fables hide , What Author wrote it , how that Author dy'd , All these I sing . In Greece they fram'd the Tale ( In Greece , 'twas thought , a Woman might be frail ) Ye modern Beauties ! where the Poet drew His softest Pencil , think he dreamt of you ; And warn'd by him , ye wanton Pens , beware How Heav'n's concern'd to vindicate the Fair . The Case was Hesiod's ; he the Fable writ ; Some think with Meaning , some with idle Wit : 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 e're the low Creation swarm'd with Men ) That one Prometheus , sprung of heav'nly Birth , ( Our Author's Song can witness ) liv'd on Earth . He carv'd the Turf to mold a manly Frame , And stole from Jove his animating Flame . The sly Contrivance o'er Olympus ran , When thus the Monarch of the Stars began . Oh vers'd in Arts ! whose daring Thoughts aspire To kindle Clay with never-dying Fire ! Enjoy thy Glory past , That Gift was thine ; The next thy Creature meets , be fairly mine : And such a Gift , a Vengeance so design'd , As suits the Counsel of a God to find ; A pleasing Bosom-cheat , a specious Ill , Which felt they curse , yet covet still to feel . He said , and Vulcan strait the Sire commands , To temper Mortar with etherial Hands ; In such a Shape to mold a rising Fair , As Virgin-goddesses 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 fairest , softest , sweetest Frame beneath , Now made to seem , 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 softer red . Then in a Kiss she breath'd her various Arts , Of trifling prettily with wounded Hearts ; A Mind for Love , but still a changing Mind ; The Lisp affected , and the Glance design'd ; The sweet confusing Blush , the secret Wink , The gentle-swimming Walk , the courteous Sink , The Stare for Strangeness fit , for Scorn the Frown , For decent yielding Looks declining down , The practis'd Languish , where well-feign'd Desire Wou'd own its melting in a mutual Fire ; Gay Smiles to comfort ; April Show'rs to move ; And all the Nature , all the Art , of Love . Gold-scepter'd Juno next exalts the Fair ; Her Touch endows her with imperious Air , Self-valuing Fancy , highly-crested Pride , Strong sov'reign Will , and some Desire to chide : For which , an Eloquence , that aims to vex , With native Tropes of Anger , arms the Sex . Minerva ( skillful Goddess ) train'd the Maid To twirl the Spindle by the twisting Thread , To fix the Loom , instruct the Reeds to part , Cross the long Weft , and close the Web with Art , An useful Gift ; but what profuse Expence , What world of Fashions , took its Rise from hence ! Young Hermes next , a close-contriving God , Her Brows encircled with his Serpent Rod : Then Plots and fair Excuses , fill'd her Brain , The Views of breaking am'rous Vows for Gain , The Price of Favours ; 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 flung , And fond Persuasion tip'd her easy Tongue ; He gave her Words , where oyly Flatt'ry lays The pleasing Colours of the Art of Praise ; And Wit , to Scandal exquisitely prone , Which frets another's Spleen to cure its own . Those sacred Virgins whom the Bards revere , Tun'd all her Voice , and shed a Sweetness there , To make her Sense with double Charms abound , Or make her lively Nonsense please by Sound . To dress 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 Wire to curl , the close-indented Comb To call the Locks that lightly wander , home ; And chief , the Mirrour , where the ravish'd Maid Beholds and loves her own reflected Shade . Fair Flora lent her Stores , the purpled Hours Confin'd her Tresses with a Wreath of Flow'rs ; Within the Wreath arose a radiant Crown ; A Veil pellucid hung depending down ; Back roll'd her azure Veil with Serpent fold , The purfled Border deck'd the Floor with Gold . Her Robe ( which closely by the Girdle brac't Reveal'd the Beauties of a slender Waste ) Flow'd to the Feet ; to copy Venus Air , When Venus's Statues have a Robe to wear . The new sprung Creature finish'd thus for Harms , Adjusts her Habit , practises her Charms ; With Blushes glows , or shines with lively Smiles , Confirms her Will , or recollects her Wiles : Then conscious of her Worth , with easy Pace Glides by the Glass , and turning views her Face . A finer Flax than what they wrought before , Thro' Time's deep Cave the Sister Fates explore , Then fix the Loom , their Fingers nimbly weave , And thus their Toil prophetick Songs deceive . Flow from the Rock my Flax ! and swiftly flow , Pursue thy Thread ; the Spindle runs below . A Creature fond and changing , fair and vain , The Creature Woman , rises now to reign . New Beauty blooms , a Beauty form'd to fly ; New Love begins , a Love produc'd to dye ; New Parts distress the troubled Scenes of Life , The fondling Mistress , and the ruling Wife . Men , born to Labour , all with Pains provide ; Women have Time , to sacrifice to Pride : They want the Care of Man , their Want they know , And dress to please with heart-alluring Show , The Show prevailing , for the Sway contend , And make a Servant where they meet a Friend . Thus in a thousand wax-erected Forts A loytering Race the painful Bee supports , From Sun to Sun , from Bank to Bank he flies , With Honey loads his Bag , with Wax his Thighs , Fly where he will , at home the Race remain , Prune the silk Dress , and murm'ring eat the Gain . Yet here and there we grant a gentle Bride , Whose Temper betters by the Father's side ; Unlike the rest that double humane Care , Fond to relieve , or resolute to share : Happy the Man whom thus his Stars advance ! The Curse is gen'ral , but the Blessing Chance . Thus sung the Sisters , while the Gods admire Their beauteous Creature , made for Man in Ire ; The young Pandora she , whom all contend To make too perfect not to gain her End : Then bid the Winds that fly to breath the Spring , Return to bear her on a gentle Wing ; With wafting Airs the Winds obsequious blow , And land the shining 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 . 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 , 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 flatt'ring Deep ; But whilst 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 forsook 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 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 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 sordid Matches never joyn'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 , 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 sung , The Mountain echo'd , and the Valley rung , The sacred Groves a fix'd Attention show , The chrystal 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 silent , 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 Locrian Youth , the gentle Troilus he , A fair Milesian , kind Evanthe she : But swelling 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 Hesiod wand'ring , mus'd along the Plain , And fix'd his Seat where Love had fix'd the Scene : A strong Suspicion strait possest 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 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 see the Dreams of antient 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 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 justly due , " And Hesiod dy'd for Joys he never knew .