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
.