First made by her for soaring actions fit, Woman! the spring of super-human wit, Shall we from her each dear bought bliss withhold, As Spaniards use the Indians for their Gold? Ungrateful Man! in pride so high to aim, As to be sole inheritor of shame! And you, ye Fair! why slumber on disdain, Forbear to vindicate, yet can't refrain? Why should Papilla seek the vaulted hoard, 70 And but in secret ape her honest Lord? Why should'st thou, Celia, to thy stores repair, And sip the generous Spirit in such fear? Reform the Error, and revoke your plan, And as ye dare to imitate, be----Man. First know yourselves, and frame your passions all[6], In proper order, how to rise and fall; Woman's a Being, dubiously great, Never contented with a passive state; With too much Knowledge to give Man the sway, 80 With too much Pride his humours to obey, She hangs in doubt, [too] humble or [too] brave; In doubt to be a Mistress or a Slave; In doubt herself or Husband to controul; Born to be made a tyrant or a fool; In one extreme, her Power is always such Either to show too little, or too much; Bred up in Passions, by their sway abus'd, The weaker for the stronger still refus'd; Created oft' to rise, and oft' to fall, 90 Changing in all things, yet alike in all; Soft Judge of right or wrong, or blest or curst, The happiest, saddest, holiest, or the worst. And why? because your failings ye suppress, And what ye dare to act, dare not confess. Would you, ye Fair, as Man your vices boast, And she be most admir'd, who sins the most; Would ye in open revel gaily spring, And o'er the wanton Banquet vaunting sing; The doubtful Precedence we then should own, 100 And you be first in [Error's] mazes known. But why to Vices of the boist'rous kind Tye the soft Soul, and urge the gentle Mind? Forbid it, Nature! to the Fair I speak, By her made strong, by Custom rendered weak; Whose passions, trembling for unbounded sway, Will thank the Bard, who points the nearest way; All Vice through Folly's regions first should pass, And Folly holds her sceptre o'er the glass. Drink then, ye Fair! and nature's laws fulfill; 110 Be ev'ry thing at once, and all ye will; Put off the mask that hides the Sex's claim And makes Distinction but an empty name.