Fair Flora lent her stores, the purpled hours Confined her tresses with a wreath of flowers; Within the wreath arose a radiant crown; A veil pellucid hung depending down; 100 Back roll'd her azure veil with serpent fold, The purfled border deck'd the flower with gold. Her robe (which, closely by the girdle braced, Reveal'd the beauties of a slender waist) Flow'd to the feet; to copy Venus' air, When Venus' 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: 110 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, Through Time's deep cave the sister Fates explore, Then fix the loom, their fingers nimbly weave, And thus their toil prophetic 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. 120 New beauty blooms, a beauty form'd to fly; New love begins, a love produced to die; 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. 130 Thus in a thousand wax-erected forts A loitering 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 murmuring 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 human care, Fond to relieve, or resolute to share: 140 Happy the man whom thus his stars advance! The curse is general, 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 breathe the spring, Return to bear her on a gentle wing; With wafting airs the winds obsequious blow, And land the shining vengeance safe below. 150 A golden coffer in her hand she bore, (The present treacherous, but the bearer more) 'Twas fraught with pangs; for Jove ordain'd above, That gold should aid, and pangs attend on love.