 | Poems on Several Occasions |  |
Woman.
Pindarick Ode.
I.
What a bold Theam have I in hand,What Fury has possest my Muse,
That could no other subject choose,
But that which none can understand!
Woman, what Tongue, or Pen is able
To determine what thou art,
A thing so moving, and unstable,
So Sea like, so investigable,
That no Land Map, nor Sea-man's Chart,
286
Chalky Cliffs, and Christal Fountains;
Sable Thickets, golden Groves,
All that man admires and loves,
Can direct us to thy heart!
Which, though we seek it night and day
Through vast Regions Ages stray,
And over Seas with Canvas wings make way;
That Heart the whiles,
Like to the floating Isles,
Our Compass evermore beguiles,
And still, still, still remains Terra Incognita.
II.
Woman! the fairest sweetest Flow'rThat in happy Eden grew,
Whose sweets and graces had the pow'r
The World's sole Monarch to subdue,
What pity 'tis thou wer't not true.
But there, even there, thy frailty brought in sin,
Sin that has cost so many Sighs and tears,
Enough to ruin all succeeding Heirs,
287
And though (because there was no more)
It in one single story did begin;
Yet from the Seeds shed from that fruitful Core,
Have sprung up Volumes infinite, and great,
With which th' ore charged world doth sweat,
Of women false, proud, cruel, insolent;
And what could else befall,
Since she her self was President
Who was the Mother of them all;
And who, altho' Mankind indeed was scant,
To shew her malice, rather than her want,
Would make a loathsom Serpent her Gallant.
III.
O Mother Eve, sure 'twas a faultSo wild a Rule to give,
E're there were any to be taught,
Or any to deceive.
'Twas ill to ruine all thy Off-spring so,
E're they were yet in Embrio,
288
For all thy Sons (which usually are
The Mothers care)
For ever lost, and ruin'd were,
By thy instructing thy fair Daughters ill.
What's he that dares his own fond choice approve
Or be secure his spouse is Chast;
Or if she be, that it will last,
Yet all must love.
Oh Cruel Nature that does force our wills
T'embrace those necessary ills!
Oh negligent, and treacherous eyes,
Given to man for true and faithful spies;
How oft do you betray your trust,
And joyn'd Confederate with our lust,
Tell us that Beauty is, which is but flesh, that flesh but Dust.
IV.
Heaven, if it be thy undisputed willThat still
This charming Sex we must adore,
Let us love less, or they love more;
289
Will find some ease, if not a cure:
Or if their hearts from the first Gangrene be
Infected to that desperate degree
As will no Surgery admit;
Out of thy love to Men at least forbear
To make their faces so subduing fair,
And if thou wilt give Beauty, limit it:
For moderate Beauty, though it bear no price,
Is yet a mighty enemy to Vice,
And who has Vertue once, can never see
Any thing of Deformity
Let her Complexion swart, or Tawny be,
A Twilight Olive, or a Mid-night Ebony.
V.
She that is chast, is always fair,No matter for her Hue,
And though for form she were a Star,
She's ugly, if untrue:
True Beauty alwayes lies within,
Much deeper, than the outer skin,
290
It will be hard, I doubt, to find;
Or if it be, she's so deriv'd,
And with so many doors contriv'd,
Harder by much to keep it in.
For Vertue in a Woman's Breast
Seldom by Title is possest,
And is no Tenant, but a wand'ring Guest.
VI.
But all this while I've soundly slept,And rav'd as Dreamers use:
Fy! what a coil my brains have kept
T'instruct a sawcy Muse
Her own fair Sex t'abuse.
'Tis nothing but an ill Digestion
Has thus brought Women's Fame in question,
Which have been, and still will be what they are,
That is, as chaste, as they are sweet and fair;
And all that has been said
Nothing but ravings of an idle Head,
291
For now, that I am broad awake
I find 'tis all a gross mistake,
Else what a case were his, and thine, and mine?
| Poems on Several Occasions | |