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I grant it proper, in a cover'd Place,

Secure from Cold, to pass the wintry Days,
And breed a jolly, strong, and healthy Race.
But in the keeneft Winters we behold

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Some sprinklings of the Sun's refreshing Gold,
When, the Winds filent, from the Sky he gleams
And fparingly bestows his fimiling Beams:
Then may the Pregnant to her Neighours roam,
And chearfully resign her clofer Home;
Return a Vifit, and, o'er harmless Tea
Or fprightly Wine, be jocular and free ;
Beguile the Minutes, till approaching Night, d
In merry Tales, and innocent Delight...

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AND, which the Muse should have prefcrib'd before, First, the Great Father of all Things adore ;

Thro him thy Womb conceiv'd, his heav'nly Pow'r
Preferves the Foetus till the promis'd Hour

Frequent his Church, thy best Devotions pay,

And holy Off'rings on his Altars lay,

Imploring that the future Maid or Boyiső) men en braai May all their Hours religiously employ,

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Do Actions worthy of an honest Fame, Ant!
Till the Soul quit the Body's weakned Frame,
Returning to the Sky from whence it came.
From the firft Moment you Conception find,
Obferve thefe Rules, and hoard them in your Mind
Till, gathering Strength, and ripening into Birth, o
The young Increaser of the peopled Earth ol
Starts from the Barriers of the Womb, to run:
The Race of Life, when his firft Thred is fpun.

AND

AND when, by racking Pangs the Mother torn,... The full-grown Infant labours to be born,

And struggling into Air, explores his way
For more extended Room and larger Day;
Then chiefly, then your nicest Care employ,
Nor fpoil the Figure of the coming Boy,

Nor with distorted Limbs the beauteous Work destroy.
His little Joints are pliant to command,

Tender, and waxen to the moulding Hand:
Then the leaft want of Caution, or of Skill,
May fwell the Shoulders with a rifing Hill,
With crooked Knees or ill-turn'd Shape, debafe
Th' imperfect Praife of a well-featur'd Face.
If tow'rd the opening Womb the Infant bend
His forward Feet, or either Hand extend,
Or Back obverted to the Face expose,
And double the tormented Mother's Throws,
Let the wife Midwife's gentle Hand restrain
The dangerous Error, and relieve her Pain;
The tortur'd Matron of her Load discharge,
And from his Prifon the new Babe inlarge:
Compofe his Frame, and fo your Art apply,
That his Head first falute, the upper Sky.
In every Birth the Head, firft vifits Day;

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Tis Nature's Rule, which all born Things obey.

AND now the Mother, when her Griefs are done, Sees her fair Self in a delicious Son:

The lawful Iffue of the Nuptial Bed

Muft now be cherish'd, and in Cradle laid

T

Here

Here let the careful Nurfe with eafy Hand,
Bind round his Waift the purple Swadling-Band,
Left the deform the foft and lovely Boy,
And dash th' expecting Parents future Joy:
For at his Entrance in Life's early Scene,
Too tight a Swathing will distort his Mien,
And the base World with a malicious Sneer,
Will the foul Burden on his Shoulders jeer.

BESIDES, if for your Offspring you defire
To keep his native Elegance entire,
You must with speedy Remedies difplace
Thofe Foes which oft invade the Childish Race;
Chiefly the Measles and Small Pox beware,
Thofe Goths and Vandals to the tender Fair,
Which plant thick Ulcers, and young Beauty blight
With pimpled Sores, ungrateful to the Sight.
Strait for Relief to fome Machaon fly,
Left a foul Scar affect the fparkling Eye,
Or Nofe, or rofy Cheek, or dimpled Chin,
Or roughen the fmooth Surface of the Skin.
How did Aminta, in her flow'ry Spring,
Shine in the Box, and fparkle in the Ring!
Who could alas! her numerous Graces tell,
E'er to this Plague a Sacrifice the fell?
What Lillies from her Forehead did it tear,
And kill'd the little Loves which fported there!
Not Cytherea could of late compare

With Galatea's Smiles and winning Air;
What Hecatombs of Lovers would fhe flay,
The became this Tyrant's mournful Prey!

Who

Who with devoted facrilegious Arms,

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Robb'd her bright Temple of a thousand Charms:
Her dented Cheeks, where Rofes grew before,
And dropping Eyes, diftribute Death no more.
Daphnis was once the Beauty of the Plain,
Till this Contagion feiz'd the lovely Swain:
How was he courted! How the Idol grown
Of the fair Sex, and Darling of his own!
Daphnis the Breaft of each Beholder fir'd,
Daphnis alone the longing Nymphs defir'd ;
But now they pity whom they once admir’d.
But this is foreign to the Poet's Art,
This pious Care is the Phyfician's Part:
Who can endure my Rafhnefs, or excuse
The bold Presumption of my daring Muse!
Unequal to the Province, fhe refigns
The Charge to Sammarthanus' learned Lines:
Nor will she tread where he has gone before,
But ftand aloof, and filently adore.

If then, ye Matrons, you affect to know

مة

From whence thefe Spots, the worst of Judgments, flow:
If from a beauteous Face you would remove
Those Stains, which damp the Sparks of kindling Love;
Read what the Rules of Sammarthanus tell,

And hourly on his ufeful Pages dwell:

Not indigent of Fame, with happy Flight,

His Wings have reach'd Parnaffus' double Height;
All Helicon flows in his Strains divine,

Rolls with luxuriant Streams in every Line,

While whole Apollo's Beams in his bright Numbers

shine.

AND

AND now 'tis time to bait, and kindly chuse
Some small Refreshment for the breathing Mufe
She, who encourag'd by Phoebean Heat,
Soar'd with no vulgar Wing to th' Gods upper Seat,
Who, with difdainful Smile, but now furvey'd
The fubject Clouds, and Earth's inferior Shade,
Now courts foft Quiet, and the pleasing Glade :
But if by Chance the Goddess fhall return,
And my warm Breast with a new Phoebus burn,
I may hereafter feel my felf inclin'd

To fing the Nuptials of the beauteous Mind,
And an unblemish'd Soul to a fair Body join'd:
For who can bear the foul, forbidding Sight
Of well-born Beauty, warping from the Right,
Prowling with greedy and difponeft Eyes,
For Scenes of Luft, Debauchery, and Vice?
Should Souls, defcending from a Heav'nly Race,
With low Defires their lofty Birth difgrace?
But the wild Madness of this Iron Age
Is undeferving of the inftructive Page:
The World has banifh'd, as an idle Name,.
The love of Vertue, and the fear of Shame.
'Tis hard among a thousand now to find
One with plain naked Honefty of Mind';
Since France with endless Wars familiar
Adopted foreign Manners for her own.
Ye Guardian Gods, diftributers of Fate,
Ye watchful Angels of th' Hectorean State!

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