Green was the Suit his arming Heroes chose,
Around their Legs the Greaves of Mallows close,
Green were the Beets about their Shoulders laid,
And green the Colewort, which the Target made.
Form'd of the vary'd Shells the Waters yield,
Their gloffy Helmets glift'ned o'er the Field:
And tap'ring Sea-reeds for the polish'd Spear,
With upright Order pierc'd the ambient Air.
Thus drefs'd for War, they take th' appointed
Height,
Poize the long Arms, and urge the promis'd Fight
But now, where Jove's irradiate Spires arise, With Stars furrounded in Æthereal Skies, (A folemn Council call'd) the brazen Gates Unbar; the Gods affume their golden Seats: The Sire fuperior leans, and points to show What wond'rous Combats Mortals wage below:
How ftrong, how large, the num'rous Heroes stride!
What Length of Lance they shake with warlike
Pride!
What eager Fire, their rapid March reveals!
So the fierce Centaurs ravag'd o'er the Dales;
And fo confirm'd, the daring Titans rofe,
Heap'd Hills on Hills, and bid the Gods be Foes,
This feen, the Pow'r his facred Visage rears, He cafts a pitying Smile on worldly Cares, And asks what heav'nly Guardians take the Lift, Or who the Mice, or who the Frogs affift?
Then thus to Pallas. If my Daughter's Mind Have join'd the Mice, why stays fhe still behind? Drawn forth by fav'ry Steams they wind their Way, And fure Attendance round thine Altar pay,
Where while the Victims gratify their Taste,
They sport to please the Goddess of the Feast.
Thus spake the Ruler of the spacious Skies;
But thus, refolv'd, the blue-ey'd Maid replies.
In vain, my Father! all their Dangers plead,
To fuch, thy Pallas never grants her Aid.
My flow'ry Wreaths they petulantly spoil,
And rob my chryftal Lamps of feeding Oil.
(Ills following Ills!) but what afflicts me more,
My Veil, that idle Race profanely tore.
The Web was curious, wrought with Art divine ;
Relentless Wretches! all the Work was mine!
Along the Loom the purple Warp I spread,
Caft the light Shoot, and croft the filver Thread;
In this their Teeth a thousand Breaches tear,
The thousand Breaches skilful Hands repair,
For which vile earthly Dunns thy Daughter grieve,
(The Gods, that ufe no Coin, have none to give.
And Learning's Goddess never lefs can owe,
Neglected Learning gains no Wealth below.)
Nor let the Frogs to win my Succour fue.
Those clam'rous Fools have loft my Favour too.
For late, when all the Conflict ceast at Night,
When my stretch'd Sinews work'd with eager Fight;
When spent with glorious Toil, I left the Field,
And funk for Slumber on my fwelling Shield
Lo from the Deep, repelling fweet Repose,
With noisy Croakings half the Nation rose :
Devoid of Reft, with aking Brows I lay,
"Till Cocks proclaim'd the crimson Dawn of Day. Let all, like me, from either Hoft forbear,
Nor tempt the flying Furies of the Spear;
Left heav'nly Blood (or what for Blood may flow) Adorn the Conquest of a meaner Foe.
Some daring Mouse may meet the wond'rous Odds, Tho' Gods oppose, and brave the wounded Gods, O'er gilded Clouds reclin'd, the Danger view, And be the Wars of Mortals Scenes for you.
So mov'd the blue-ey'd Queen; her Words perfuade,
Great Jove affented, and the rest obey'd.
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