The moment that your vapours rise,
We fee them dropping from your eyes.
In evening fair you may behold
The clouds are fring'd with borrow'd gold;
And this is many a lady's cafe,
Who flaunts about in borrow'd lace.
Grave matrons are like clouds of fnow,
Their words fall thick, and foft, and flow;
While brifk coquettes, like rattling hail,
Our ears on every fide affail.
Clouds, when they intercept our fight,
Deprive us of celeftial light:
So when my Chloe I pursue,
No heaven befides I have in view.
Thus, on comparifon, you fee,
In every inftance they agree,
So like, fo very much the same,
That one may go by t' other's name.
Let me proclaim it then aloud,
That every woman is a cloud.
RESUMPTUOUS Bard! how could you dare
A woman with a cloud compare?
Strange pride and infolence you fhow
Inferior mortals there below.
And is our thunder in your ears
So frequent or fo loud as theirs?
Alas! our thunder foon goes out;
And only makes you more devout.
Then is not female clatter worse,
That drives you not to pray, but curse?
We hardly thunder thrice a year;
The bolt difcharg'd, the sky grows clear:
But every fublunary dowdy,
The more she scolds, the more fhe 's cloudy..
Some critick, may object, perhaps,
That clouds are blam'd for giving claps;
But what, alas! are claps æthereal,
Compar'd for mischief to venereal ?
Can clouds give buboes, ulcers, blotches,
Or from your nofes dig out notches?
We leave the body sweet and found;
We kill, 'tis true, but never wound.
You know a cloudy sky befpeaks
Fair weather when the morning breaks;
But women in a cloudy plight
Foretell a ftorm to laft till night.
A cloud in proper feafons pours
His bleflings down in fruitful fhowers;
But woman was by fate defign'd
pour down curfes on mankind.
When Sirius o'er the welkin rages,
Our kindly help his fire affuages;
But woman is a curft inflamer,
No parish ducking-ftool can tame her:
To kindle ftrife, dame Nature taught her;
Like fire-works, she can burn in water.
For fickleness how durft you
Who for our conftancy are famous ?
You'll fee a cloud in gentle weather
Keep the fame face an hour together;
While women, if it could be reckon'd,
Change every feature every fecond,
Obferve our figure in a morning,
Of foul or fair we give you warning;
But can you guess from woman's air
One minute, whether foul or fair?
Go read in ancient books enroll'd
What honours we poffefs'd of old.
To disappoint Ixion's rape,
Jove dreft a cloud in Juno's fhape;
Which when he had enjoy'd, he swore,
No goddess could have pleas'd him more;
No difference could he find between
His cloud and Jove's imperial queen:
His cloud produc'd a race of Centaurs,
Fam'd for a thoufand bold adventures;
From us defcended ab origine,
By learned authors call'd nubigena.
But fay, what earthly nymph do you know,
So beautiful to pafs for Juno?
Before Æneas durft afpire
To court her majesty of Tyre,
His mother begg'd of us to drefs him,
That Dido might the more carefs him:
A coat we gave him, dy'd in grain,
A flaxen wig and clouded cane
(The wig was powder'd round with fleet,
Which fell in clouds beneath his feet),
With which he made a tearing show;
And Dido quickly finoak'd the beau.
Among your females make enquiries,
What nymph on earth fo fair as Iris?
With heavenly beauty fo endow'd?
And yet her father is a cloud.
We drest her in a gold brocade,
Befitting Juno's favourite maid'.
'Tis known, that Socrates the wife Ador'd us clouds as deities:
To us he made his daily prayers,
As Ariftophanes declares;
From Jupiter took all dominion,
And dy'd defending his opinion.
By his authority 'tis plain
You worship other gods in vain,
And from your own experience know
We govern all things there below.
You follow where we please to guide;
O'er all your paffions we prefide,
Can raise them up, or fink them down,
As we think fit to fmile or frown:
And, just as we dispose your brain,
Are witty, dull, rejoice, complain.
Compare us then to female race!
We, to whom all the gods give place!
Who better challenge your allegiance,
Because we dwell in higher regions!
You find the gods in Homer dwell
In feas and ftreams, or low as hell:
Ev'n Jove, and Mercury his pimp,
No higher climb than mount Olymp
(Who makes you think the clouds he pierces?
He pierce the clouds! he kifs their a-es);
While we, o'er Teneriffa plac'd,
Are loftier by a mile at least :
And, when Apollo ftruts on Pindus,
We fee him from our kitchen-windows;
Or, to Parnaffus looking down,
Can pifs upon his laurel crown.
Fate never form'd the gods to fly;
In vehicles they mount the íky:
When Jove would fome fair nymph inveigle,
He comes full gallop on his eagle.
Though Venus be as light as air,
She must have doves to draw her chair.
Apollo ftirs not out of door
Without his lacker'd coach and four.
And jealous Juno, ever fnarling,
Is drawn by peacocks in her berlin.
But we can fly where'er we please,
O'er cities, rivers, hills, and feas:
From east to west the world we roam,
And in all climates are at home;
With care provide you, as we go,
With fun-fhine, rain, and hail, or fnow.
You, when it rains, like fools, believe
Jove piffes on you through a fieve:
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