Then look'd fo wife, before he knew
The Bus'ness he was made to do;
That pleas'd to fee with what a Grace
He gravely fhew'd his forward Face,
Jove talk'd of breeding him on high,
An Under-fomething of the Sky.

But ere he gave the mighty Nod,
Which ever binds a Poet's God:
(For which his Curls ambrofial shake,
And Mother Earth's oblig'd to quake :)

He faw old Mother Earth arise,

She stood confefs'd before his Eyes;

But not with what we read she wore,
A Castle for a Crown before,

Nor with long Streets and longer Roads
Dangling behind her, like Commodes:

As

As yet with Wreaths alone fhe drest,
And trail'd a Landskip-painted Vest.
Then thrice fhe rais'd (as Ovid faid)
And thrice fhe bow'd, her weighty Head.

Her Honours made, Great Jove, the cry'd,
This Thing was fashion'd from my Side;
His Hands, his Heart, his Head are mine ;
Then what haft thou to call him thine?

Nay rather ask, the Monarch faid,
What boots his Hand, his Heart, his Head,
Were what I gave remov'd away?

Thy Part's an idle Shape of Clay.

Halves, more than Halves! cry'd honeft Care, Your Pleas wou'd make your Titles fair,

You

You claim the Body, You the Soul,

But I who join'd them, claim the whole.

Thus with the Gods Debate began,

On fuch a trivial Caufe, as Man.

And can Celestial Tempers rage? (Quoth Virgil in a later Age.)

As thus they wrangled, Time came by;
(There's none that paint him fuch as I,
For what the Fabling Ancients fung
Makes Saturn old, when Time was young.)
As yet his Winters had not fhed
Their filver Honours on his Head;

He just had got his Pinions free
From his old Sire Eternity.

A Serpent girdled round he wore,
The Tail within the Mouth before;

By

By which our Almanacks are clear
That learned Ægypt meant the Year.
A Staff he carry'd, where on high
A Glass was fix'd to measure by,
As Amber Boxes madea Show

For Heads of Canes an Age ago.
His Veft, for Day, and Night, was py'd;
A bending Sickle arm'd his Side;

And Spring's new Months his Train adorn;
The other Seafons were unborn.

Known by the Gods, as near he draws, They make him Umpire of the Cause. O'er a low Trunk his Arm he laid, (Where fince his Hours a Dial made ;) Then leaning heard the nice Debate, And thus pronounc'd the Words of Fate.

Since Body from the Parent Earth,

And Soul from Jove receiv'd a Birth,
Return they where they first began;
But fince their Union makes the Man,
'Till Jove and Earth shall part these two,
To Care, who join'd them, Man is due.

He said, and fprung with fwift Career
To trace a Circle for the Year;
Where ever fince the Seafons wheel,
And tread on one another's Heel.

'Tis well, faid Jove; and for Confent
Thund'ring he fhook the Firmament.
Our Umpire Time fhall have his Way,
With Care I let the Creature stay :
Let Bus'nefs vex him, Av'rice blind,
Let Doubt and Knowledge rack his Mind,