Now with a fudden pouting gloom

She feems to darken all the room;
Again the 's pleas'd, his fears beguil'd,
And all is clear when the has fmil'd.
In this they're wondrously alike
(I hope the fimile will ftrike);

Though in the darkest dumps you view them,
Stay but a moment, you 'll fee through them.
The clouds are apt to make reflection,
And frequently produce infection.;
So Cælia, with fmall provocation,
Blafts every neighbour's 'reputation.

The clouds delight in gaudy fhow
(For they, like ladies, have their bow);
The gravest matron will confefs,
"That the herfelf is fond of drefs.

Obferve the clouds in pomp array'd, What various colours are difplay'd; The pink, the rofe, the violet's dye, In that great drawing-room the sky; How do thefe differ from our Graces, In garden-filks, brocades, and laces ? Are they not fuch another fight, When met upon a birth-day night?

The clouds delight to change their fashion :
(Dear ladies, be not in a paffion!)
Nor let this whim to you seem strange,

Who every hour delight in change.
In them and you alike are feen
The fullen fymptoms of the fpleen;

VOL. II.

Y

The

The moment that your vapours rife,
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 Cloe I purfue,
No heaven befides I have in view.
Thus, on comparison, you see,

In every inftance they agree,
So like, fo very much the fame,
That one may go by t'other's name.
Let me proclaim it then aloud,

That

every woman is a cloud.

ANSWER. BY DR. SWIFT.

PRESUMPTUOUS Bard! how could you dare
A woman with a cloud compare?
Strange pride and infolence
you show
Inferior mortals there below.
And is our thunder in your ears
So frequent or fo loud as theirs?

2

Alas!

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 fky grows clear:
But every fublunary dowdy,

The more the fcolds, the more the '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 bubo's, ulcers, blotches,
Or from your noses 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 bleffings down in fruitful showers;
But woman was by fate defign'd
To 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 parifh ducking-ftool can tame her:
To kindle ftrife, dame Nature taught her;

Like fire-works, the can burn in water.

For ficklenefs how durft

you blame us,

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 guefs 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 thousand bold adventures;
From us defcended ab origine,
By learned authors call'd nubigenæ,

But fay, what earthly nymph do you know,
So beautiful to pass for Juno?

Before Æneas durft aspire

To court her majesty of Tyre,

His mother begg'd of us to dress him,
That Dido might the more caress him :
A coat we gave him, dy'd in grain,
A flaxen wig and clouded cane

(The

(The wig was powder'd round with fleet,
Which fell in clouds beneath his feet),
With which he made a tearing fhow;
And Dido quickly fmoak'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 drefs'd 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, juft as we difpofe 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!