94 THE POEMS OF ANNE �Not seeking for Fame, which so little does last, That e're we can taste itt, the Pleasure is Past. But Appollo reply 'd, tho' so carelesse she seemd, 50 Yett the Bays, if her share, wou'd be highly esteem'd. �And now, he was going to make an Oration, �Had thrown by one lock, with a delicate fassion, �Upon the left foot, most genteely did stand, �Had drawn back the other, and wav'd his white hand, �When calling to mind, how the Prize alltho' given �By Paris, to her, who was fairest in Heaven, �Had pull'd on the rash, inconsiderate Boy, �The fall of his House, with the ruine of Troy, �Since in Witt, or in Beauty, itt never was heard, 60 �One female cou'd yield t" have another preferr'd, �He changed his dessign, and devided his praise, �And said that they all had a right to the Bay's, �And that t'were injustice, one brow to adorn, �With a wreath, which so fittly by each might be worn. �Then smil'd to himself, and applauded his art, �Who thus nicely has acted so suttle a part, �Four Women to wheedle, but found 'em too many, �For who wou'd please all, can never please any. �In vain then, he thought itt, there longer to stay, 70 �But told them, he now must go drive on the day, �Yett the case to Parnassus, shou'd soon be referr'd, �And there in a councill of Muses, be heard, �Who of their own sex, best the title might try, �Since no man upon earth, nor Himself in the sky, �Wou'd be so imprudent, so dull, or so blind, �To loose three parts in four from amongst woman kind. ��� �
