Hail, wayward Queen!
	Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen;
	Parent of vapors, and of female wit,
	Who give the hysteric, or poetic fit,
	On various tempers act by various ways,
	Make some take physic, others scribble plays:
	Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
	And send the godly in a pet to pray.

Pope.    

	The spleen is seldom felt where Flora reigns;
	The low’ring eye, the petulance, the frown,
	And sullen sadness, that o’ershade, distort,
	And mar the face of beauty, when no cause
	For such immeasurable woe appears;
	These Flora banishes, and gives the fair
	Sweet smiles, and bloom less transient than her own.

Cowper.