On the rich quilt finks with becoming woe,
Wrapt in a gown, for fickness, and for fhow.
The fair ones feel fuch maladies as thefe,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A conftant vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rifing as the mifts arise;
Dreadful as hermits' dreams in haunted fhades,
Or bright as vifions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and fnakes on rolling spires,
Pale fpectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And cryftal domes, and angels in machines.
Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry fide are seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by spleen.
Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the spout;
A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks;
Here fighs a jar, and there a goofe-pye talks;
Men prove with child, as pow'rful Fancy works,
And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
Safe paft the gnome through this fantastic band, 55 A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.
Then thus addrefs'd the pow'r-Hail, wayward Queen!
Who rule the fex to fifty from fifteen:
Parent of vapours and of female wit,
Who give th' hysteric or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make fome take phyfic, others fcribble plays;
Who cause the proud their vifits to delay,
And fend the godly in a pet to pray :
A nymph there is that all your pow'r difdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
Buf oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace,
Or raife a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a lofing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd fufpicion when no foul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the head-drefs of a prude,
Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease ;
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ;
That fingle act gives half the world the spleen.
The goddefs, with a difcontented air,
Seems to reject him, though the grants his pray'r. 80
A wondrous bag with both her hands fhe binds,
Like that where once Ulyffes held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, fobs, and paffions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft forrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and flowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the fwelling bag he rent,
And all the furies iffu'd at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thaleftris fans the rifing fire.
O wretched maid! The spread her hands, and cry'd, 95
(While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! reply'd)
Was it for this you took fuch conftant care
The bodkin, comb, and effence to prepare
For this your Locks in paper durance bound?
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head?
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! fhall the ravisher difplay your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!
Honour forbid! at whofe unrivall'd fhrine
Eafe, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they fay,
Already fee you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whifper loft!
How fhall I, then, your hapless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to feem your friend!
And fhall this prize, th' ineftimable prize,
Expos'd through cryftal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner fhall grafs in Hyde-park circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the found of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, fea, to chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!
She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume, of amber inuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane,)
With earneft eyes, and round unthinking face,
He firft the fnuff box open'd, then the cafe,
And thus broke out My Lord, why, what the devil!
"Z-ds! damn the Lock! 'rore Gad, you must be civil!
Plague on't! 'tis palt a jelt-nay, prithee, pox!
"Give her the hair"-He fpoke, and rapp'd Jis box.
It grieves me much (reply'd the peer again)
Who fpeaks fo well fhould ever fpeak in vain :
But by this Lock, this iacred Lock, I swear,
(Which never more fhall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours fhail renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew,)
That, while my noftrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, fhall for ever wear.
He spoke, and fpeaking, in proud triumph fpread
The long-contended honours of her head.
But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not fo;
He breaks the vial whence the forrows flow.
Then fee! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half languifhing, half drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bofom hung her drooping head,
Which with a figh fhe rais'd; and thus fhe faid:
For ever curs'd be this detefted day,
Which fnatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In fome lone ifle, or distant northern land
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er tafte Bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses that in deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
O had I stay'd, and faid my pray'rs at home! 160
'Twas this the morning omens feem'd to tell
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring China fhook without a wind;
Nay, Poll fat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A fylph, too, warn'd me of the threats of Fate, 165
In myftic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these flighted hairs!
My hands fhall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares :
These in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck;
The fifter-Lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal fhèers demands,
And tempts once more thy facrilegious hands,
Oh hadft thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these.
SHE faid: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thaleftris with reproach affails,
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half fo fix'd the Trojan could remain
While Anna begg❜d and Dido rag'd in vain.
Then grave Clariffa graceful wav'd her fan;
Silence enfu'd, and thus the nymph began.
Say, why are beauties prais'd and honour'd most,
The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toast?
Why deck'd with all the land and sea afford,
Why angels call'd, and angel-like ador'd?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd beaus?
Why bows the fide-box from its inmost rows?
How vain are all thefe glories, all our pains,
Unless good fenfe preserve what beauty gains;
That men may fay, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the firit in virtue as in face!
Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,
Charm'd the fmall-pox, or chas'd old age away,
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares produce,
Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a faint;
Nor could it fure be fuch a fin to paint.
But fince, alas! frail beauty must decay;
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to gray;
Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorns á man muft die a maid!
What then remains, but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good humour ftill whate'er we lofe?
And trust me, Dear! good humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applaufe enfu'd;
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her Prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce virago cries,
And fwift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones crack;
Heroes' and heroines' fhouts confus'dly rife,
And bafs and treble' voices ftrike the fkies.
No common weapons in their hands are found,
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.
So when bold Homer makes the gods engage,
And heav'nly breafts with human passions rage;
'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms;
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around, 49
Blue Neptune ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound:
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way,
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
Triumphant Umbriel, on a fconce's height,
Clapp'd his glad wings, and fat to view the fight;
Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the sprites survey
The growing combat, or assist the fray.
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