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While through the press enrag'd Thaleitris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes,
A beau and witling perish'd in the throng ;
One dy'd in mataphor, and one in fung.

60 " ( cruel nymph! a living death I bear,” Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk beside his chair.

A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,
“ Those eyes are made fo killing”– was his last.
Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring iwan, and as he sings he dies.

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown ;
She Imild to see the doughty hero Nain,
But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again. 70

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the mens' wits against the ladys' hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs fublide.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than usual lightning in her eyes :
Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try,
Who fought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold lord, with manly strength endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd :

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Just where the breath of life his stoftrils drew,
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;
The gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just,
The

pungent grains of titillating dust. Sudden, with Itarting tears each eye o’erflows, And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. (The same, his ancient personage to deck, Her great great-grandfire wore about his neck, In three leal-rings; which after, melted down, Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown : Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells the gingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 95 Which long the wore, and now Belinda wears.),

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Boast not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe!
Thou by some of her shalt be laid as low.
Nor think to die dejects my lofty mind;
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than fo, ah let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames--but burn alive.

Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around,
Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in fo loud a strain

105 Roard for the handkerchief that caus’d his pain. But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is loit! The Lock, obtain’d with guilt, and kept with pain, In ev'ry place is fought, but sought in vain : With such a prize no mortal must be blest, So Heav'n decrees! with Heav'n who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. There heroes wits are kept in pond'rous vases, IIS And beaus' in snuff boxes and tweezer-cases. There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lover's hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick mens' pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuiftry.

But trust the Muse-lhe saw it upwards rise, Though mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes : (So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confess'd in view,)

126 A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's locks first rofe so bright, The heav'ns bespangling with dishevelld light. 130 The fylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies.

This the beau monde fall from the Mall survey, And hail with music its propitious ray; This the blest lover shall for Venus take,

135 And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake;

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This Partridge foon fnall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks through Galilæo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard Mall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

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Then ceale, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere ! [hair,
Not all the treffes that fair head can boalt,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you

lolt.
For after all the murders of your eye,

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When, after millions lain, yourlelf hall die ;
When thofe fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those treffes shall be laid in dust,
This Lock the Muse shall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

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The argument.
Thaon, a youth of exquisite beauty, was deeply enamoured of Sappho, a lady
of Lesbós, from whom he met with the tendereft returns of paltion : but
his affection afterwards decaying, he left her, and failed for sicily. She,
unable to bear the lots of her lover, hearkened to all the mad suggestions of
deipair; and seeing no other remedy for her present miseries, refolved to
throw herfeit into the sea, from Leucate, a pronontory of Epirus, which was
thought a cure in cafes of obftinate love, and therefore nad obtained the
name of the Lover's Lesp. But before the ventured upon this last step, en-
tertaining till fome fond hopes that she might be able to reclaim her il-
contant, the wrote him this Epistle, in which she gives him a ftrong picture
of her dia refs ani mifery, occafiorled by his absence; and endeavours, by all
the artful inf. nu ations and moving expressions the is 'mitreis uf, to footh hin
to softness and a inutual feeling. [Anon.]
SAY, lovely youth, that dost my heart command,

Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand?
Must then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love?
Alk not the cause that I new numbers chuse, s
The lute neglected, and the lyric mulė;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to elegies of woe.
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn
By driving winds the spreading Haines are borne ! 'I
Phaon to Ætna's scorching filds retires,
While I consume with more than /Etna's fires !
No more my soul a charm in music finds;
Music has charms alone for peaceful minds.

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ECQUID, ut infpeéta eft ftudiofæ littera dextræ,

Protinus eft oculis cognita noftra tuis? An, nisi legisses auctoris nomina Sapphûs,

Hoc breve nescires unde movetur opus? Forsitan et quare mea fint alterna requiras

Carmina, cum lyricis fim magis apta modis. Flendus amor meus est: elegeïa Hebile carinen;

Non facit ad lacrymas barbitos ulla meas.
Uror, ut, indomitis ignem exercentibus Euris,

Fertilis accenfis messibus ardet ager.
Arva Phaon celebrat diversa Typhoïdos Ætnæ,

Me calor Ætnão non minor igne coquit.
Nec mihi, difpolitis quæ jungam carmina nervis,
Proveniunt; vacug carmina mentis

opus.

IO

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