For, that fad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
Umbriel, a dusky melancholy Spright,

As ever fully'd the fair Face of Light,
Down to the Central Earth, his proper Scene,
Repairs to fearch the gloomy Cave of Spleen.

Swift on his footy Pinions flitts the Gnome, And in a Vapour reach'd the dismal Dome. No cheerfull Breeze this fullen Region knows, The dreaded Eaft is all the Wind that blows. Here in a Grotto, fheltred clofe from Air, And screen'd in Shades from Day's detefted Glare, She fighs for ever on her penfive Bed,

Pain at her Side, and Megrim at her Head.

Two Handmaids wait the Throne: Alike in Place, But diff'ring far in Figure and in Face.

Here ftood Ill-nature like an ancient Maid,

Her wrinkled Form in Black and White array'd;

[Noons,

With ftore of Pray'rs, for Mornings, Nights, and Her Hand is fill'd; her Bofom with Lampoons,

There Affectation with a fickly Mien Shows in her Cheek the Rofes of Eighteen. Practis'd to Lifp, and hang the Head afide, Faints into Airs, and languifhes with Pride; On the rich Quilt finks with becoming Woe, Wrapt in a Gown, for Sickne fs and for Show. The Fair ones feel fuch Maladies as thefe, When each new Night-Drefs gives a new Disease.

A conftant Vapour o'er the Palace flies; Strange Phantoms rifing as the Mifts arise; Dreadful, as Hermit's Dreams in haunted Shades, Or bright as Vifions of expiring Maids.

I

I

Now glaring Fiends, and Snakes in rolling Spires,
Pale Spectres, gaping Tombs, and Purple Fires:
Now Lakes of liquid Gold, Elyfian Scenes,
And Crystal Domes, and Angels in Machines.

Un

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 Bottels, call aloud for Corks.

[Queen; Hail wayward

Safe paft the Gnome thro' this fantastick Band,
A Branch of healing Spleenwort in his Hand.
Then thus addreft the Pow'r ——
Who rule the Sex to Fifty from Fifteen,
Parent of Vapours and of Female Wit,
Who give th' Hyfterick or Poetick Fit,
On various Tempers act by various Ways,
Make fome take Phyfick, others fcribble Plays;
Who cause the Proud their Vifits to delay,
And fend the Godly in a Pett, to pray.
A Nymph there is, that all thy Pow'r difdains,
And thousands more in equal Mirth maintains.

But

But oh! If e'er thy Gnome could spoil a Grace,
Or raise a Pimple on a beauteous Face,
Like Citron-Waters Matron's 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 Sufpicion when no Soul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the Head-dress of a Prude,
Or e'er to coftive Lap-Dog gave Disease,
Which not the Tears of brightest Eyes could eafe:
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, tho' fhe grants his Pray'r. A wondrous Bag with both her Hands she binds, Like that where once Ulyes held the Winds; There the collects the Force of Female Lungs, Sighs, Sobs, and Paffions, and the War of Tongues. A Vial next the fills with fainting Fears,

Soft Sorrows, melting Griefs, and flowing Tears.

The

The Gnome rejoycing bears her Gift away,

Spread his black Wings, and flowly mounts to Day.

Sunk in Thaleftris' 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 iffued at the Vent.

Belinda burns wirh more than mortal Ire,
And fierce Thaleftris fans the rifing Fire.

O wretched Maid! fhe fpread her Hands, and cry'd,
(While Hampton's Ecchoes, 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 Ravifher difplay your Hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare!
Honour forbid! at whofe unrival'd Shrine
Eafe, Pleasure, Virtue, All, our Sex refign.