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At once they gratify their fcent and taste,
And frequent cups prolong the rich repast.
Strait hover round the fair her airy band;
Some, as the fipp'd, the fuming liquor fann'd;
Some o'er her lap their careful plumes difplay'd,
Trembling, and confcious of the rich brocade.
Coffee (which makes the politician wife,
And fee through all things with his half-fhut eyes)
Sent up in vapours to the Baron's brain
New ftratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.
Ah cease, rafh youth! defist ere 'tis too late,
Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla's fate !
Chang'd to a bird, and fent to flit in air,
She dearly pays for Nifus' injured hair!

120

But when to mischief mortals bend their will, How foon they find fit inftruments of ill! Just then, Clariffa drew with tempting grace A two-edg'd weapon from her fhining case: So ladies, in romance, affift their knight, Prefent the spear, and arm him for the fight. 130 He takes the gift with reverence, and extends The little engine on his fingers ends; This juft behind Belinda's neck he spread, As o'er the fragrant fteams he bends her head. Swift to the Lock a thousand sprites repair, A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair; And thrice they twitch'd the diamond in her ear; Thrice the look'd back, and thrice the foe drew

ncar.

While fish in ftreams, or birds delight in air,
Or in a coach and fix the British fair,
As long as Atalantis fhall be read,
Or the fmall pillow grace a lady's bed,
While vifits fhall be paid on folemn days,
When numerous wax-lights in bright order blaze,"
While nymphs take treats, or affignations give,
So long my honour, name, and praife, fhall live! 170
What time would fpare, from fteel receives its date,
And monuments, like men, fubmit to fate!
Steel could the labour of the gods deftrey,
And ftrike to duft th' imperial powers of Troy ;
Steel could the works of mortal pride confound,
And hew triumphal arches to the ground.

What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel

The conquering force of unrefifted steel?

CANTO IV.

Bur anxious cares the penfive nymph opprefs'd,
And fecret paffions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful kings in battle feiz'd alive,
Not fcornful virgins who their charms furvive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their blifs,
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss,

Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her mantau's pinn'd awry,
140 E'er felt fuch rage, refentment, and despair,
As thou, fad virgin! for thy ravish'd hair.

Juft in that inftant, anxious Ariel fought
The close receffes of the virgin's thought;
As on the nofegay in her breast reclin'd,
He watch'd th' ideas rising in her mind,
Sudden he view'd, in spite of all her art,
An earthly lover lurking at her heart.
Amaz'd, confus'd, he found his power expir'd,
Refign'd to fate, and with a figh retir'd.
The Peer now fpreads the glittering forfex
wide,

150

T' inclofe the Lock; now joins it, to divide.
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd,
A wretched fylph too fondly interpos'd;
Fate urg'd the sheers, and cut the fylph in twain
(But airy fubftance foon unites again)
The meeting points the facred hair diffever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!

Then flash'd the living lightning from her eyes, And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies. Not louder shrieks to pitying heaven are cast, When husbands, or when lap-dogs, breathe their laft!

Or when rich China veffels, fall'n from high,'
In glittering duft and painted fragments lie! 160
Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine
(The victor cry'd), the glorious prize is mine!

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For, that fad moment, when the fylphs with drew, And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy fprite, As ever fully'd the fair face of light, Down to the central earth, his proper fcene, Repair'd to fearch the gloomy cave of spleen.

Swift on his footy pinions flits the gnome, And in a vapour reach'd the difinal dome. No cheerful breeze this fullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. 20 Here in a grotto, fhelter'd clofe from air, And screen'd in fhades from day's detefted glare, Pain at her fide, and Megrim at her head. She fighs for ever on her penfive bed,

Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,

But differing far in figure and in face.

Here ftood Ill-nature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
With ftore of prayers, for mornings, nights, and

noons,

Her hand is fill'd; her bofom with lampoons. 30'

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 134. In the first edition it was thus:
As o'er the fragrant ftream fhe bends her head,
First he expands the glittering forfex wide
T'enclofe the Lock; then joins it to divide :
The meeting points the facred hair dissever
From the fair head, for ever and for ever. Ver. 154.
All that is between was added afterwards.

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 11. For, that fad moment, &c.] All the lines from hence to the 94th verse, describe the houfe of Spleen, and are not in the first edition;' inftead of them followed only these :

While her rack'd foul repose and peace requires, The fierce Thaleftris fans the rifing fires; and continued at the 94th verfe of this Canto.

There Affectation, with a fickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roles of eighteen,
Practis'd to lifp, and hang the head aside.
Faints into airs, and languifhes with pride,
On the rich quilt finks with becoming wo,
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, Elyfian Icenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.

40

Unnumber'd throngs on every fide are feen, Of bodies chang'd to varions forms by spleen. Here living tea-pots ftand, one arm held out, One bent; the handle this, and that the spout: 50 A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks; Here fighs a jar, and there a goofe-pye talks; Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works, And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.

Safe past the gnome through this fantastic band, A branch of healing fpleen-wort in his hand, 'Then thus address'd the power-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.

60

70

A nymph there is, that all thy power difdains,
And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
But oh if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like citron-waters matrons cheeks inflame,
Or chang'd complexions at a lofing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd fufpicion where no foul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the head-drefs of a prude,
Or e'er to coflive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brighteft eyes could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin ;
That fingle act gives half the world the spleen.
The goddess with a discontented air,

Seems to reject him, though fhe grants his prayer.

80

A wonderous bag with both her hands fhe binds,
Like that where once Ulyffes held the winds;
There the collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, fobs, and paffions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next fhe 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.

90

Sunk in Thaleftris' arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, And all the furies iffued 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,
(While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! re-
ply'd)

Was it for this you took fuch constant care
The bodkin, comb, and effence, to prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with torturing irons wreath'd around? 100
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods fhall the ravisher display your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies ftare?
Honour forbid at whofe unrival'd fhrine
Eafe, pleasure, virtue, all our fex refign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they fay,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper loft!
How fhall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to feem your friend!
And fhall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd through crystal 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! 120

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She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her beau demand the precious hairs! (Sir Plume of amber fnuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the fnuff-box open'd, then the cafe, And thus broke out-" My Lord, why, what the "devil?

"Z-ds! damn the Lock! 'fore Gad, you must "be civil!

"Plague on't! 'tis paft a jeft-nay prythee, pox! "Give her the hair"-he spoke, and rapp'd his

box.

180

It grieves me much (reply'd the peer again) Who fpeaks fo well fhould ever speak in vain ; But by this Lock, this facred Lock, I fwear, (Which never more fhall join its parted hair; Which never more its honour shall 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 fpoke, and fpeaking, in proud triumph spread The long-contended honours of her head.

140

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 languishing, half drown'd in tears; On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a figh, she rais'd; and thus she said:

For ever curfed be this detefted day, Which fnatch'd my beft, my favourite curl away! Happy! ah, ten times happy had I been,

If Hampton-court thefe eyes had never seen! 150 Yet am not I the first mistaken maid

By love of courts to numerous ills betray'd.

Oh, had 1 rather unadmifèd remain'd

In fome lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste 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?
Oh, had I stay'd, and faid my prayers at home! 160
'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tottering china fhook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was moft unkind!
A fylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In mystic vifions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these flighted hairs!
My hand fhall rend, what ev'n thy rapine fpares:
These in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the fnowy neck; 170
The fifter lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefces its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal fheers demands,
And tempts, once more, thy facrilegious hands.
Oh, hadst thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !

CANTO V.

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 enfued, and thus the nymph began.
Say, why are not beauties prais'd and honour'd
moft,

The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toaft? 10
Why deck'd with all that land and fea afford,
Why angels call'd, and angel like ador'd?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd
beaux?

Why bows the fide-box from its inmoft rows?
How vain are all thefe glories, all our pains,
Unless good fenfe preferve what beauty gains:
That men may fay when we the front-box grace,
Behold the firft in virtue as in face!

Oh if to dance all night and drefs all day,
Charm'd the small pox, or chac'd old age away; 20
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares pro-
duce,

Or who would learn one earthly thing to use?
To patch, nay ogle, may 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 grey;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 7. Then grave Clariffa, &c.] A new character introduced in the fubfequent editions, to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.

Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,
And the who fcorns a man muft die a maid;
What then remains, but well our power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate'er we lofe? 30
And truft me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fcreams, and scolding
fail,

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrikes the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applause enfued;
Belinda frown'd, 'Thaleftris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms the fierce Virago cries,
And swift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack; [crack;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones
Heroes and heroines fhouts confus'dly rise,
And bafs and treble voices ftrike the skies.
No common weapon in their hands are found;
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.

41

So when bold Homer makes the gods engage, And heavenly breafts with human paffions rage; 'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms; Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around, Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps refound: Earth fhakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way,

51

And the pale ghofts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height Clapp'd his glad wings, and fat to view the fight: Propp'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey The growing combat, or affift the fray.

60

While through the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A beau and witling perish'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong. "O cruel nymph a living death I bear," Cry'd Dapper wit, and funk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft, "Those eyes are made fo killing"-was his laft. Thus on Meander's flowery margin lies Th' expiring fwan, and as he fings he dies.

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down, Chloe ftepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She fmil'd to fee the doughty hero flain, But, at her fmile, the beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air, Weighs the mens wits against the lady's hair The doubtful beam long nods from fide to fide; At length the wits mount up, the hairs fubfide. See, fierce Belinda on the Baron flies, With more than ufual 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 ftrength endued, 80 She with one finger and a thumb fubdued:

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Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of fnuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with ftarting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nofe.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her fide. (The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck, Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck, 90|| In three feal-rings; which after, melted down, Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown: Her infant grandame's whiftle next it grew, The bells the jingled, and the whistle blew; Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, Which long the wore, and now Belinda wears.) Boaft not my fall (he cry'd), infulting foc! Thou by fome other fhalt 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 ftill furvive, And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive. Reftore the Lock, fhe cries; and all around, Reftore the Lock the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in fo loud a ftrain

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Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with
pain,

In every place is fought, but fought in vain: 110
With fuch a prize no mortal must be blest,

So heaven decrees with heaven who can conteft?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there.
There heroes wits are kept in ponderous vases,
And beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer cafes:
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound;

The courtier's proniifes, and fick man's prayers,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cafuiftry.

But truft the mufe--the faw it upward rife,
Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew,
To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden ftar, it fhot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks firft rofe fa bright,
The heaven befpangling with difhevell'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progress through the skies.
This the Beau-monde fhall from the Mall furvey,
And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies,
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then ceafe, bright nymph! to mourn thy ra
vish'd hair,

140

Which adds new glory to the faining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself thall die;
When thofe fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all thofe treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars infcribe Belinda's name. 150

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the fame reafon, to keep in view the machinery of the poem.

VOL. VIII.

POEM S.

ELEGY

To the memory of an Unfortunate Lady.

WHAT beckoning ghost, along the moonlight

fhade,

Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade?
'Tis the-but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly tell,

Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye elfe, ye Powers! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition first fprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breafts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen prifoners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like eaftern kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And, close confin'd to their own palace, fleep.
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,
And feparate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on thefe ruby lips the trembling breath,
Thefe checks now fading at the blast of death;
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes muft roll no more.
Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearfes fhall befiege your gates;
There paffengers fhall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long funerals blacken all the way)
Lo! thefe were they, whofe fouls the furies feel'd,
And curft with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pafs the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perifh all, whofe breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe.

What can atone (oh, ever injur'd fhade!)
Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid?

No friend's complaint, no kind domestic tear Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier:

By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftranger's mourn'd!
What though no friends in fable weeds appear;
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe
To midnight dances, and the public show?
What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polish'd marble emulate thy face?

What though no facred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb?
Yet fhall thy grave with rifing flowers be drefs'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breast:
There fhall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year fhall blow;
While angels with their filver wings o'ershade
The ground now facred by thy relics made.

So, peaceful refts, without a ftone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of duft alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud fhall be!

Poets themselves muft fall, like those they fung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whofe foul now melts in mournful lays, Shall fhortly want the generous tear he pays; Then from his clofing eyes thy form fhall part, And the last pang fhall tear thee from his heart, Life's idle business at one gafp be o'er, The mufe forgot, and thou belev'd no more!

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

MR. ADDISON'S TRAGEDY OF CATO.

To wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream through every age;
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.

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