The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace;
Th' embroider'd King who fhews but half his face,
And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs combin'd,
Of broken troops an eafy conqueft find.
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild diforder feen,
With throngs promifcuous firow the level green.
Thus, when difpers'd, a routed army runs,
Of Afia's troops, and Afric's fable fons,
With like confufion diff'rent nations fly,
Of various habits, and of various dye,
The pierc'd battalions, difunited, fall,
In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms them all.
The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts,
And wins (oh fhameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts.
At this, the blood the virgin's cheek forfook,
A livid palenefs fpreads o'er all her look;
She fees, and trembles at th' approaching ill,
Juft in the jaws of ruin, and Codille.
And now (as oft in fome diftemper'd state)
On one nice trick depends the gen'ral fate.
An Ace of Hearts fteps forth: the King, unfeen,
Lurk'd in her hand, and mourn'd his captive Queen:
He fprings to vengeance with an eager pace,
And falls like thunder on the proftrate Ace.
The nymph exulting fills with fhouts the sky;
The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.
O thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate,
Too foon dejected, and too foon elate.
Sudden, thefe honours shall be snatch'd away,
And curs'd for ever this victorious day.
For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crown'd,
The berries crackle, and the mill turns round;
On fhining Altars of Japan they raise
The filver lamp; the fiery fpirits blaze:
From filver fpouts the grateful liquors glide,
While China's earth receives the fmoaking tide :
At once they gratify their fcent and taste,
And frequent cups prolong the rich repaft.
Strait hover round the fair her airy band;
Some, as fhe 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 thro' all things with his half fhut eyes)
Sent up in vapours to the Baron's brain
New ftratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.
Ah ceafe, rash youth! defift ere 'tis too late,
Fear the juft Gods, and think of Scylla's fate!
Chang'd to a bird, and fent to flit in air,
She dearly pays for Nifus' injur'd hair!
But, when to mifchief 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 thining cafe:
So ladies, in Romance, affift their knight,
Prefent the spear, and arm him for the fight.
He takes the gift with rev'rence, and extends
The little engine on his fingers ends ;
This juft behind Belinda's neck he spread,
As o'er the fragrant fteams fhe 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 fhe look'd back, and thrice the foe drew near.
Just in that inflant anxious Ariel fought
The clofe receffes of the Virgin's thought;
As on the nofegay in her breast reclin'd,
He watch'd th' ideas rifing 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 pow'r expir'd,
Refign'd to fate, and with a figh retir'd.
The Peer now spreads the glitt'ring forfex wide,
'T'inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide.
Ev'n then, before the fatal engine clos'd,
A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos'd;
Fate urg'd the fheers, and cut the Sylph 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 light'ning from her eyes,
And skreams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
Not louder fhrieks to pitying heav'n are caft,
When husbands, or when lap-dogs breathe their last;
Or when rich China veffels, fall'n from high,
In glitt'ring duft, and painted fragments lie!
Let wreathes of triumph now my temples twine, (The victor cry'd) the glorious prize is mine! 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 small pillow grace a Lady's bed,
While vifits shall be paid on folemn days,
When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze,
While nymphs take treats, or affignations give,
So long my honour, name, and praife fhall live!
What Time would spare, from Steel receives its date,
And monuments, like men, fubmit to fate!
Steel could the labour of the Gods destroy,
And ftrike to duft th' imperial tow'rs of Troy;
Steel could the works of mortal pride confound,
And hew triumphal arches to the ground.
What wonder, then, fair Nymph! thy hairs fhould feel
The conqu'ring force of unrefifted steel?
But anxious cares the penfive Nymph oppress'd,
And fecret paffions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful kings in Battle feiz'd alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms furvive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their blifs,
Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kifs,
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry,
E'er felt fuch rage, refentment, and despair,
As thou, fad Virgin! for thy ravish'd Hair.
For, that fad moment when the Sylphs withdrew,
And Ariel, weeping, from Belinda flew,
Umbriel, a dufky, melancholy fprite,
As ever fully'd the fair face of light,
Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
Repair'd, to fearch the gloomy Cave of Spleen.
Swift on his footy pinions flits the Gnome, And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome. No chearful breeze this fullen region knows, The dreaded Eaft is all the wind that blows. Here, in a grotto fhelter'd clofe from air, And screen'd in fhades from day's detefted glare, She fighs for ever on her penfive bed,
Pain at her fide, and Megrim at her head.
Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,
But diff'ing far in figure and in face.
Here flood Ill-nature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
With flore of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons,
Her hand is fill'd! her bofom with lampoons.
There Affectation, with a fickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses 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 fickness, and for show.
The fair-ones feel fuch maladies as thefe,
When each new night-drefs gives a new disease.
A contant Vapeur o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rifing as the mits arife;
Dreadful, as hermits dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as vifions of expiring maids.
Now glaring ends, and fuakes on rolling spires,
Pale fpetres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elyfian scenes,
And cryftal domes, and Angels in machines.
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