It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again)
Who speaks fo well fhould ever speak in vain,
But by this Lock, this facred Lock, I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours 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, shall for ever wear.
He fpoke, and, fpeaking, in proud triumph spread
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-languishing, half-drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bofom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a figh, she rais'd; and thus she said:
For ever cursed be this detefted day,
Which snatch'd my best, my favorite 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 numerous 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 rofes, that in deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam ?
Oh I had stay'd, and faid my prayers at home!
'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell
The tottering China shook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of Fate,
In myftic vifions, 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 foresees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands,
And tempts, once more, thy facrilegious hands.
Oh hadft thou, cruel! been content to seize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these!
HE faid the pitying audience melt in tears;
But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach affails,
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag`d in vain.
Then grave Clariffa graceful way'd her fan;
Silence enfued, and thus the Nymph began.
Ver. 7. Then grave Clarissa, &c.] A new Character introduced in the fubfequent editions, to open more clearly the MORAL of the Poem, in a Parody of the fpeech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.
Say, why are Beauties prais'd and honour'd moft, The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toast ? 10 Why deck'd with all that land and sea 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 inmost rows?
How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
Unless good fenfe preserve what beauty gains:
That men may fay, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the first in virtue as in face!
Oh! if to dance all night and dress all day,
Charm'd the small-pox, or chac'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, may become a Saint,
Nor could it fure be fuch a fin to paint.
But fince, alas! frail beauty muft decay,
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to grey;
Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorns a man, must die a maid;
What then remains, but well our power to use,
And keep good-humour still, 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 spoke 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 ;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones crack;
Heroes and Heroines fhouts confusedly 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.
So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage,
And heavenly breasts 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 ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound: 50
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way,
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height
Clapp'd his glad wings, and fate to view the fight:
Prop'd on their bodkin-spears, the Sprites furvey
The growing combat, or assist the fray.
While through the prefs enrag'd Thalestris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong.
Ver. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the first edition goes on to the Conclufion, except a very few short infertions added, to keep the Machinery in view to the end of the poem.
Ver. 53 Triumphant Umbriel] These four lines added, for the reafon before-mentioned.
"O cruel Nymph! a living death I bear,”
Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk befide his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,
"Thofe eyes are made fo killing”- -was his laft.
Thus on Meander's flowery margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,
Chloe step'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She smil'd to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her smile, the Beau revived 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 the unequal fight to try,
Who fought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold Lord with manly ftrength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb fubdued:
Juft where the breath of life his nostrils drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting 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 personage to deck,
Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck,
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