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Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorns a man, muft die a maid;
What then remains but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour ftill whate'er we lose ?
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 ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So spoke the Dame, but no applause ensu'd ; Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her Prude. To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries; And fwift as lightning to the combat flies. All fide in parties, and begin th' attack; Fans clap, filks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; 40 Heroes and Heroines fhouts confus'dly rife, And bafe, and treble voices ftrike the fkies.
No common weapons in their hands are found, Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.. So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage, And heav'nly breafts with human paffions rage; 'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around; Blue Neptune ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound; Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flafh of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height,
Clap'd his glad wings, and fate to view the fight:
Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the Sprites furvey
The growing combat, or affift the fray.
While thro'. the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris flies,
And fcatter'd deaths around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong..
"O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,"
Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk befide his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft,
Thofe are made fo killing *
was his laft.
The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla.
Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, 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 smil'd to see the doughty hero flain,
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again.
Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air,
Weighs the Men's 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 endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd :
Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom juft,
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 perfonage to deck,
Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck,
In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vaft buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whiftle next it grew,
The bells fhe jingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boaft not my fall, he cry'd, infulting foe!
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
Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not ferce Othello in fo loud a strain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft' ambitious aims are crofs'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain :
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest ?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There Heroes wits are kept in pond'rous vafes,
And Beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes.
There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found,
And lover's hearts with ends of ribband bound,
The courtier's promises, and fick man's 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 casuistry.
But truft the Muse-she saw it upward rife,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes :
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, 125 To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden Star, it fhot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright,
The heav'ns befpangling with dishevel❜d light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs thro' 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 * soon fhall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes;
John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year, never failed to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English.
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair, Which adds new glory to the fhining 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 shall die; When those 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 'midft the ftars inscribe Belinda's name.
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, 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?
'HAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moonlight shade Invites my fteps, and points to yonder glade ? but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
* This lady is fupposed to have been the fame person to whom the duke of Buckingham addreffed fome lines on her intentions of retiring into a monastery. This design is also hinted at in one of Mr. Pope's letters to this lady,
She was distinguished, as Mr. Rufshead observes, by her rank, fortune, and beauty, and was committed to the guardianship of an uncle, who`gave her an education fuitable to her expectations: but while fhe was yet very young, he was fuppofed to have entertained a partiality for a young gentleman of inferior degree, which occasioned her to refuse a match which her guardian proposed to her.
It was not long before her correfpondence with this gentleman was difcovered by means of fpies, whom her guardian had employed to watch over her conduct: and when he upbraided her with this fecret intercourse, she had too much truth and honour to deny the charge.
The uncle finding her affections fo rooted, that she had not power to withdraw them, forced her abroad, where she was received with the respect due