THE

RAPE OF THE LOCK.

CANTO I.

THE

RAPE OF THE LOCK.

CANTO I.

WHAT dire offence from am'rous causes springs,

What mighty contests rise from trivial things,

I sing This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:

This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,

If she inspire, and he approve, my lays.

Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel

A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?

O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?

In tasks so bold can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage?

Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day:

Now lap-dogs give themselves the rouzing shake,

And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:

Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,

And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.

Belinda still her downy pillow prest,

Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:

"Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed

The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head:

A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau (That e'en in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)