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Gods! fhall the ravisher display your hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare !
Honour forbid! at whofe unrival'd shrine
Eafe, pleasure, virtue, all our fex refign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already fee you a degraded toast,

And all your honour in a whisper loft!
How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend ?
"Twill then be infamy to feem your friend!
And fhall this prize, the inestimable prize,
Expos'd through cryftal 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, sea, to Chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!

She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume of amber fnuff-box juftly 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 case,






And thus broke out" My Lord, why, what the

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

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

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 fhall 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.

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 curfed be this detefted day,




Which fnatch'd my beft, 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 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 I had stay'd, and faid my prayers at home!

L 3



'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,

My hands fhall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares
These in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the fnowy neck ;
The fifter-lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands,
And tempts, once more, thy facrilegious hands.
Oh hadft thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs less in fight, or any hairs but these!

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 mystic vifions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of thefe flighted hairs!





HE 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.«


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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 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 toaft? 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 thefe glories, all our pains,
Unless good fenfe preferve 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 fmall-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 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 lose?
And trust me, Dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fcreams, and fcolding

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.
I 4




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;
Heroes and Heroines fhouts confusedly rife,
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-fpears, the Sprites furvey
The growing combat, or affift the fray.

While through the prefs enrag'd Thalestris flies,
And fcatters death 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

Ver. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the firft 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] Thefe four lines added, for the reafon before-mentioned.

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