'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring China shook without a wind,
Nay Poll fate 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 fnowy neck;
The fifter-lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal fheers 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 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 rage'd in vain. Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan; Silence enfu'd, and thus the nymph began.
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 croud the white-glov'd Beaus,
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:
VER. 9, &c. Parody of the Speech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.
That men may say, 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 chas'd old-age away;
Who would not fcorn what houswife's cares produce,
Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might 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 scorns a man, must die a maid;
What then remains but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour ftill whate'er we lofe?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fcreams, and fcolding fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
* So fpoke the Dame, but no applause ensu'd;
Belinda frown'd, Thateftris 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 ruffle, and tough whalebones crack ; 40 Heroes and Heroines fhouts confus'dly rife,
And bafe, and treble voices ftrike the fkies.
*It is a verfe frequently repeated in Homer after any speech,
So fpokeand all the Heroes applauded.
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, 45
And heav'nly breasts 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; 50
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way,
And the pale ghosts start at the flash 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 scatters deaths around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong.
"O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,
Cry'd Dapper wit, and funk befide his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast,
Thofe eyes are made fo killing-was his last.
† Minerva in like manner, during the Battle of Ulyffes with the Suitors in Ody perches on a beam of the roof to behold it.
The Words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla.
*Thus on Maander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She fmil'd to see the doughty hero flain,
But, at her fmile, the Beau reviv'd again.
+ Now Jove fufpends his golden scales 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 strength endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd:
Just where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atome juft,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.
Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her fide.
* Ov. Ep. Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis, Ad vada Maandri concinit albus olor.
+ Vid. Homer I. 8. & Virg. En, 12.
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