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SHE said: the pitying audience melt in tears,
But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,

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 Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan;
Silence ensu'd, and thus the Nymph began.

Say, why are beauties prais'd and honour'd most,
The wise man's passion, 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 side-box from its inmost rows?
How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:
That men may say, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the first in virtue as in face!



VER. 7. Then grave Clarissa, e.] A new character introduced in the subsequent editions, to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpedon to Glaucus

in Homer.

Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,
Charm'd the small-pox, or chas'd old-age away;



Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce,
Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint,
Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.
But since, alas! frail beauty must decay,
Curl'd or uncurl'd, since Locks will turn to grey;
Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade,
And she who scorns a man, must die a maid;
What then remains but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour still whate'er we lose?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may
Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.
So spoke the dame, but no applause ensu'd;
Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce virago cries,
And swift as lightning to the combat flies.




All side in parties, and begin th' attack;

Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise,


And base and treble voices strike the skies.


VER. 35. So spoke the dame,] It is a verse frequently repeated in Homer after any speech,

"So spoke and all the Heroes applauded."

VER. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the first edition goes on to the conclusion, except a very few short insertions added, to keep the machinery in view to the end of the poem.

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 passions rage;
'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms!
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms:

Jove's thunder roars, Heav'n trembles all around, 49
Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound:
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way,
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!

Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height

Clap'd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight: Prop'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey 55 The growing combat, or assist the fray.

While through the press enrag'd Thalestris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A beau and witling perish'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song. "O cruel Nymph! a living death I bear," Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, "Those eyes are made so killing"-was his last.

VER. 45. So when bold Homer] Homer, Il. xx.



VER. 53. Triumphant Umbriel] These four lines added, for the reason before mentioned.

VER.53. Triumphant Umbriel] Minerva in like manner, during the battle of Ulysses with the suitors in the Odyss. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it.

VER. 64.

in the opera

"Those eyes are made so killing"] The words of a song of Camilla.


Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies

Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She smil❜d to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than usual lightning in her eyes:
Nor fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try,
Who sought 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 nostrils drew,
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw ;

The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just,




The pungent grains of titillating dust.

Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.



VER. 65. Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies] "Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis, Ad vada Mæandri concinit albus olor."

Ov. Ep.

VER. 71. Now Jove, &c.] Vid. Homer, Il. vii. and Virg. Æn. xii.

VER. 83. The Gnomes direct,] These two lines added, for the above

e reason.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great great grandsire wore about his neck,
In three seal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew ;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears. :)
Boast not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe!
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind;
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than so, ah let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive.
Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around
Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain





Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is sought but sought in vain :
With such a prize no mortal must be blest,


So Heav'n decrees! with Heav'n who can contest?


VER. 89. (The same, bis ancient personage to deck,] In imitation of the progress of Agamemnon's sceptre in Homer, Il. ii.

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