| |
WHAT dire offense from amorous causes springs, | |
| What mighty contests rise from trivial things, | |
| I sing. This verse to Caryl, muse, is due; | |
| This, even Belinda may vouchsafe to view: | |
| Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, | 5 |
| If she inspire, and he approve my lays. | |
| Say, what strange motive, goddess, could compel | |
| A well-bred lord to assault a gentle belle? | |
| Oh, say, what stranger cause, yet unexplored, | |
| Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? | 10 |
| In tasks so bold can little men engage, | |
| And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage? | |
| Sol through white curtains shot a timorous ray, | |
| And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day. | |
| Now lapdogs give themselves the rousing shake, | 15 |
| 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 prolonged the balmy rest; | 20 |
| ’Twas he had summoned to her silent bed | |
| The morning-dream that hover’d o’er her head; | |
| A youth more glittering than a birth-night beau | |
| (That e’en in slumber caused her cheek’ to glow) | |
| Seem’d to her ear his winning lips to lay, | 25 |
| And thus in whispers said, or seem’d to say: | |
| Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish’d care | |
| Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! | |
| If e’er one vision touch’d thy infant thought, | |
| Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught; | 30 |
| Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen, | |
| The silver token, and the circled green; | |
| Or virgins visited by angel-powers | |
| With golden crowns and wreaths of heavenly flowers— | |
| Hear and believe! Thy own importance know, | 35 |
| Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. | |
| Some secrets truths, from learnéd pride conceal’d, | |
| To maids alone and children are reveal’d. | |
| What though no credit doubting wits may give? | |
| The fair and innocent shall still believe. | 40 |
| Know, then, unnumber’d spirits round thee fly, | |
| The light militia of the lower sky; | |
| These, though unseen, are ever on the wing, | |
| Hang o’er the box, and hover round the ring. | |
| Think what an equipage thou hast in air, | 45 |
| And view with scorn two pages and a chair. | |
| As now your own, our beings were of old, | |
| And once enclosed in woman’s beauteous mould; | |
| Thence, by a soft transition, we repair | |
| From earthly vehicles to those of air. | 50 |
| Think not, when woman’s transient breath is fled, | |
| That all her vanities at once are dead; | |
| Succeeding vanities she still regards, | |
| And though she plays no more, o’erlooks the cards. | |
| Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive, | 55 |
| And love of ombre, after death survive. | |
| For when the fair in all their pride expire, | |
| To their first elements their souls retire: | |
| The sprites of fiery termagants in flame | |
| Mount up, and take a salamander’s name. | 60 |
| Soft, yielding minds to water glide away, | |
| And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. | |
| The graver prude sinks downward to a gnome, | |
| In search of mischief still on earth to roam. | |
| The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair, | 65 |
| And sport and flutter in the fields of air. | |
| “A sylph am I, who thy protection claim, | |
| A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name. | |
| Late, as I ranged the crystal wilds of air, | |
| In the clear mirror of thy ruling star | 70 |
| I saw, alas! some dread event impend, | |
| Ere to the main this morning sun descend, | |
| But Heaven reveals not what, or how, or where: | |
| Warn’d by the sylph, oh, pious maid, beware! | |
| This to disclose is all thy guardian can: | 75 |
| Beware of all, but most beware of man!” | |
| He said. Then Shock, who thought she slept too long, | |
| Leap’d up, and waked his mistress with his tongue. | |
| ’Twas then, Belinda, if report say true, | |
| Thy eyes first opened on a billet-doux; | 80 |
| Wounds, charms, and ardours were no sooner read, | |
| But all the vision vanish’d from thy head. | |
| And now, unveiled, the toilet stands display’d, | |
| Each silver vase in mystic order laid. | |
| First, robed in white the nymph intent adores, | 85 |
| With head uncover’d, the cosmetic powers. | |
| A heavenly image in the glass appears, | |
| To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears; | |
| The inferior priestess, at her altar’s side, | |
| Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. | 90 |
| Unnumber’d treasures ope at once, and here | |
| The various offerings of the world appear; | |
| From each she nicely culls with curious toil, | |
| And decks the goddess with the glittering spoil. | |
| This casket India’s glowing gems unlocks, | 95 |
| And all Arabia breathes from yonder box. | |
| The tortoise here and elephant unite, | |
| Transformed to combs, the speckled and the white. | |
| Here files of pins extend their shining rows, | |
| Puffs, powders, patches, bibles, billets-doux. | 100 |
| Now awful beauty puts on all its arms; | |
| The fair each moment rises in her charms, | |
| Repairs her smiles, awakens every grace, | |
| And calls forth all the wonders of her face; | |
| Sees by degrees a purer blush arise, | 105 |
| And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes. | |
| The busy sylphs surround their darling care, | |
| These set the head, and those divide the hair, | |
| Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown; | |
| And Betty’s praised for labours not her own. | 110 |
| |
CANTO SECOND
Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, | |
| The sun first rises o’er the purpled main, | |
| Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams | |
| Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames. | |
| Fair nymphs and well-dress’d youths around her shone, | 115 |
| But every eye was fixed on her alone. | |
| On her white breast a sparkling cross she wore, | |
| Which Jews might kiss, and infidels adore. | |
| Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose, | |
| Quick as her eyes and as unfixed as those: | 120 |
| Favours to none, to all she smiles extends; | |
| Oft she rejects, but never once offends. | |
| Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike, | |
| And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. | |
| Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride, | 125 |
| Might hide her faults if belles had faults to hide. | |
| If to her share some female errors fall, | |
| Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all. | |
| This nymph, to the destruction of mankind, | |
| Nourished two locks which graceful hung behind | 130 |
| In equal curls, and well conspired to deck | |
| With shining ringlets the smooth, ivory neck. | |
| Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains, | |
| And mighty hearts are held in slender chains. | |
| With hairy springes we the birds betray, | 135 |
| Slight lines of hair surprise the finny prey, | |
| Fair tresses man’s imperial race ensnare, | |
| And beauty draws us with a single hair. | |
| The adventurous Baron the bright locks admired; | |
| He saw, he wish’d, and to the prize aspired. | 140 |
| Resolved to win, he meditates the way, | |
| By force to ravish or by fraud betray; | |
| For when success a lover’s toil attends, | |
| Few ask, if fraud or force attained his ends. | |
| For this, ere Phœbus rose, he had implored | 145 |
| Propitious Heaven, and every power adored, | |
| But chiefly Love—to Love an altar built | |
| Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. | |
| There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, | |
| And all the trophies of his former loves; | 150 |
| With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, | |
| And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire; | |
| Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes | |
| Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize. | |
| The powers give ear and granted half his prayer, | 155 |
| The rest the winds dispersed in empty air. | |
| But now secure the painted vessel glides, | |
| The sunbeams trembling on the floating tides; | |
| While melting music steals upon the sky, | |
| And soften’d sounds along the waters die. | 160 |
| Smooth flow the waves, the zephyrs gently play, | |
| Belinda smiled, and all the world was gay— | |
| All but the sylph; with careful thoughts opprest, | |
| The impending woe sat heavy on his breast. | |
| He summons straight his denizens of air; | 165 |
| The lucid squadrons round the sails repair; | |
| Soft o’er the shrouds aerial whispers breathe, | |
| That seemed but zephyrs to the train beneath. | |
| Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold, | |
| Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold; | 170 |
| Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight, | |
| Their fluid bodies half dissolved in light, | |
| Loose to the wind their airy garments flew, | |
| Thin glittering textures of the filmy dew, | |
| Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies, | 175 |
| Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes; | |
| While every beam new transient colours flings, | |
| Colours that change whene’er they wave their wings. | |
| Amid the circle, on the gilded mast, | |
| Superior by the head, was Ariel placed; | 180 |
| His purple pinions opening to the sun, | |
| He raised his azure wand, and thus begun: | |
| “Ye sylphs and sylphids, to your chief give ear! | |
| Fays, fairies, genii, elves, and demons, hear! | |
| Ye know the spheres, and various tasks assign’d | 185 |
| By laws eternal to the aerial kind. | |
| Some in the fields of purest ether play, | |
| And bask and whiten in the blaze of day; | |
| Some guide the course of wandering orbs on high, | |
| Or roll the planets through the boundless sky; | 190 |
| Some, less refined, beneath the moon’s pale light | |
| Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night, | |
| Or suck the mists in grosser air below, | |
| Or dip their pinions in the painted bow, | |
| Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main, | 195 |
| Or o’er the glebe distil the kindly rain; | |
| Others on earth o’er human race preside, | |
| Watch all their ways and all their actions guide. | |
| Of these the chief the care of nations own, | |
| And guard with arms divine the British throne. | 200 |
| “Our humbler province is to tend the fair; | |
| Not a less pleasing, though less glorious care; | |
| To save the powder from too rude a gale, | |
| Nor let the imprison’d essences exhale; | |
| To draw fresh colours from the vernal flowers; | 205 |
| To steal from rainbows ere they drop in showers | |
| A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs, | |
| Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs; | |
| Nay, oft, in dreams, invention we bestow, | |
| To change a flounce, or add a furbelow. | 210 |
| “This day, black omens threat the brightest fair | |
| That e’er deserved a watchful spirit’s care; | |
| Some dire disaster, or by force or slight; | |
| But what, or where, the Fates have wrapt in night. | |
| Whether the nymph shall break Diana’s law, | 215 |
| Or some frail China jar receive a flaw; | |
| Or stain her honour, or her new brocade; | |
| Forget her prayers, or miss a masquerade; | |
| Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball; | |
| Or whether Heaven has doom’d that Shock must fall. | 220 |
| Haste, then, ye spirits, to your charge repair! | |
| The fluttering fan be Zephyretta’s care; | |
| The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign; | |
| And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine; | |
| Do thou, Crispissa, tend her favourite Lock; | 225 |
| Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock. | |
| “To fifty chosen sylphs, of special note, | |
| We trust the important charge, the petticoat: | |
| Oft have we known that sevenfold fence to fail, | |
| Though stiff with hoops and arm’d with ribs of whale; | 230 |
| Form a strong line about the silver bound, | |
| And guard the wide circumference around. | |
| “Whatever spirit, careless of his charge, | |
| His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large, | |
| Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o’ertake his sins, | 235 |
| Be stopp’d in vials, or transfix’d with pins; | |
| Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, | |
| Or wedged whole ages in a bodkin’s eye; | |
| Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, | |
| While clogg’d he beats his silken wings in vain; | 240 |
| Or alum styptics, with contracting power, | |
| Shrink his thin essence like a rivell’d flower; | |
| Or, as Ixion fix’d, the wretch shall feel | |
| The giddy motion of the whirling mill, | |
| In fumes of burning chocolate shall glow, | 245 |
| And tremble at the sea that froths below!” | |
| He spoke. The spirits from the sails descend; | |
| Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend; | |
| Some thread the mazy ringlets of her hair; | |
| Some hang upon the pendants of her ear; | 250 |
| With beating hearts the dire event they wait, | |
| Anxious, and trembling for the birth of fate. | |
| |
CANTO THIRD
Close by those meads, forever crowned with flowers, | |
| Where Thames with pride surveys his rising towers, | |
| There stands a structure of majestic frame, | 255 |
| Which from the neighbouring Hampton takes its name. | |
| Here Britain’s statesmen oft the fall foredoom | |
| Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home; | |
| Here, thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey, | |
| Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes tea. | 260 |
| Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort, | |
| To taste awhile the pleasures of a court; | |
| In various talk the instructive hours they pass’d, | |
| Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; | |
| One speaks the glory of the British Queen, | 265 |
| And one describes a charming Indian screen; | |
| A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; | |
| At every word a reputation dies. | |
| Snuff, or the fan, supplies each pause of chat, | |
| With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that. | 270 |
| Meanwhile, declining from the noon of day, | |
| The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray; | |
| The hungry judges soon the sentence sign, | |
| And wretches hang that jurymen may dine; | |
| The merchant from the Exchange returns in peace, | 275 |
| And the long labours of the toilet cease. | |
| Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites, | |
| Burns to encounter two adventurous knights, | |
| At ombre singly to decide their doom, | |
| And swells her breast with conquests yet to come. | 280 |
| Straight the three bands prepare in arms to join, | |
| Each band the number of the sacred Nine. | |
| Soon as she spreads her hand, the aerial guard | |
| Descend, and sit on each important card; | |
| First Ariel, perch’d upon a matadore, | 285 |
| Then each according to the rank they bore; | |
| For sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race, | |
| Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place. | |
| Behold four kings, in majesty revered, | |
| With hoary whiskers and a forky beard; | 290 |
| And four fair queens whose hands sustain a flower, | |
| The expressive emblem of their softer power; | |
| Four knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band, | |
| Caps on their heads and halberds in their hand; | |
| And party-coloured troops, a shining train, | 295 |
| Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain. | |
| The skilful nymph reviews her force with care; | |
| “Let Spades be trumps!” she said, and trumps they were. | |
| Now move to war her sable matadors, | |
| In show like leaders of the swarthy Moors. | 300 |
| Spadillio first, unconquerable lord, | |
| Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board. | |
| As many more Manillio forced to yield, | |
| And march’d a victor from the verdant field. | |
| Him Basto follow’d, but his fate more hard, | 305 |
| Gain’d but one trump and one plebeian card. | |
| With his broad sabre next, a chief in years, | |
| The hoary Majesty of Spades appears, | |
| Puts forth one manly leg, to sight reveal’d, | |
| The rest his many-colour’d robe conceal’d. | 310 |
| The rebel knave, who dares his prince engage, | |
| Proves the just victim of his royal rage. | |
| Even mighty Pam, that kings and queens o’erthrew, | |
| And mow’d down armies in the fights of Loo, | |
| Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, | 315 |
| Falls undistinguish’d by the victor Spade! | |
| Thus far both armies to Belinda yield. | |
| Now to the Baron Fate inclines the field; | |
| His warlike Amazon her host invades, | |
| The imperial consort of the crown of Spades. | 320 |
| The Club’s black tyrant first her victim died, | |
| Spite of his haughty mien and barbarous pride. | |
| What boots the regal circle on his head, | |
| His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread; | |
| That long behind he trails his pompous robe, | 325 |
| And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe? | |
| The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace; | |
| The embroider’d King, who shows but half his face, | |
| And his refulgent Queen, with powers combined, | |
| Of broken troops an easy conquest find. | 330 |
| Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen, | |
| With throngs promiscuous strew the level green. | |
| Thus when dispersed a routed army runs, | |
| Of Asia’s troops and Afric’s sable sons, | |
| With like confusion different nations fly, | 335 |
| Of various habit and of various dye; | |
| The pierced battalions disunited fall | |
| In heaps on heaps; one fate o’erwhelms them all. | |
| The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, | |
| And wins (oh, shameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts. | 340 |
| At this, the blood the virgin’s cheek forsook; | |
| A livid paleness spreads o’er all her look; | |
| She sees, and trembles at the approaching ill, | |
| Just in the jaws of ruin, and codille. | |
| And now (as oft in some distemper’d state) | 345 |
| On one nice trick depends the general fate; | |
| An Ace of Hearts steps forth. The King, unseen, | |
| Lurk’d in her hand, and mourn’d his captive Queen; | |
| He springs to vengeance with an eager pace, | |
| And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace. | 350 |
| The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky; | |
| The walls, the woods, and long canals reply. | |
| Oh, thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate, | |
| Too soon dejected, and too soon elate; | |
| Sudden these honours shall be snatch’d away, | 355 |
| And cursed for ever this victorious day. | |
| For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crown’d; | |
| The berries crackle, and the mill turns round; | |
| On shining altars of Japan they raise | |
| The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze; | 360 |
| From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide, | |
| While China’s earth receives the smoking tide. | |
| At once they gratify their scent and taste, | |
| And frequent cups prolong the rich repast. | |
| Straight hover round the fair her airy band; | 365 |
| Some, as she sipp’d, the fuming liquor fann’d, | |
| Some o’er her lap their careful plumes display’d, | |
| Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade. | |
| Coffee (which makes the politican wise, | |
| And see through all things with his half-shut eyes) | 370 |
| Sent up in vapours to the Baron’s brain | |
| New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain. | |
| Ah, cease, rash youth! Desist ere ’tis too late! | |
| Fear the just gods, and think of Scylla’s fate! | |
| Changed to a bird, and sent to flit in air, | 375 |
| She dearly pays for Nisus’ injured hair! | |
| But when to mischief mortals bend their will, | |
| How soon they find fit instruments of ill! | |
| Just then Clarissa drew, with tempting grace, | |
| A two-edged weapon from her shining case. | 380 |
| So ladies in romance assist their knight, | |
| Present the spear and arm him for the fight. | |
| He takes the gift with reverence, and extends | |
| The little engine on his fingers’ ends; | |
| This just behind Belinda’s neck he spread, | 385 |
| As o’er the fragrant steams she bends her head. | |
| Swift to the Lock a thousand sprites repair, | |
| A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair; | |
| And thrice they twitch’d the diamond in her ear; | |
| Thrice she look’d back, and thrice the foe drew near. | 390 |
| Just in that instant anxious Ariel sought | |
| The close recesses of the virgin’s thought; | |
| As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, | |
| He watch’d the ideas rising in her mind, | |
| Sudden he view’d, in spite of all her art, | 395 |
| An earthly lover lurking at her heart. | |
| Amazed, confused, he found his power expired, | |
| Resign’d to fate, and with a sigh retired. | |
| The peer now spreads the glittering forfex wide, | |
| To inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide. | 400 |
| Even then, before the fatal engine closed, | |
| A wretched sylph too fondly interposed; | |
| Fate urged the shears, and cut the sylph in twain. | |
| (But airy substance soon unites again.) | |
| The meeting points the sacred hair dissever | 405 |
| From the fair head, forever and forever! | |
| Then flash’d the living lightning from her eyes, | |
| And screams of horror rend the affrighted skies; | |
| Not louder shrieks to pitying Heaven are cast | |
| When husbands, or when lapdogs, breathe their last; | 410 |
| Or when rich China vessels, fallen from high, | |
| In glittering dust and painted fragments lie! | |
| “Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine,” | |
| The victor cried; “the glorious prize is mine! | |
| While fish in streams, or birds delight in air, | 415 |
| Or in a coach-and-six the British fair, | |
| As long as ‘Atalantis’ shall be read, | |
| Or the small pillow grace a lady’s bed, | |
| While visits shall be paid on solemn days, | |
| When numerous wax-lights in bright order blaze, | 420 |
| While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, | |
| So long my honour, name, and praise, shall live!” | |
| What time would spare, from steel receives its date, | |
| And monuments, like men, submit to fate! | |
| Steel could the labour of the gods destroy, | 425 |
| And strike to dust the imperial towers of Troy; | |
| Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, | |
| And hew triumphal arches to the ground. | |
| What wonder, then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel | |
| The conquering force of unresisted steel? | 430 |
| |
CANTO FOURTH
But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress’d, | |
| And secret passions labour’d in her breast. | |
| Not youthful kings in battle seized alive, | |
| Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, | |
| Not ardent lovers robb’d of all their bliss, | 435 |
| Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, | |
| Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, | |
| Not Cynthia when her manteau’s pinn’d awry, | |
| E’er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, | |
| As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravish’d hair. | 440 |
| For, that sad moment, when the sylphs withdrew, | |
| And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, | |
| Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, | |
| As ever sullied the fair face of light, | |
| Down to the central earth, his proper scene, | 445 |
| Repair’d to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. | |
| Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, | |
| And in a vapour reach’d the dismal dome. | |
| No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows; | |
| The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. | 450 |
| Here in a grotto shelter’d close from air, | |
| And screen’d in shades from day’s detested glare, | |
| She sighs forever on her pensive bed, | |
| Pain at her side, and megrim at her head. | |
| Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place, | 455 |
| But differing far in figure and in face. | |
| Here stood Ill-nature, like an ancient maid, | |
| Her wrinkled form in black and white array’d; | |
| With store of prayers, for mornings, nights, and noons, | |
| Her hand is fill’d; her bosom with lampoons. | 460 |
| There Affectation, with a sickly mien, | |
| Shows in her cheeks the roses of eighteen; | |
| Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside, | |
| Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, | |
| On a rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, | 465 |
| Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show. | |
| The fair ones feel such maladies as these, | |
| When each new night-dress gives a new disease. | |
| A constant vapour o’er the palace flies; | |
| Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise; | 470 |
| Dreadful as hermits’ dreams in haunted shades, | |
| Or bright as visions of exploring maids; | |
| Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, | |
| Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires; | |
| Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, | 475 |
| And crystal domes, and angels in machines. | |
| Unnumber’d throngs on every side are seen, | |
| Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. | |
| Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out, | |
| One bent; the handle this, and that the spout; | 480 |
| A pipkin there, like Homer’s tripod, walks; | |
| Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie talks; | |
| Men foxes prove, as powerful fancy works, | |
| And maids, turn’d bottles, call aloud for corks. | |
| Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic band, | 485 |
| A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. | |
| He thus address’d the power: “Hail, wayward Queen! | |
| Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen; | |
| Parent of vapours and of female wit, | |
| Who give the hysteric or poetic fit, | 490 |
| On various tempers act by various ways, | |
| Make some take physic, others scribble plays; | |
| Who cause the proud their visits to delay, | |
| And send the godly in a pet to pray— | |
| A nymph there is that all thy power disdains, | 495 |
| And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. | |
| But oh! if e’er thy gnome could spoil a grace, | |
| Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face, | |
| Like citron-waters matrons’ cheeks inflame, | |
| Or change complexions at a losing game; | 500 |
| Or cause suspicion when no soul was rude, | |
| Or discomposed the head-dress of a prude, | |
| Hear me, and teach Belinda with chagrin; | |
| That single act gives half the world the spleen.” | |
| The goddess, with a discontented air, | 505 |
| Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer. | |
| A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds, | |
| Like that where once Ulysses held the winds; | |
| There she collects the force of female lungs, | |
| Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues. | 510 |
| A vial next she fills with fainting fears, | |
| Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. | |
| The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, | |
| Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. | |
| Sunk in Thalestris’ arms the nymph he found, | 515 |
| Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. | |
| Full o’er their heads the swelling bag he rent, | |
| And all the Furies issued at the vent. | |
| Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, | |
| And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. | 520 |
| “Oh, wretched maid!” she spread her hands, and cried, | |
| (While Hampton’s echoes, “Wretched maid!” replied,) | |
| “Was it for this you took such constant care | |
| The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare? | |
| For this your locks in paper durance bound? | 525 |
| For this with torturing irons wreathed around? | |
| For this with fillets strain’d your tender head, | |
| And bravely bore the double loads of lead? | |
| What! shall the ravisher display your hair | |
| While the fops envy, and the ladies stare! | 530 |
| Honour forbid! at whose unrival’d shrine | |
| Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. | |
| Methinks already I your tears survey, | |
| Already hear the horrid things they say; | |
| Already see you a degraded toast, | 535 |
| And all your honour in a whisper lost! | |
| How shall I, then, your hapless fame defend? | |
| ’Twill then be infamy to seem your friend! | |
| And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, | |
| Exposed through crystal to the gazing eyes, | 540 |
| And heighten’d by the diamond’s circling rays, | |
| On that rapacious hand forever blaze? | |
| Sooner shall grass in Hyde-Park Circus grow, | |
| And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow; | |
| Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall, | 545 |
| Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!” | |
| She said. Then raging to Sir Plume repairs, | |
| And bids her beau demand the precious hairs. | |
| Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, | |
| And the nice conduct of a clouded cane, | 550 |
| With earnest eyes, and round, unthinking face, | |
| He first the snuff-box open’d, then the case, | |
| And thus broke out: “’Tis past a jest—nay, pox! | |
| Give her the hair.” He spoke, and rapp’d his box. | |
| “It grieves me much,” replied the Peer again, | 555 |
| “Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain. | |
| But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, | |
| Which never more shall join its parted hair, | |
| Which never more its honours shall renew, | |
| Clipp’d from the lovely head where late it grew, | 560 |
| That while my nostrils draw the vital air, | |
| This hand, which won it, shall forever wear.” | |
| He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread | |
| The long-contended honours of her head. | |
| But Umbriel—hateful gnome!—forbears not so; | 565 |
| He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. | |
| Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, | |
| Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown’d in tears; | |
| On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, | |
| Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she said: | 570 |
| “Forever cursed be this detested day, | |
| Which snatch’d my best, my favourite 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, | 575 |
| By love of courts to numerous ills betray’d. | |
| Oh, had I rather unadmired remain’d | |
| In some lone isle, or distant northern land, | |
| Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, | |
| Where none learn ombre, none e’er taste Bohea! | 580 |
| There kept my charms concealed from mortal eye, | |
| Like roses that in deserts bloom and die. | |
| What moved my mind with youthful lords to roam? | |
| Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at home! | |
| ’Twas this the morning omens seemed to tell; | 585 |
| Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell; | |
| The tottering China shook without a wind, | |
| Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind! | |
| A sylph, too, warn’d me of the threats of fate, | |
| In mystic visions, now believed too late! | 590 |
| See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! | |
| My hands shall rend what e’en thy rapine spares. | |
| These in two sable ringlets taught to break, | |
| Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; | |
| The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone, | 595 |
| And in its fellow’s fate foresees its own. | |
| Uncurl’d it hangs, the fatal shears demands, | |
| And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. | |
| Oh, hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize | |
| Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!” | 600 |
| |
CANTO FIFTH
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, | 605 |
| While Anna begg’d, and Dido raged in vain. | |
| Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan; | |
| Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began: | |
| “Say, why are beauties praised and honour’d most, | |
| The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast? | 610 |
| Why deck’d with all that land and sea afford? | |
| Why angels call’d, and angel-like adored? | |
| Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved beaux? | |
| Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows? | |
| How vain are all these glories, all our pains, | 615 |
| 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! | |
| Oh, if to dance all night, and dress all day, | |
| Charm’d the smallpox or chased old age away, | 620 |
| 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, | 625 |
| Curl’d or uncurl’d, since locks will turn to gray; | |
| Since, painted or not painted, all shall fade, | |
| And she who scorns a man must die a maid— | |
| What, then, remains but well our power to use, | |
| And keep good-humour still, whate’er we lose? | 630 |
| And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail, | |
| When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. | |
| Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; | |
| Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul.” | |
| So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued; | 635 |
| 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 the attack; | |
| Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; | 640 |
| Heroes’ and heroines’ shouts confusedly rise, | |
| And bass and treble voices strike the skies. | |
| 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, | 645 |
| And heavenly breasts with human passions rage; | |
| ’Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; | |
| And all Olympus rings with loud alarms; | |
| Jove’s thunder roars, heaven trembles all around, | |
| Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound; | 650 |
| 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 sate to view the fight. | |
| Propp’d on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey | 655 |
| The growing combat, or assist the fray. | |
| While through the press enraged Thalestris flies, | |
| And scatters death around from both her eyes, | |
| A beau and witling perish’d in the throng; | |
| One died in metaphor, and one in song. | 660 |
| “Oh, cruel nymph! a living death I bear!” | |
| Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. | |
| A mournful glance Sir Fopling upward cast, | |
| “Those eyes are made so killing!” was his last. | |
| Thus on Mæander’s flowery margin lies | 665 |
| The 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 revived again. | 670 |
| 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, | 675 |
| With more than usual lightning in her eyes: | |
| And this bold lord, with manly strength endued, | |
| She with one finger and a thumb subdued. | |
| Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, | |
| A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; | 680 |
| The gnomes direct, to every atom just, | |
| The pungent grains of titillating dust. | |
| Sudden with starting tears each eye o’erflows, | |
| And the high dome reechoes to his nose. | |
| “Now meet thy fate!” incensed Belinda cried, | 685 |
| 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 gown; | 690 |
| Her infant grandame’s whistle next it grew; | |
| The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; | |
| Then in a bodkin graced her mother’s hairs, | |
| Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) | |
| “Boast not my fall,” he cried, “insulting foe! | 695 |
| 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!” | 700 |
| “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 caused his pain. | |
| But see how oft ambitious aims are cross’d, | 705 |
| And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! | |
| The Lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with pain, | |
| In every place is sought, but sought in vain; | |
| With such a prize no mortal must be blest, | |
| So Heaven decrees! With Heaven who can contest? | 710 |
| Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, | |
| Since all things lost on earth are treasured there. | |
| There heroes’ wits are kept in ponderous vases, | |
| And beaus’ in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases; | |
| There broken vows and deathbed alms are found, | 715 |
| And lovers’ hearts with ends of riband bound, | |
| The courtier’s promises, and sick men’s prayers, | |
| The smiles of wooers, and the tears of heirs; | |
| Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, | |
| Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. | 720 |
| But trust the Muse—she saw it upward rise, | |
| Though mark’d by none but quick, poetic eyes, | |
| (So Rome’s great founder to the heavens withdrew) | |
| To Proculus alone confess’d in view. | |
| A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, | 725 |
| And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. | |
| Not Berenice’s locks first rose so bright, | |
| The heavens bespangling with dishevel’d light. | |
| The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, | |
| And pleased pursue its progress through the skies. | 730 |
| This the beau monde shall from the Mall survey, | |
| And hail with music its propitious ray; | |
| This the blest lover shall for Venus take, | |
| And send up vows from Rosamonda’s lake; | |
| This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, | 735 |
| When next he looks through Galileo’s eyes; | |
| And hence the 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 shining sphere! | 740 |
| Not all the tresses that fair heads can boast, | |
| Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. | |
| For after all the murders of your eye, | |
| When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; | |
| When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, | 745 |
| And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, | |
| This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, | |
| And ’midst the stars inscribe Belinda’s name. | |
| |
