|
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 knockd the ground, | |
And the pressd watch returnd 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 hoverd oer her head; | |
A youth more glittering than a birth-night beau | |
(That een in slumber caused her cheek to glow) | |
Seemd to her ear his winning lips to lay, | 25 |
And thus in whispers said, or seemd to say: | |
Fairest of mortals, thou distinguishd care | |
Of thousand bright inhabitants of air! | |
If eer one vision touchd 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 conceald, | |
To maids alone and children are reveald. | |
What though no credit doubting wits may give? | |
The fair and innocent shall still believe. | 40 |
Know, then, unnumberd spirits round thee fly, | |
The light militia of the lower sky; | |
These, though unseen, are ever on the wing, | |
Hang oer 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 womans beauteous mould; | |
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair | |
From earthly vehicles to those of air. | 50 |
Think not, when womans transient breath is fled, | |
That all her vanities at once are dead; | |
Succeeding vanities she still regards, | |
And though she plays no more, oerlooks 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 salamanders 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: | |
Warnd 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, | |
Leapd 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 vanishd from thy head. | |
And now, unveiled, the toilet stands displayd, | |
Each silver vase in mystic order laid. | |
First, robed in white the nymph intent adores, | 85 |
With head uncoverd, 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 altars side, | |
Trembling begins the sacred rites of pride. | 90 |
Unnumberd 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 Indias 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 Bettys praised for labours not her own. | 110 |
|
CANTO SECOND Not with more glories, in the ethereal plain, | |
The sun first rises oer the purpled main, | |
Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams | |
Launched on the bosom of the silver Thames. | |
Fair nymphs and well-dressd 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 youll 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 mans imperial race ensnare, | |
And beauty draws us with a single hair. | |
The adventurous Baron the bright locks admired; | |
He saw, he wishd, 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 lovers toil attends, | |
Few ask, if fraud or force attained his ends. | |
For this, ere Phbus rose, he had implored | 145 |
Propitious Heaven, and every power adored, | |
But chiefly Loveto 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 softend 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 oer 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 wheneer 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 assignd | 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 moons 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 oer the glebe distil the kindly rain; | |
Others on earth oer 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 imprisond 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 eer deserved a watchful spirits care; | |
Some dire disaster, or by force or slight; | |
But what, or where, the Fates have wrapt in night. | |
Whether the nymph shall break Dianas 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 doomd that Shock must fall. | 220 |
Haste, then, ye spirits, to your charge repair! | |
The fluttering fan be Zephyrettas 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 armd 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 oertake his sins, | 235 |
Be stoppd in vials, or transfixd with pins; | |
Or plunged in lakes of bitter washes lie, | |
Or wedged whole ages in a bodkins eye; | |
Gums and pomatums shall his flight restrain, | |
While cloggd he beats his silken wings in vain; | 240 |
Or alum styptics, with contracting power, | |
Shrink his thin essence like a rivelld flower; | |
Or, as Ixion fixd, 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 Britains statesmen oft the fall foredoom | |
Of foreign tyrants, and of nymphs at home; | |
Here, thou, great Anna, whom three realms obey, | |
Dost sometimes counsel takeand 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 passd, | |
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, perchd 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 marchd a victor from the verdant field. | |
Him Basto followd, but his fate more hard, | 305 |
Gaind 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 reveald, | |
The rest his many-colourd robe conceald. | 310 |
The rebel knave, who dares his prince engage, | |
Proves the just victim of his royal rage. | |
Even mighty Pam, that kings and queens oerthrew, | |
And mowd down armies in the fights of Loo, | |
Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid, | 315 |
Falls undistinguishd 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 Clubs 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 embroiderd 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 Asias troops and Africs 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 oerwhelms 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 virgins cheek forsook; | |
A livid paleness spreads oer 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 distemperd state) | 345 |
On one nice trick depends the general fate; | |
An Ace of Hearts steps forth. The King, unseen, | |
Lurkd in her hand, and mournd 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 snatchd away, | 355 |
And cursed for ever this victorious day. | |
For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crownd; | |
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 Chinas 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 sippd, the fuming liquor fannd, | |
Some oer her lap their careful plumes displayd, | |
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 Barons brain | |
New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain. | |
Ah, cease, rash youth! Desist ere tis too late! | |
Fear the just gods, and think of Scyllas 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 Belindas neck he spread, | 385 |
As oer 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 twitchd the diamond in her ear; | |
Thrice she lookd back, and thrice the foe drew near. | 390 |
Just in that instant anxious Ariel sought | |
The close recesses of the virgins thought; | |
As on the nosegay in her breast reclined, | |
He watchd the ideas rising in her mind, | |
Sudden he viewd, in spite of all her art, | 395 |
An earthly lover lurking at her heart. | |
Amazed, confused, he found his power expired, | |
Resignd 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 flashd 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 ladys 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 oppressd, | |
And secret passions labourd in her breast. | |
Not youthful kings in battle seized alive, | |
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, | |
Not ardent lovers robbd of all their bliss, | 435 |
Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, | |
Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, | |
Not Cynthia when her manteaus pinnd awry, | |
Eer felt such rage, resentment, and despair, | |
As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravishd 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 |
Repaird to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. | |
Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome, | |
And in a vapour reachd the dismal dome. | |
No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows; | |
The dreaded east is all the wind that blows. | 450 |
Here in a grotto shelterd close from air, | |
And screend in shades from days 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 arrayd; | |
With store of prayers, for mornings, nights, and noons, | |
Her hand is filld; 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 oer 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. | |
Unnumberd 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 Homers tripod, walks; | |
Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie talks; | |
Men foxes prove, as powerful fancy works, | |
And maids, turnd bottles, call aloud for corks. | |
Safe passed the gnome through this fantastic band, | 485 |
A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. | |
He thus addressd 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 eer 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 oer 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 Hamptons 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 straind 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 unrivald 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 heightend by the diamonds 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 opend, then the case, | |
And thus broke out: Tis past a jestnay, pox! | |
Give her the hair. He spoke, and rappd 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, | |
Clippd 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 Umbrielhateful 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-drownd 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 snatchd 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 betrayd. | |
Oh, had I rather unadmired remaind | |
In some lone isle, or distant northern land, | |
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way, | |
Where none learn ombre, none eer 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, warnd 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 een 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 fellows fate foresees its own. | |
Uncurld 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 stoppd the Barons ears. | |
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, | |
For who can move when fair Belinda fails? | |
Not half so fixd the Trojan could remain, | 605 |
While Anna beggd, 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 honourd most, | |
The wise mans passion, and the vain mans toast? | 610 |
Why deckd with all that land and sea afford? | |
Why angels calld, 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, | |
Charmd the smallpox or chased old age away, | 620 |
Who would not scorn what housewifes 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 |
Curld or uncurld, 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, whateer 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 frownd, Thalestris calld 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; | |
Joves 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 sconces height, | |
Clappd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight. | |
Proppd 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 perishd 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 Mæanders flowery margin lies | 665 |
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. | |
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, | |
Chloe steppd in, and killd him with a frown; | |
She smild 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 mens wits against the ladys 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 oerflows, | |
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, | |
Formd a vast buckle for his widows gown; | 690 |
Her infant grandames whistle next it grew; | |
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew; | |
Then in a bodkin graced her mothers 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 Cupids flamesbut 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 | |
Roard for the handkerchief that caused his pain. | |
But see how oft ambitious aims are crossd, | 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 courtiers promises, and sick mens 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 Museshe saw it upward rise, | |
Though markd by none but quick, poetic eyes, | |
(So Romes great founder to the heavens withdrew) | |
To Proculus alone confessd in view. | |
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, | 725 |
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. | |
Not Berenices locks first rose so bright, | |
The heavens bespangling with disheveld 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 Rosamondas lake; | |
This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies, | 735 |
When next he looks through Galileos eyes; | |
And hence the egregious wizard shall foredoom | |
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. | |
Then cease, bright nymph, to mourn thy ravishd 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 Belindas name. | |
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