Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of fnuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nofe.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her fide. (The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck, Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck, 90 In three feal-rings; which after, melted down, Form'd a vaft buckle for his widow's gown: Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, The bells the jingled, and the whistle blew ; Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) Boaft not my fall (he cry'd), infulting foe! Thou by fome other fhalt 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. Reftore the Lock, fhe cries; and all around, Reftore the Lock the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in fo loud a strain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But fee how oft ambitious aims are cross'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft! The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,

100

In every place is fought, but fought in vain : 110
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,
So heaven decrees! with heaven who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There heroes wits are kept in ponderous vafes,
And beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer cafes:
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound;

The courtier's proniifes, and fick man's prayers,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the mufe-fhe faw it upward rise,
Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew,
To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden ftar, it fhot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks firft rofe so bright,
The heaven befpangling with difhevell'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs through the skies.
This the Beau-monde fhall from the Mall furvey,
And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies,
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ra
vish'd hair,

140

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself shall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all thofe treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars infcribe Belinda's name. 150

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the fame reafon, to keep in view the machinery of the poem.

VOL. VIII.

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 tafte bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like rofes, that in deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
Oh, had I flay'd, and faid my prayers at home! 160
'I'was this, the morning omens fcem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tottering china fhook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was moft unkind!
A fylph 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 hand fhall rend, what ev'n thy rapine fpares :
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, hadst thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !

CANTO V.

Sur faid: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But fate and Jove had stopp'd the baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris 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.

170

Say, why are not 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 fea 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 inmoft rows?
How vain are all these glorics, all our pains,
Unless good fense preserve what beauty gains:
'That men may fay, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the firit 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; 20
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares pro-
duce,

Or who would learn one earthly thing to use?
To patch, nay ogle, may become a faint;
Nor could it fure be such a fin to paint.
But fince, alas! frail beauty must decay;
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to grey;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 7. Then grave Clariffa, &c.] A new charater introduced in the fubfequent editions, to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of

Since painted, or not painted, all fhall 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 lofe? 30
And truft me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fereams, and fcolding
fail,

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrikes the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applause enfued;
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries,
And fwift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack; [crack j
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones
Heroes and heroines fhouts confus'dly rife, 4I
And bafs and treble voices ftrike the fkies.
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 breafts with human pallions 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:
Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives
51

way,

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height Clapp'd his glad wings, and fat to view the fight: Propp'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites survey The growing combat, or affift the fray.

While through the press enrag'd Thaleftris 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.

60

"O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,” Cry'd Dapper wit, and funk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft, "Those eyes are made fo killing"-was his laft. Thus on Mæander's flowery margin lies Th' expiring fwan, and as he fings he dies.

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, Chloe ftepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She fmil'd to fee the doughty hero flain, But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air, Weighs the mens 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 endued, She with one finger and a thumb subdued :

VARIATIONS.

70

80

Ver. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the first edition goes 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 lin

Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of fnuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nofe.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
(The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck,
Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck, 90
In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells fhe jingled, and the whistle blew ;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boaft not my fall (he cry'd), infulting foe!
Thou by fome other fhalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than fo, ah! let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames--but burn alive.
Reftore the Lock, fhe cries; and all around,
Reftore the Lock the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in fo loud a strain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft ambitious aims are crofs'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with
pain,

100

In every place is fought, but fought in vain: 110
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,
So heaven decrees! with heaven who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar fphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There heroes wits are kept in ponderous vases,
And beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer cafes:
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound;

The courtier's proniifes, and fick man's prayers,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the mufe-fhe faw it upward rife,
Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew,
To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden star, it fhot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks firft rofe fo bright,
The heaven befpangling with difhevell'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs through the skies.
This the Beau-monde fhall from the Mall furvey,
And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies,
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy ra-
vish'd hair,

140

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself shall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all thofe treffes fhall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars infcribe Belinda's name. 150

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the fame reafon, to keep in view the machinery of the poem.

VOL. VIII.

D

Oh, had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In fome lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er tafte bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like rofes, that in deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
Oh, had I ftay'd, and faid my prayers at home! 160
'Twas this, the morning omens fcem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tottering china fhook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was moft unkind!
A fylph 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 hand fhall rend, what ev'n thy rapine spares :
Thefe in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy 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, hadst thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !

CANTO V.

170

SHE faid: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But fate and Jove had stopp'd the baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris 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.
Say, why are not beauties prais'd and honour'd
most,

The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toaft? 10
Why deck'd with all that land and fea 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 inmoft rows?
How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
Unless good fenfe preferve what beauty gains:
'That men may fay, when we the front-box grace,
Behold the firtt 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; 20
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares pro-
duce,

Or who would learn one earthly thing to use?
To patch, nay ogle, may become a faint;
Nor could it fure be fuch a fin to paint.
But fince, alas! frail beauty must decay;
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to grey;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 7. Then grave Clariffa, &c.] A new charaster introduced in the fubfequent editions, to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.

Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorus a man muft die a maid;
What then remains, but well our power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate'er we lofe? 30
And truft me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fcreams, and scolding
fail,

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrikes the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applause ensued;
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries,
And fwift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack; [crack;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones
Heroes and heroines fhouts confus'dly 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.

41

So when bold Homer makes the gods engage, And heavenly breafts 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: Earth fhakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way, 51

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height Clapp'd his glad wings, and fat to view the fight: Propp'd on their bodkin spears, the sprites furvey The growing combat, or affift the fray.

60

While through the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris 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 fong. "O cruel nymph a living death I bear," Cry'd Dapper wit, and funk befide his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft, "Thofe eyes are made fo killing"-was his laft. Thus on Mæander's flowery margin lies Th' expiring fwan, 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 fee the doughty hero flain, But, at her smile, the beau reviv'd again.

70

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air, Weighs the mens 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 ftrength endued, 80 She with one finger and a thumb fubdued :