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Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elyfian scenes,
And crystal domes, and Angels in machines.


Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry fide are seen, Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen. Here living Tea-pots ftand, one arm held out, One bent; the handle this, and that the spout: A Pipkin there, like Homer's Tripod walks ; 51 Here fighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye talks ; Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works, And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.

Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastic band, A branch of healing Spleenwort in his hand. Then thus addrefs'd the pow'r-Hail wayward Queen!

Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:

Parent of vapours and of female wit,

Who give th' hyfteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make fome take physic, others scribble plays;
Who cause the proud their vifits to delay,
And fend the godly in a pet to pray.


A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains, 65 And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.



VER. 51. Homer's Tripod walks ;] See Hom, Iliad xviii. of Vulcan's walking Tripods.

VER. 52, and there a Goofe-pye talks.] Alludes to a real fact, a Lady of diftinction imagin'd herself in this condition. P..

But oh! if e'er thy Gnome could fpoil a grace,
Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
Like Citron-waters matrons cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a lofing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd fufpicion when no foul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the head-drefs of a Prude,
Or e'er to coftive lap-dog gave disease

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could cafe:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin,
That fingle act gives half the world the spleen.
The Goddess with a discontented air



Seems to reject him, tho' fhe grants his pray'r. 80.
A wond'rous Bag with both her hands fhe binds,
Like that where once Ulyffes held the winds;
There fhe collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, fobs, and paffions, and the war of tongues.
A Vial next fhe fills with fainting fears,


Soft forrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and flowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thaleftris' arms the nymph he found,

Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the fwelling bag he rent,
And all the Furies iffu'd at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thaleftris fans the rifing fire.


O wretched maid! fhe fpread her hands, and cry'd, (While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! reply'd) Was it for this you took fuch conftant care

The bodkin, comb, and effence to prepare ?

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For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! fhall the ravisher display your hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare!
Honour forbid! at whofe unrival'd fhrine
Eafe, pleasure, virtue, all our sex refign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper loft!
How fhall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to feem your friend!
And fhall this prize, th' ineftimable prize,
Expos'd thro' cryftal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner fhall grafs in Hyde-park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the found of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, fea, to Chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!

She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume of amber fnuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)

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VER 121. Sir Plume repairs,] Sir George Brown. He was the only one of the Party who took the thing feriously. He was angry, that the Poet fhould make him talk nothing but nonfense; and, in truth, one could not well blame him.

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With earneft eyes, and round unthinking face, 125 He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case,

And thus broke out-" My Lord, why, what the "devil?

« Z-ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be "civil!

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"Plague on't! 'tis past a jest-nay prithee, pox! "Give her the hair" he spoke, and rapp'd his box. İt grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again) Who fpeaks fo well fhould ever fpeak in vain. But by this Lock, this facred Lock I fwear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; Which never more its honours fhall renew, 135 Clip'd from the lovely head where late it grew) That while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear. He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread The long-contended honours of her head.


But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not so ; He breaks the Vial whence the forrows flow. Then fee! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears; On her heav'd bofom hung her drooping head, Which, with a figh, she rais'd; and thus she said:


VER. 141. But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not fo; He breaks the Vial whence the forrows flow.] These two lines are additional; and aflign the cause of the different operation on the Paffions of the two Ladies. The poem went on before without that diftinction, as without any Machinery to the end of the Canto.



VER. 133. But by this Lock,] In allufion to Achilles's

oath in Homer, II. i. P.

For ever curs'd be this detefted day,
Which fnatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,

If Hampton-Court thefe eyes had never feen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid
By love of Courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain'd


In fome lone ifle, or distant Northern land;
Where the gilt Chariot never marks the way, 156
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea !
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.

What mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam?
O had I ftay'd, and faid my pray'rs at home! 160
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell
The tott'ring China fhook without a wind,


Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate, 165
In myftic vifions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of thefe flighted hairs!
My hands fhall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares :
These in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the fnowy neck;
The fifter lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefees its own;
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal fheers demands,
And tempts once more, thy facrilegious hands.
Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !



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