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of the LOCK.


HE faid the pitying audience melt in tears.


But Fate and Jove had ftopp'd the Baron's ears.

In vain Thaleftris 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 enfu'd, and thus the nymph began.


Say why are Beauties prais'd and honour'd most, The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toast? Why


VER. 7. Then grave Clarissa, etc.] A new Character introduced in the fubfequent Editions, to open more clearly the MORAL of the Poem, in a parody of the fpeech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.


VER. 9. Say why are Beauties, etc.]


Why boast we, Glaucus! our extended reign,
Where Xanthus ftreams enrich the Lycian plain;
Our num'rous herds that range the fruitful field,
And bills where vines their purple barveft yield;
Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crown'd,
Our feafts enhanc'd with mufic's sprightly found;

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Why deck'd with all that land and fea afford,
Why Angels call'd, and Angel-like ador❜d ?
Why round our coaches croud the white-glov'd

Why bows, the fide-box from its inmoft rows?
How vain are all thefe glories, all our pains, 15
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 small-pox, or chas'd old age away;
Who would not scorn what housewife's cares pro-

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a Saint,
Nor could it fure be fuch a fin to paint.

Why on thofe fhores are we with joy furvey'd ;
Admir'd as heroes, and as Gods obey'd;
Unless great as fuperior merit prove,
And vindicate the bounteous pow'rs above?· ́
'Tis ours, the dignity they give, to grace;
The firft in valour, as the first in place:

That when with wond ring eyes our martial bands
Behold our deeds tranfcending our commandı,
Such, they may cry, deferve the fov’reign state,
Whom those that envy, dare not imitate;
Could all our care elude the gloomy greve,
Which claims no lefs the fearful than the brave,
For luft of fame I should not vainly dare
In fighting fields, nor urge thy foul to war.
But fince, alas! ignoble age must come,
Difeafe, and death's inexorable doom;
The life which others pay, let us beftor,
And give to fame what we to nature owe;
Brave tho' we fall, and honour'd if we live,
Or let us glory gain, or glory give.




But fince, alas! frail beauty muft decay,
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to grey;
Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who scorns a man, muft die a maid;
What then remains, but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour still whate'er we lofe?
And truft me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and fcolding

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;


Charms ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the Dame, but no applause enfu'd; 35
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her Prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries,
And swift as lightning to the combat flies:
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack ;


Fans clap, filks rufsle, and tough whalebones crack
Heroes and Heroines fhouts confus❜dly rise,
And base, and treble voices ftrike 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,
And heav'nly breasts with human paffions rage;


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



VER. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the first Edition goes on to the Conclufion, except a very few short infertions added, to keep the Machinery in view to the end of the poem.



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

Se Spoke and all the Heroes applauded.




'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms :
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around,
Blue Neptune ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound:
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives


And the pale ghofts start at the flash of day!
Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height
Clap'd his glad wings, and fate to view the fight:
Prop'd on their bodkin spears, the Sprites survey
The growing combat, or affift the fray.

While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song.
"Oh cruel nymph! a living death I bear,
Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk befide his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft,
"Those eyes are made so killing-was his last.
Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
'Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies.

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When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,
Chloe ftepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;

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



VER. 53. Triumpbant Umbriel] Minerva in like manner, during the Battle of Ulyffes with the Suitors in Odyff. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it. P. VER. 64, Thofe eyes are made fo killing] The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla.


VER. 65. Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies]
Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis,

Ad vada Mæandri concinit albus olor. Ov. Ep. P.


She fmil'd to see the doughty heroe flain,
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove fufpends his golden scales 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 usual 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 endu❜d,
She with one finger and a thumb subḍu'd:
Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
À charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.




Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, 85
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,
In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whiftle next it grew,
The bells fhe jingled, and the whistle blew;



VER. 71 Now Jove, etc.] Vid. Homer II. viii, and Virg. Æn. xii.



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

VER. 89. The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck ] In imitation of the progrefs of Agamemnon's fceptre in Homer, II. ii. P. 6

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