| But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppressed, |
[1-10] |
| And secret passions laboured in her breast. |
|
| Not youthful kings in battle seized alive, |
|
| Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, |
|
| Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, |
5 |
| Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, |
|
| Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, |
|
| Not Cynthia when her Manteau's pinned awry, |
|
| E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, |
|
| As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair. |
10 |
| |
|
| For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew, |
[11-16] |
| 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, |
15 |
| Repaired to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen. |
|
| |
|
| Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome, |
[17-24] |
| And in a vapour reached the dismal dome. |
|
| No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, |
|
| The dreaded east is all the wind that blows |
20 |
| Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air, |
|
| And screened in shades from day's detested glare, |
|
| She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, |
|
| Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. |
|
| |
|
| Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place, |
25 [25-39] |
| But differing far in figure and in face. |
|
| Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid, |
|
| Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed; |
(28-30) |
| With store of prayers, for mornings, nights, and noons, |
|
| Her hand is filled; her bosom with lampoons. |
30 |
| |
|
| There Affectation with a sickly mien, |
|
| Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, |
|
| Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside, |
|
| Faints into airs, and languishes with pride; |
|
| On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, |
35 (35-36) |
| 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 vapor o'er the palace flies, |
[39-46] |
| Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise; |
40 |
| Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in hunted shades, |
|
| Or bright, as visions of expiring maids. |
|
| Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, |
(43-44) |
| Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires: |
|
| Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, |
45 (45-46) |
| And crystal domes, and angels in machines. |
|
| |
|
| Unnumbered throngs, on every side are seen, |
[47-54] (47-48) |
| Of bodies changed to various forms by Spleen. |
|
| Here living teapots stand, one arm held out, |
(49-50) |
| One bent; the handle this, and that the spout: |
50 |
| A pipkin there like Homer's tripod walks; |
|
| Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie talks; |
|
| Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works, |
|
| And maids, turned bottels, call aloud for corks. |
|
| |
|
| Safe past the Gnome through this fantastic band, |
55 [55-78] |
| A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. |
|
| Then thus addrest the Power: "Hail wayward Queen! |
|
| Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen: |
|
| Parent of vapors and of female wit, |
|
| Who give the hysteric or poetic fit, |
60 |
| 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, |
65 |
| 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 matron's cheeks inflame, |
|
| Or change complexions at a losing game; |
70 |
| If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, |
|
| Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, |
|
| Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude, |
|
| Or discomposed the headdress of a prude, |
|
| Or e'er to costive lapdog gave disease, |
75 |
| Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease: |
|
| Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin; |
|
| That single act gives half the world the spleen." |
|
| |
|
| The Goddess with a discontented air |
[79-88] |
| Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer. |
80 |
| A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds, |
(81-82) |
| 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. |
|
| A vial next she fills with fainting fears, |
85 (85-86) |
| Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. |
|
| The Gnome rejoycing bears her gift away, |
|
| Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. |
|
| |
|
| Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, |
[89-94] |
| Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. |
90 |
| Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, |
|
| And all the furies issu'd at the vent. |
|
| Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, |
|
| And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. |
|
| "O wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cryed, |
95 [95-120] |
| (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, |
(99-100) |
| For this with torturing irons wreathed around! |
100 |
| For this with fillets strained your tender head, |
|
| And bravely bore the double loads of lead? |
|
| Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair, |
|
| While the fops envy, and the ladies stare! |
|
| Honour forbid! at whose unrivaled shrine |
105 |
| 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, |
|
| And all your honour in a whisper lost! |
110 |
| 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, |
|
| And heightened by the diamond's circling rays, |
115 |
| On that rapacious hand for ever 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, |
|
| Men, Monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!" |
120 |
| |
|
| She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, |
[121-140] |
| And bids her beau demand the precious Hairs: |
|
| (Sir Plume, of amber snuffbox justly vain, |
|
| And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) |
|
| With earnest eyes and round unthinking face, |
125 |
| He first the snuffbox opened, then the Case, |
|
| And thus broke out--"My Lord, why, what the devil! |
|
| "Z----ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil! |
|
| "Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay, prithee, pox! |
|
| Give her the Hair"--he spoke, and rapped his box. |
130 |
| |
|
| "It grieves me much," replied the Peer again, |
|
| "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 honors shall renew, |
135 |
| Clipped 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 honors of her head. |
140 |
| |
|
| But Umbriel, hateful Gnome, forbears not so; |
[141-146] |
| He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. |
|
| Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, |
|
| Her eyes half-languishing, half drowned in tears; |
|
| On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, |
145 |
| Which with a sigh she raised, and thus she said: |
|
| |
|
| "Forever cursed be this detested day, |
[147-176] |
| Which snatched my best, my faverite curl away! |
|
| Happy! ah, ten times happy had I been, |
|
| If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen! |
150 |
| Yet am not I the first mistaken maid, |
|
| By love of courts to numerous ills betrayed. |
|
| Oh had I rather unadmired remained |
|
| In some lone isle, or distant northern land; |
|
| Where the gilt chariot never marked the way, |
155 |
| Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste Bohea! |
|
| There kept my charms concealed from the mortal eye, |
|
| Like roses that in desarts bloom and die. |
|
| What moved my mind with youthful lords to rome? |
|
| Oh, had I stayed, and said my prayers at home! |
160 |
| 'Twas this the morning omens seemed to tell, |
|
| Thrice from my trembling hand the patch box fell; |
|
| The tottering china shook without a wind, |
|
| Nay, Poll sate mute, and Shock was most unkind! |
|
| A Sylph too warned me of the threats of fate, |
165 |
| In mystic visions, now believed too late! |
|
| See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! |
|
| My hands shall rend what even thy rapine spares. |
|
| These, in two sable ringlets taught to break, |
|
| Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck. |
170 |
| The sister lock now sits uncouth, alone, |
|
| And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; |
|
| Uncurled it hangs, the fatal shears demands; |
|
| And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. |
|
| Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize |
175 |
| Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these! |
|
