| She said: the pitying audience melt in tears, |
(1-2) |
| But Fate and Jove had stopped the Baron's ears. |
|
| In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, |
(3-4) |
| For who can move when fair Belinda fails? |
|
| Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain, |
5 (5-6) |
| While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain. |
|
| Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan; |
(7-8) |
| Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began: |
|
| |
|
| "Say, why are beauties praised and honoured most, |
[9-34] (9-10) |
| The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast? |
10 |
| Why decked with all that land and sea afford, |
(11-12) |
| Why angels called, 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, |
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! |
[18-23] |
| Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day, |
|
| Charmed the smallpox, or chased old age away; |
20 |
| Who would not scorn what housewife's 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, |
25 |
| Curled or uncurled, since locks will turn to grey; |
|
| 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 humor still whatever we lose? |
30 |
| 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: |
35 [35-44] |
| Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude. |
|
| To arms, to arms! the fierce virago cries, |
|
| And swift as lightning to the combate flies. |
|
| All side in parties, and begin the attack; |
|
| Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; |
40 |
| Heroes' and heroins' shouts confusedly rise, |
|
| And base, 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, |
45 [45-53] |
| And heavenly breasts with human passions rage; |
|
| 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes, arms; |
|
| And all Olympus rings with loud alarms. |
|
| Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around; |
|
| Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound; |
50 |
| Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way, |
|
| And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! |
|
| |
|
| Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height |
[53-56] |
| Clapped his glad wings, and sate to view the fight, |
|
| Propped on their bodkin spears the sprites survey |
55 |
| The growing combat, or assist the fray. |
|
| |
|
| While through the press enraged Thalestris flies, |
[57-66] |
| And scatters death around from both her eyes, |
|
| A beau and witling perished in the throng, |
|
| One died in metaphor, and one in song. |
60 |
| "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," |
|
| Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. |
|
| A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, |
|
| "Those eyes are made so killing"--was his last. |
|
| Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies |
65 (65-66) |
| Th' expiring swan, and as he sings he dies. |
|
| |
|
| When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, |
[67-74] |
| Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown; |
|
| She smiled to see the doughty hero slain, |
|
| But, at her smile, the beau revived again. |
70 |
| |
|
| Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air, |
|
| Weighs the men's wits against the lady's 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, |
75 [75-86] |
| With more than usual lightning in her eyes: |
|
| Nor feared the chief the unequal fight to try, |
|
| Who sought no more than on his foe to die. |
|
| But this bold lord, with manly strength endued, |
|
| She with one finger and a thumb subdued: |
80 |
| Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, |
|
| A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; |
|
| The Gnomes direct, to every atom just, |
|
| The pungent grains of titillating dust, |
|
| Sudden, with starting tears each eye overflows, |
85 |
| And the high dome re-ecchoes to his nose. |
|
| |
|
| "Now meet thy fate, incensed Belinda cryed, |
[87-96] |
| And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. |
|
| (The same, his ancient personage to deck, |
|
| Her great great grandsire wore about his neck |
90 |
| In three seal 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 she jingled, and the whistle blew; |
|
| Then in a bodkin graced her mother's hairs, |
95 |
| Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) |
|
| |
|
| "Boast not my fall," he cryed, "insulting foe! |
[97-102] |
| 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! |
100 |
| Rather than so, ah, let me still survive, |
|
| And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive." |
|
| |
|
| "Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all around |
[103-112] |
| "Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs rebound. |
|
| Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain |
105 (105-106) |
| Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain. |
|
| But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed, |
|
| 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: |
110 |
| With such a prize no mortal must be blest, |
|
| So heaven decrees! with heaven who can contest? |
|
| |
|
| Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, |
[113-122] |
| Since all things lost on earth, are treasured there. |
|
| There heroe's wits are kept in ponderous vases, |
115 |
| And beaux' in snuffboxes and tweezer cases. |
|
| There broken vows, and deathbed alms are found, |
|
| And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound; |
|
| The courtier's promises, and the sick man's prayers, |
|
| The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, |
120 |
| Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea; |
|
| Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry. |
|
| |
|
| But trust the Muse-she saw it upward rise, |
[123-132] |
| Though marked by none but quick, poetic, eyes |
|
| (So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew, |
125 |
| To Proculus alone confessed in view); |
|
| A sudden star, it shot through liquid air, |
|
| And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. |
|
| Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright, |
|
| The skies bespangling with disheveled light. |
130 |
| The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, |
|
| And pleased pursue its progress through the skies. |
|
| |
|
| This the beau monde shall from the Mall survey, |
[133-140] |
| And hail with musicits propitious ray. |
|
| This the blest lover shall for Venus take, |
135 |
| And send up vows from Rosamonda's Lake. |
|
| This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies |
|
| When next he looks through Gallileo's eyes; |
|
| And hence the egregious wizard shall foredoom |
|
| The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. |
140 |
| |
|
| Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn the ravished hair |
[141-150] |
| Which adds new glory to the shining sphere! |
|
| Not all the tresses that fair head can boast |
|
| Shall draw such envy as the Lock you lost. |
|
| For, after all the murders of your eye, |
145 |
| When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; |
|
| When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, |
|
| And all those tresses shall be laid in dust; |
|
| This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame, |
|
| And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's Name! |
150 |
