Imatges de pÓgina
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Since painted, or not painted, all shall 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 lose ?

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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 ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.

So spoke the Dame, but no applause ensu’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, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack; 40 Heroes and Heroines shouts confus'dly rife, And base, and treble voices ftrike the fkies.

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 And heav'nly breasts with human paflions rage ; 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms: Tove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around; Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound; Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!

Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height,
Clap'd his glad wings, and fate to view the fight :
Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the Sprites survey 55
The growing combat, or assist the fray.

While thro’ the press enrag'd Thalestris fiies,
And scatter'd deaths around from both her eyes,
A Deau and Witling perish'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in song.

60 66 O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, Those eyes are made fo killing *--was his laft. * The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla. 3

Thus

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Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
Th’expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies.

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,
Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She smild to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her sinile, the Beau reviv'd again.

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 fubfide.

See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than usual lightning in her eyes :
Nor feard 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 subdu'd :
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom juft,
The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,

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And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.

Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her fide,
(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck,
In three seal-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 she jingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)

Boast not my fall, he cry'd, insulting foe!
Thou by some other shalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind i
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than so, ah let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's fames--but burn alive.

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Restore

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Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not Gerce Othello in so loud a strain

IOS Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But see how oft' ambitious aims are cross'd, And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost ! The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain, In ev'ry place is sought, but fought in vain :

IIO With such a prize no mortal must be bleft, So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the Lụnar sphere, Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there. There Heroes wits are kept in pond'rous vases; IIS And Beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes. There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lover's hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier's promises, and fick man's pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuiftry.

But trust the Muse--she saw it upward rife,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes :
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, 125
To Proculus alone confess’d in view)
A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright,
The heav'ns bespangling with dishevel'd light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress thro’ the skies.

This the Beau-monde shall from the Mall survey,
And hail with music its propitious ray.
This the bleft Lover shall for Venus take,

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And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge * soon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's eyes;

• John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year, never failed to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English.

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And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

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Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravish'd hair,
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 loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,

145 When after millions flain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those treffes shall be laid in duft ; This Lock, the Muse shall confecrate to fame, And ’midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

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To the MEMORÝ of an

UNFORTUNATE LADY*.

WHAT beck’ning ghoft, along the moonlight shade

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'Tis she —but why that bleeding bosom gord,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part ?
Is there no bright reversion in the fky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

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Why

* This lady is supposed to have been the same person to whom the duke of Buckingham addressed some lines on her intentions of retiring into a monastery. This design is also hinted at in one of Mr. Pope's letters to this lady,

She was distinguished, as Mr. Ruffhead observes, by her rank, fortune, and beauty, and was committed to the guardianship of an uncle, who gave her an education suitable to her expectations : but while she was yet very young, he was supposed to have entertained a partiality for a young gentleman of inferior degree, which occafioned her to refuse a match which her guardian proposed to her.

It was not long before her correspondence with this gentleman was disco vered by means of spies, whom her guardian had employed to watch over her conduct: and when he upbraided her with this secret intercourse, she had too much truth and honour to deny the charge.

The uncle finding her affections so rooted, that she had not power to with: draw them, forced her abroad, where she was received with the respect due

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