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For ever curs'd be this detested day, Which fuatch'd my best, my fav’rite curl away! Happy ! ah ten times happy had I been, If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen! 150 Yet am not I the firit mistaken maid By love of Courts to num'rous ills betray’d. Oh had I rather un-admir'd remain'd In some lone ille, 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 dic. What mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam ? O had I stay'd, and said my pray’rs at home! ito '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 sat mute, and Shock was most unkind! A Sylph too warn’d me of the threats of fate, 165 In mystic vifions, now believ'd too late! See the poor remnants of these fighted hairs ! My hands shall rend what ev’n thy rapine spares ; These in two fable ringlets taught to break, Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck; 170 The sister lock now fits uncouth, alone, And in its fellow's fate foresees its own; Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands, And tempts once more, thy facrilegious hands. Oh hadft thou, cruel! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these !



RAPE of the LOCK.




HE said : the pitying audience melt in tears.

But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails?', Not half so fix'd the Trojan could remain, 5 While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain. Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan; Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began.

Say why are Beauties prais'd and honour'd moft, The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast?

Ver. 7.


grave Clarisa, etc.) A new Character introduced in the subsequent Editions, to open more clearly the Moral of the Poem, in a parody of the speech of Sarpedon to G'aucus in Homer. P.

VER. 9. Soy why are Beauties, etc.)

Why boalt we, Glaucus ! our extended reign,
Where Xanthus' streams enrich the Lycion plain ;
Our num'rous herds that range the fruitful field,
And bills zubere vines their purple harvest yield ;
Our foaming bowls with purer nectar crovin'd,
Our feasts enbanc'd with music's Sprightly found;


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

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!
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 sure be such a fin to paint.

Why on those pores are we with joy survey'd;
Admir'd as heroes, and as Gods obey'd;
Unless great aets superior merit prove,
Ani vindicate the bounteous pow'rs above?
'Tis ours, the dignity they give, to grace ;
The first in valour, as the first in place' :
That when with wond'ring eyes our martial bands
Behold our deeds transcending our commands,
Such, they may cry, deserve the fou'reign state,
Whom those that envy, dare not imitate ;
Could all cur care elude the gloomy grave,
Which claims no less the fearful than the brave,
For luft of fame I should not vainly dare
In fighting fields, nor urge thy soul to war.
But fince, alas! ignoble age must come,
Disease, and death's inexorable doom;
The life which others pay, let us beflow,
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 3Q

But since, alas! frail beauty must decay, 25
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince 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 pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour still whate'er we lose?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and Aights, and screams, and scolding

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms strike 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 Aies. All fide in parties, and begin th' attack ; Fans clap, filks russle, and tough whalebones crack; Heroes and Heroines shouts confus’dly rife, 41 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, And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage;


Ver. 37

VER. 45. So when bold Homer) Homer, II. xx. P.

To a

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


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

80 Spokomand all the Heroes applauded. P.


'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; 47 And all Olympus rings with loud alarms : Jove'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,

51 And the pale ghosts start at the Aash 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 spears, the Sprites survey The growing combat, or assist the fray.

While thro’ the press enrag'd Thalestris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong. 60 “ Oh cruel nymph!'a living death I bear, Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, “ Those eyes are made so killing was his last. Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies.

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

She V A R LA TION S. Ver. 53. Triumphant Umbriel] These four lines added, for the reason before mentioned.- P.

IMITATIONS. Ver. 53. Triumphant Umhriel] Minerva in like manner, during the Battle of Ulyfles with the Suitors in Odysf. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it. P.

Ver.64. Those eyes are made so killing] The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla P. Ver. 6;. Thus on Mæander's flozu'ry margin lies] Sic ubi fata vocant, udis a' je us in berbis,

Ad vada Ma un.dri concinit albus olor. Ov. Ep. P.


M 2

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