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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 pett, to pray.
A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains,
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 matrons cheeks inflame,
Or change complexions at a loosing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
Or caus'd fufpicion when no foul was rude,
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
Or e'er to cofive lap-dogs gave disease,
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
Seems to reject him, tho' she grants his pray'r.
A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
There the collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft sorrows, mleting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gift away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thaleftris' arms the nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound,
Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
And all the furies iffaed at thevent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thaleffris fans the rising fire.
O wretched maid ! she spread her hands, and cry'd,
(While Hampton's echo's, wretched maid reply'd)
Was it for this you took such conftant care
The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftraind your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
Gods! shall the ravilher display your hair,
While the fops envy, and the ladies ftare !
Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper loft!
How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd thro' cryftal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
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, monkies, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all !
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her beau demand the precious hairs : (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case, And thus broke out-"My Lord, why, what the devil? " Z-ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you muft be civil! “ Plague on't! 'tis past a jeft-nay prithee, pox! “Give her the hair-he spoke, and rapp'd his box.
It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again) who fpeaks so well should ever speak in vain.
But * by this lock, this facred lock I swear,
(Which never more thall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my noftrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.
But Umbriek, hateful Gnome! forbears not fo; He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. Then fee! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half languishing, half drown'din tears, On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a figh, she rais'd; and thus she said.
For ever curs'd be this detefted day,
Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd
Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In some lone ifle, or distant northern land;
* In allufion to Achilles's cail in Homer. Il. 1,
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, nor e'er tafte Bohea!
There kept my charms, conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses that in desarts bloom and die.
What moy'd my mind with youthful Lords to rome?
Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray’rs at home!
'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell ;
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring china shook without a wind,
Nay, Poll fate mute, and shock was inost unkind!
A Sylph too warn’d me of the threats of fate,
In mystic. visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor femnants of these flighted hairs !
My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine spares:
These, in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck;
The fifter-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 fight, or any hairs but these!