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The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!
Then flash'd the livid lightnings from her eyes,
And screams of horror rend th' affrighted skies.
Not louder shrieks to pitying heav'n are cast,
When husband, or when lapdogs breathe their last;
Or when rich China vefsels, fall'n from high,
In glitt'ring dust, and painted fragments lie !
Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine,
(The vietor cry'd) the glorious prize is mine!
While fich in freams, or birds delight in air,
Or in a coach and fix, the British fair;
As long as Atalantis shall be read,
Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed;
While visits shall be paid on solemn days,
When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze,
While nymphs take treats, or asignations give,
So long my honour, name, and praise fhall live!
What time wou'd spare, from feel receives its
And monuments, like men, submit to fate !
Steel could the labour of the Gods destroy,
And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy;
Steel could the works of mortal pride confound,
And hew triumphal arches to the ground.
What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should
The conqu’ring force of unrefifted Ateel?
UT anxious cares the penfive nymph opprest,
And secret passions labour'd in her breast.
Not youthful Kings in battel feiz'd alive,
Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss,
Not ancient Ladies when refuss’d a kiss,
Nor tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry,
E'er felt such rage, resentment and despair,
As thou, fad virgin! for thy ravish'd hair.
For, that fad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew.,
Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite
As ever fully'd the fair face of light,
Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
Repairs to search the goomy cave of spleen.
Swift on his footy pinions flits the Gnome,
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
No chearful breeze this sulen region knows,
The dreaded East is all the wind that blows,
Here, in a grotto, shelter'd close from air,
And screen’d in shades from days detested glare, :
She fighs for ever on her pensive bed
Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,
But diff'ring far in figure and in face.
Here stood ill-pature like an ancient maid,
Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
With store of prayers for mornings, nights, and roons
Her hand is fill'd; her bosom with lampoons,
There Affectation, with a fickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
Practis’d to lifp, and hang the head afide,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride;
On the rich quilt, finks with becoming woe,
Wrapt in a gown, for fickness and for show,
The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A conftant vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise;
Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glating fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires;
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and Angels in machines,
Unnumber'd throngs on every fide are seen,
Of bodies chang'd to various forms by spleen.
Here living teapots stand, one arm held out,
One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
A pipkin there like * Homer's Tripod walks,
Here fighs a jar, and there a goose-pye talks ;
Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works,
And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastic band,
branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. Then thus -address'd the pow'r Hail wayward Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen : Parent of vapours and of female wit, Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit,
* See Hom, Iliad 18. of Vulcan's walking Tripedio