Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But truft the Mufe-fhe faw it upward rife,
Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew,
To Proculus alone confess'd in view)

A fudden Star, it fhot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks first rose fo bright,
The heavens bespangling with dishevel'd light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies.
This the Beau-monde fhall from the Mall furvey,
And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft Lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies,
When next he looks through Galilæo's eyes;
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 treffes that fair head can boast,

Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you loft.

For,

VARIATION.

Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold] Thefe two lines added for the fame reafon, to keep in view the Machinery of the Poem.

Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale fpectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires :
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elyfian 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 Tea-pots ftand, 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 powerful fancy works,
And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.

C

55

Safe paft the Gnome through this fantastic band,
A branch of healing Spleen-wort in his hand,
Then thus addrefs'd the Power-Hail, wayward Queen !
Who rule the fex to fifty from fifteen :
Parent of vapours, and of female wit,
Who give the hysteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make fome take phyfic, others fcribble plays;
Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
And fend the godly in a pet to pray.

A Nymph there is, that all thy power difdains,
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 lofing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,

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Or caus'd fufpicion when no foul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the head-dress of a Prude,
Or e'er to coftive lap-dog gave disease,

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could eafe:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin,
That single act gives half the world the spleen.
The Goddess with a difcontented air
Seems to reject him, though the grants his prayer.
A wonderous bag with both her hands fhe binds,
Like that where once Ulyffes held the winds;
There the collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, fobs, and paffions, and the war of tongues.
A Vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft forrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and flowly mounts to day.
Sunk in Thaleftris' arms the Nymph he found,
Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound.
Full o'er their heads the fwelling bag he rent,
And all the Furies iffued at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thaleftris fans the rifing fire.

O wretched maid! fhe spread her hands, and cry'd, 95
(While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! reply'd)
Was it for this you took fuch conftant care
The bodkin, comb, and effence, to prepare?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with torturing irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead!
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100

Gods!

Gods! fhall the ravisher display your hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies ftare!
Honour forbid! at whofe unrival'd fhrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex refign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already fee you a degraded toast,

And all your honour in a whisper loft!

How fhall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to feem your friend!
And fhall this prize, the inestimable prize,
Expos'd through cryftal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze!
Sooner fhall grafs in Hyde-park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the found of Bow!
Sooner let earth, air, fea, to Chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!

She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume of amber fnuff-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,

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And thus broke out" My Lord, why, what the

"devil?

"Z-ds! damn the Lock! 'fore Gad, you must be

"civil!

"Plague on't! 'tis paft a jeft-nay pr'ythee, pox! "Give her the hair'-he spoke, and rapp'd his box.

It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again)
Who speaks fo well should ever speak in vain,
But by this Lock, this facred Lock, I fwear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours fhall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my noftrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, fhall for ever wear.
He spoke, and, fpeaking, in proud triumph fpread
The long-contended honours of her head.

But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not fo;
He breaks the Vial whence the forrows flow.
Then fee! the Nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears ;
On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a figh, she rais'd; and thus the faid:
For ever curfed be this detested day,
Which snatch'd my beft, my favorite 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 numerous ills betray'd.
Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd

In fome lone isle, or distant northern land;
Where the gilt Chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste Bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like roses, that in deferts bloom and die.

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What mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam? Oh I had stay'd, and said my prayers at home!

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'Twas