CANTO V.

5

SHE said: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But Fate and Jove had stopped the Baron's ears.
In vain Thalestris with reproach assails,
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half so fixed the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begged and Dido raged in vain.
Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan;'
Silence ensued, and thus the nymph began:
"Say, why are Beauties praised and honoured
most,

1

The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast?

ΙΟ

Why decked with all that land and sea afford,
Why angels called, and angel-like adored?
Why round our coaches crowd the white-gloved
beaux ?

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,
Charmed the small-pox, or chased old age

away;

20

Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce,

Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a saint,
Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint.

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 Glaucus in Homer.-P. The lines from verse 7 to 36 were added in the 1717 edition of the Works.

S

25

But since, alas! frail beauty must decay, Curled or uncurled, since 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 power to use, And keep good-humour still, whate'er we lose? And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail, 31 When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail.

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul."

So spoke the dame, but no applause ensued;1 Belinda frowned, Thalestris called her prude. 36 "To arms, to arms!" the fierce virago cries, And swift as lightning to the combat flies." All side in parties, and begin the attack: Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack;

40

Heroes' and heroines' shouts confusedly rise,
And bass 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 en-

45

gage,3 And heavenly breasts with human passions rage; 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms :

1 It is a verse frequently repeated in Homer after any speech:

"-So spoke—and all the heroes applauded.”—P. 2 From hence the first edition goes on to the conclusion, except a very few short insertions added to keep the machinery in view to the end of the poem. -P.

3 Homer, Il. xx.—P.

Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around,

Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps re

sound:

50

Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way,

1

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height Clapped his glad wings, and sate to view the fight:

Propped on their bodkin spears, the Sprites

survey

The growing combat, or assist the fray.

55

While through the press enraged Thalestris flies,

60

And scatters death around from both her eyes, A beau and witling perished in the throng, One died in metaphor, and one in song. "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," Cried Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, "Those eyes are made so killing "—was his

last.2

65

Thus on Mæander's flowery margin lies3
The expiring swan, and as he sings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa

down,

Chloe stepped in, and killed him with a frown;

1 These four lines added, for the reason before mentioned. Minerva, in like manner, during the battle of Ulysses with the suitors in the Odyssey, perches on a beam of the roof to behold it.-P.

2 The words of a song in the Opera of " Camilla." -P.

3 "Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis, Ad vada Mæandri concinit albus olor." Ov. Ep.-P.

She smiled to see the doughty hero slain,
But, at her smile, the beau revived again.

70

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,1 Weighs the men's wits against the lady's hair:

The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;

75

At length the wits mount up, the hairs subside.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than usual lightning in her eyes:
Nor feared the chief the unequal fight to try,
Who sought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold lord with manly strength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb subdued: 80
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,
A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,"
The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.
"Now meet thy fate," incensed Belinda
cried,

86

And drew a deadly bodkin from her side. (The same, his ancient personage to deck,3 Her great-great-grandsire wore about his

neck,

90

In three seal-rings; which after, melted down, Formed a vast 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 graced her mother's hairs, 95 Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.) "Boast not my fall (he cried) insulting foe!

1 Vide Homer, Il. viii. and Virg. Æn. xii.-P. 2 These two lines added for the above reason.-P. 3 In imitation of the progress of Agamemnon's sceptre in Homer, Il. ii.—P.

100

Thou by some other shalt be laid as low. Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind: All that I dread is leaving you behind! Rather than so, ah let me still survive, And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive." "Restore the Lock!" she cries; and all around

"Restore the Lock!" the vaulted roofs re

bound.

Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

105

Roared for the handkerchief that caused his

pain.

But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed, And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost! The lock, obtained with guilt, and kept with

pain,

In every place is sought, but sought in vain: 110 With such a prize no mortal must be blessed, So Heaven decrees! with Heaven who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasured there.1

There heroes' wits are kept in ponderous vases, And beaus' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. 116 There broken vows, and death-bed alms are

found,

And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick man's prayers, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120 Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea, Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the Muse-she saw it upward rise, Though marked by none but quick, poetic eyes:

1 Vide Ariosto, Canto xxxiv.-P