Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorns a man, muft die a maid;
What then remains but well our pow'r to use,
And keep good-humour ftill whate'er we lose ?
And truft me dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and fereams, and fcolding fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So spoke the Dame, but no applause ensu'd ;
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her Prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries;
And fwift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in partics, and begin th' attack;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones crack; 40 Heroes and Heroines fhouts confus'dly rife,
And bafe, and treble voices ftrike the fkies.
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 breafts with human paffions rage;
'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms:
Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around;
Blue Neptune ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound;
Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way, And the pale ghofts ftart at the flafh of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a fconce's height,
Clap'd his glad wings, and fate to view the fight:
Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the Sprites survey
The growing combat, or affift the fray.
While thro' the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris flies,
And scatter'd deaths around from both her eyes,
A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng,
One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong..
“O cruel nymph! a living death I bear,"
Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk befide his chair.
A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft,
Thofe eyes are made fo killing
The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla.
Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies
Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,
Chloe ftepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown;
She fmil'd to fee the doughty hero flain,
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again.
Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air,
Weighs the Men's wits against the Lady's hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from side to fide;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs fubfide.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
With more than ufual lightning in her eyes:
Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal fight to try,
Who fought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold Lord with manly ftrength endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd :
Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of Snuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom juft,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nofe.
Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd,
And drew a deadly bodkin from her fide,
(The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck,
Her great-great-grandfire wore about his neck,
In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vaft buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whiftle next it grew,
The bells fhe jingled, and the whistle blew ;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boaft not my fall, he cry'd, infulting foe!
Thou by fome other fhalt be laid as low.
Nor think, to die dejects my lofty mind:
All that I dread is leaving you behind!
Rather than fo, ah let me ftill furvive,
And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive.
Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not ferce Othello in fo loud a ftrain
Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.
But fee how oft' ambitious aims are crofs'd,
And chiefs contend till all the prize is lost !
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with pain,
In ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain :
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can conteft?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there.
There Heroes wits are kept in pond'rous vases,
And Beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes.
There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found,
And lover's hearts with ends of ribband bound,
The courtier's promises, and fick man's pray❜rs,
The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.
But truft the Mufe--fhe faw it upward rife,
Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes :
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, 125 To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden Star, it fhot thro' liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's Locks firft rofe fo bright,
The heav'ns befpangling with dishevel'd light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs thro' the fkies.
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 cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galileo's eyes;
* John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year, never failed to predict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English.
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
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, after all the murders of your eye,
When after millions flain, yourself shall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they must,
And all those treffes fhall be laid in duft;
This Lock, the Mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midft the ftars infcribe Belinda's name.
WHAT beck'ning ghoft, along the moonlight fhade
Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ?
'Tis fhe—but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the vifionary sword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a Lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
This lady is fupposed to have been the fame person to whom the duke of Buckingham addreffed fome lines on her intentions of retiring into a monaftery. This design is also hinted at in one of Mr. Pope's letters to this lady,
She was distinguished, as Mr. Ruffhead obferves, by her rank, fortune, and beauty, and was committed to the guardianship of an uncle, who gave her an education fuitable to her expectations: but while fhe was yet very young, she was supposed to have entertained a partiality for a young gentleman of inferior degree, which occafioned her to refuse a match which her guardian proposed to her.
It was not long before her correspondence with this gentleman was difcovered by means of spies, whom her guardian had employed to watch over her conduct: and when he upbraided her with this fecret intercourfe, fhe had too much truth and honour to deny the charge.
The uncle finding her affections fo rooted, that she had not power to withdraw them, forced her abroad, where she was received with the respect due
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