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THE

RAPE OF THE LOCK.

CANTO I.

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CANTO I.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,
What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
I sing—This verse to Caryl, Muse! is due:
This, e'en Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
If she inspire, and he approve, my lays.

Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle?
B

O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,
Could make a gentle belle reject a lord?
In tasks so bold can little men engage,
And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty rage f

Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,
And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day:
Now lap-dogs give themselves the rouzing shake,
And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,
And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow prest,
Her guardian sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:
Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed
The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head:
A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau
(That e'en in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)

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