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Dreadful, as hermits' dreams in haunted shades,
Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pule spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
And crystal domes, and angels in machines.

Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry side are seen, Of bodies chang'd to various forms by spleen. Here living tea-pots stand, one arm held out, One bent; the handle this, and that the spout; A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod, walks; Here sighs a jar, and there a goose-pie talks; Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works, And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud'for corks.

Safe past the gnome through this fantastic band, A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.

Then thus address'd the pow'r—' Hail, wayward Queen!

Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:

Parent of vapours and of female wit,

Who give th' hysteric or poetic fit,

On various tempers act by various ways,

Make some take physic, others scribble plays;

Who cause the proud their visits to delay,

And send the godly in a pet to pray:

A nymph there is that all your pow'r disdains,

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 losing game;

If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,

Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,

Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude,
Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin;
That single act gives half the world the spleen/

The goddess, with a discontented air,
Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r.
A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.

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