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Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, And all the furies issu'd at the vent. Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 'O wretched maid!' she spread her hands, and cry'd, (While Hampton's echoes, ' Wretched maid !' reply'd) 'Was it for this you took such constant care The bodkin, comb, and essence, to prepare? For this your locks in paper durance bound? For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around? For this with fillets strain'd your tender head? And bravely bore the double loads of lead? Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair, While the fops envy, and the ladies stare?

Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.
Methinks already I your tears survey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already see you a degraded toast,
And all your honour in a whisper lost!
How shall I, then, your hapless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!'

She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs, And bids her beau demand the precious hairs: (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-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, 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 past a jest—'nay, prithee, pox! Give her the hair.'—He spoke, and rapp'd his box.

'It grieves me much,' reply'd the Peer again, 'Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain: But by this lock, this sacred lock, I swear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; Which never more its honours shall renew, Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)

That, while my nostrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.'
He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.

But Umbriel, hateful gnome, forbears not so; He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. Then see! 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 sigh she rais'd; and thus she said:

'For ever curs'd be this detested day, Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away 1 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 num'rous ills betray'd.

Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In some 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 deserts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
O had I staid, and said my pray'rs at home!
Twas this the morning omens seem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring china shook without a wind,
Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine spares:
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