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The doubtful beam long nods from side to side; 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 fear'd the chief th' unequal fight to try, Who sought no more than on his foe to die. But this bold lord, with manly strength endu'd, She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd: Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew, A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw; The gnomes direct, to ev'ry 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,' incens'd Belinda cry'd, And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.

(The same, his ancient personage to deck,
Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck,
In three seal-rings; which after,' melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The belles she gingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)

'Boast not my fall,' he cry'd, ' insulting foe I
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.'

1 Restore the lock!' she cries; and all around 'Restore the lock!' the vaulted roofs rebound.

Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain.

But see how oft ambitious aims are cross'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 sought, but sought in vain:

With such a prize no mortal must be blest,

So Heav'n decrees! with Heav'n who can contest?

Some thought it mounted to the lunar sphere, Since all things lost on earth are treasur'd there. There heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vases, And beaux' in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers' hearts with ends of riband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick men'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 trust the Muse—she saw it upwards rise,
Though mark'd by none but quick poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew,
To Proculus alone confess'd in view)
A sudden star, it shot through liquid air,
And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks first rose so bright,
The heav'ns bespangling with dishevell'd light.
The sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd pursue its progress through the skies.

This the beau monde shall from the Mall survey, And hail with music its propitious ray; This the blest lover shall for Venus take, And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake;

This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
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 tresses that fair head can boast,
Shall draw such envy as the lock you lost.
For after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those tresses shall be laid in dust;
This lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name.

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