She smild to see the doughty heroe slain,
But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again. 70

Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
Weighs the Mens wits against the Lady's hair ;

The doubtful beam long nods from side to side;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs fubfide.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron Aies,

75
With more than usual lightning in her eyes :
Nor fear'd the Chief th' uncquał fight to try,
Who fought no more than on his fue to die.
But this bold Lord with manly strength endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb subdu'd : 8
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 duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows, 85 '
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 grandfire wore about his neck, go
In three seal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells she jingled, and the whistle blew;

Then
VER. 71. Now Jove, etc.] Vid. Homer II. viii, and

P.

IMITATION S. VER. 83. The Gnomes direct, ] These two lines added: for the above reason. P.

VER. 89. The same, his ancient personage to deck.] In imitation of the progress of Agamemnon's fceptre in Homer, II. ii. P.

6

gown:

Virg. Æn. xii.

100

Then in a bodķin grac'd her mother's hairs, 95
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)

Boast not my fall (he cry’d) insulting foe!
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 fo, ah let me still survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames,--but burn alive.

Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around
Restore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain

105 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 fought, but fought in vain: IIO 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 loft on earth are treasur'd there. There Hero's wits are kept in pond'rous vases, And Beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cases. 116 There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier's promises, and sick man's pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120 Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea, Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the Muse-she saw it upward risc, Tho'mark'd by none, but quick, poetic eyes:

(So VER. 114. Since all things lo/l] Vid. Ariosto. Canto xxxiv. P.

M 3

(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)

126 A sudden Star, it shot thro' liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright, The heav'ns bespangling with disheveld light. 130 The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its progress thro' 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, 135
And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge foon shall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro? Galilæo's eyes ;
And hence th? egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome. 140
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ra-

vifh'd hair,
Which adds new glory to the shining sphere !
Not all the tresses that fair head can boaft,
Shall draw such envy as the Lock you loft.

For,

Ver. 137. This Partridge foon] John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfal of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the Eaglish. P.

VARIATIONS. Ver. 13!. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the same reason to keep in view the Machinery of the Poem. P.

IMITATIONS.
Ver. 128.

P'limmiferumque trahens spatioso limite crinem
Stella micat.

Ovid.

For, after all the murders of your eye, 145
When, after millions slain, yourself shall die;
When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
And all those treffes shall be laid in duft,
This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name. 150

E L EGY

To the MEMORY of an

UNFORTUNATE LADY*.

WHA

HAT beck’ning ghost, along the moon

light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ? 'Tis she ! – but why that bleeding bosom gor’d, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell,

5
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 reversion in the sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?

Why bade ye elfe, ye Pow'rs! her soul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low desire.
Ambition first sprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods :

Thence

IO

* See the Duke of Buckingham's verses to a Lady designing to retire into a Monastery compared with Mr. Pope's Letters to several Ladies, p. 206. She seems to be the same person whose unfortunate death is the subject of this poem.

P.