Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy fprite,

As ever fully'd the fair face of light,
Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
Repair'd to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen.
Swift on his footy pinions flits the Gnome,
And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
No chearful breeze this fullen region knows,
The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
Here in a grotto, fhelter'd clofe from air,

And screen'd in fhades from day's detested glare,
She fighs for ever on her penfive bed,

Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.

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Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place, 25 But differing far in figure and in face.

Here ftood Ill-nature like an ancient maid,

Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;

With ftore of prayers, for mornings, nights, and noons,

Her hand is fill'd; her bofom with lampoons,

There affectation, with a fickly mien,
Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
Practis'd to lifp, and hang the head afide,
Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,
On the rich quilt finks with becoming woe,
Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
The fair-ones feel fuch maladies as thefe,
When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
A conftant Vapour o'er the palace flies;
Strange phantoms rifing as the mifts arise;
Dreadful, as hermits dreams in haunted fhades,
Or bright, as vifions of expiring maids.

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Now

Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
Pale fpectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires :
Now lakes of liquid gold, Elyfian scenes,
And crystal domes, and Angels in machines.

Unnumber'd throngs on every fide 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 fighs a jar, and there a goose-pye talks ;
Men prove with child, as powerful fancy works,
And maids, turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.

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C

Safe past the Gnome through this fantastic band, 55
A branch of healing Spleen-wort in his hand,
Then thus addrefs'd the Power-Hail, wayward Queen!
Who rule the fex to fifty from fifteen:
Parent of vapours, and of female wit,
Who give the hyfteric, or poetic fit,
On various tempers act by various ways,
Make some take phyfic, others scribble plays;
Who cause the proud their vifits to delay,
And fend the godly in a pet to pray.

A Nymph there is, that all thy power difdains,
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 lofing game;
If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,

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65

70

Or caus'd fufpicion when no foul was rude,
Or difcompos'd the head-dress of a Prude,
Or e'er to coftive lap-dog gave disease,

75

Which not the tears of brightest eyes could eafe :
Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin,
That single act gives half the world the spleen.

The Goddess with a difcontented air

Seems to reject him, though she grants his prayer.
A wonderous bag with both her hands fhe binds,
Like that where once Ulyffes held the winds;
There she collects the force of female lungs,
Sighs, fobs, and paffions, and the war of tongues.
A Vial next she fills with fainting fears,
Soft forrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
Spreads his black wings, and flowly mounts to day.
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 iffued at the vent.
Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
And fierce Thalestris fans the rifing fire.

O wretched maid! she spread her hands, and cry'd, 95
(While Hampton's echoes, wretched maid! reply'd)
Was it for this you took fuch conftant care
The bodkin, comb, and effence, to prepare ?
For this your locks in paper durance bound,
For this with torturing irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead!
L 2

100

Gods!

Gods! fhall the ravisher display your hair,
While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare !
Honour forbid! at whose unrival'd shrine
Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our fex refign.
Methinks already I your tears furvey,
Already hear the horrid things they say,
Already fee you a degraded toast,

And all your honour in a whisper loft!

How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
And fhall this prize, the ineftimable prize,
Expos'd through cryftal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
On that rapacious hand for ever blaze!
Sooner fhall grafs in Hyde-park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the found of Bow!
Sooner let earth, air, fea, to Chaos fall,
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!

She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs:
(Sir Plume of amber fnuff-box juftly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earneft eyes, and round unthinking face,
He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case,

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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 paft a jeft-nay pr'ythee, pox!
"Give her the hair"-he spoke, and rapp'd his box.

1

It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again)
Who speaks fo well should ever speak in vain,
But by this Lock, this facred Lock, I swear,
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours fhall renew,
Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
That while my noftrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, fhall for ever wear.
He spoke, and, speaking, in proud triumph spread
The long-contended honours of her head.

But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not fo;
He breaks the Vial whence the forrows flow.
Then fee! the Nymph in beauteous grief appears,
Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears;
On her heav'd bofom hung her drooping head,
Which, with a figh, fhe rais'd; and thus fhe faid:
For ever curfed be this detefted day,
Which fnatch'd my beft, my favorite curl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,

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If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid

150

By love of courts to numerous ills betray'd.
Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd

155

In fome lone ifle, 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 deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful Lords to roam ?
Oh I had stay'd, and said my prayers at home!

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'Twas