Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the Sprites furvey The growing combat, or affift the fray.

56

While thro' the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong. "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear, Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft, "Those eyes are made fo killing---was his last. Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies

Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies.

60

65

When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down, Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She smil❜d to see the doughty hero flain,

But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again.

NOTES.

VER. 45. So when bold Homer] Homer, Il. xx. P.

IMITATIONS.

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VER. 53. Triumphant Umbriel ] Minerva in like manner, during the battle of Ulyffes with the Suitors in Odyff. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it. P.

VER. 64. Thofe eyes are made fo killing] The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla. P.

VER. 65. Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies]

Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis,

Ad vada Mæandri concinit albus olor. Ov. Ep. P.

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air,
Weighs the Men's wits against the Lady's hair ;
The doubtial beam long nods from fide to fide;
At Ngth the wits mount up, the hairs fubfide.
Se Serve Belinda on the Baron flies,
75
Wið mar this mightning in her eyes:
Nar tall the Chef th unequal fight to try,
Whe laught so more than on his foe to die.
Ri, dis and Lard wid many frength endu’d,
202 with, are finger må 1 thumb fubdu’d:
Jak whet de her of his mots drew,

80

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air,
Weighs the Men's wits against the Lady's hair;
The doubtful beam long nods from fide to fide;
At length the wits mount up, the hairs fubfide.
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,
75
With more than ufual lightning in her eyes:
Nor fear'd the Chief th' unequal fight to try,
Who fought no more than on his foe to die.
But this bold Lord with manly strength endu'd,
She with one finger and a thumb fubdu’d:
Juft where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of fnuff the wily virgin threw;
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating duft.
Sudden, with starting tears each

80

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 fide.
(The fame, his ancient perfonage to deck,
Her great great grandfire wore about his neck,

NOTES.

VER. 71, Now Jove, etc.] Vid, Homer II.

n. xii. P.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 83. The Gnomes direct,] Thefe tw the above reafon.

P.

VER. 89. The fame, his antient perfonage tion of the progrefs of Agamemnon's fceptre

In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vast buckle for his widow's gown:

Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells the jingled, and the whistle blew;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 95
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)

Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) infulting foe!
Thou by fome other fhalt 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 ftill survive,
And burn in Cupid's flames,---but burn alive.

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105

Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in fo loud a ftrain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But fee 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 : With fuch a prize no mortal must be blest, So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?

110