Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, Practis'd to lisp and hang the head aside, Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, Then thus address'd the pow'r: "Hail, wayward Queen! Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen; On the rich quilt sinks with becoming Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit; 60 Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple or change complexions at a losing game; fires: Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes, And crystal domes, and angels in machines.1 Unnumber'd throngs on every side are seen, Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen. If e'er with airy horns I planted heads, Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds, Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude, Or discompos'd the head-dress of a Prude, Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,1 Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease, Here living Tea-pots stand, one arm held Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin; Safe pass'd the Gnome thro' this fan- Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of For this with fillets strain'd your tender Plague on 't! 'tis past a jest-nay prithee, And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize, He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not so; He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows flow. See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs! My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares: Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief These in two sable ringlets taught to Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd appears, in tears; head, On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone, And in its fellow's fate forsees its own; Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears demands, Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said: And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands. Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!" CANTO V She said: the pitying audience melt in tears. But Fate and Jove had stopp'd the Baron's ears. In vain Thalestris with reproach assails, For who can move when fair Belinda fails? Not half so fix'd the Trojan 2 could remain, While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain. Then grave Clarissa graceful wav'd her fan; Silence ensu'd, and thus the nymph began: "Say why are beauties prais'd and honor'd most, The wise man's passion, and the vain man's toast? 10 Why deck'd with all that land and sea afford, A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of Why Angels call'd, and Angel-like ador'd? fate, In mystic visions, now believ'd too late! 1 tea Why round our coaches crowd the whiteglov'd Beaux? 2 Æneas Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, Or who would learn one earthly thing of use? To patch, nay ogle, might become a Saint; Nor could it sure be such a sin to paint. But since, alas! frail beauty must decay, Curl'd or uncurl'd, since Locks will turn to gray; Since painted, or not painted, all shall fade, And she who scorns a man, must die a maid; What then remains but well our pow'r to use, And keep good-humor still whate'er we lose? 30 And trust me, dear! good-humor can prevail, When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding fail. Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll; Charms strike the sight, but merit wins the soul." So spoke the Dame, but no applause. ensu'd; Belinda frown'd, Thalestris call'd her Prude. "To arms, to arms!" the fierce Virago cries, And swift as lightning to the combat flies. All side in parties, and begin th' attack; Heroes' and Heroines' shouts confus'dly rise, And bass and treble voices strike the skies. No common weapons in their hands are found; Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound. So when bold Homer makes the Gods engage, And heav'nly breasts with human passions rage; 'Gainst Pallas, Mars; Latona, Hermes arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms: Jove's thunder roars, heav'n trembles all around; Blue Neptune storms, the bellowing deeps resound: 50 Earth shakes her nodding tow'rs, the ground gives way, And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day! Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height, Clapp'd his glad wings, and sate to view the fight: Propp'd on their bodkin spears, the Sprites survey The growing combat, or assist the fray. While thro' the press enrag'd Thalestris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A Beau and Witling perish'd in the throng; One died in metaphor, and one in song. бо "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear," Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards cast; "Those eyes are made so killing”—was his last. Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies |