Shesaid: 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 to fixt the Trojan cou'd remain, While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain. To Arms, to Arms! the bold Thalestris cries, And swift as Lighting to the Combate flies. All side in Parties, and begin th' Attack; Fans clap, Silks russle, and tough Walebones crack; Heroes and Heroins Shouts confus'dly rise, And base, and treble Voices strike the Skies. No common Weapons in their Hands are found, Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal Wound:
[1]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 Neptunestorms, the bellowing Deeps resound; Earthshakes 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 Clapt his glad Wings, and sate to view the Fight, Propt on their Bodkin Spears the Sprights survey The growing Combat, or assist the Fray.
While thro' the Press enrag'd Thalestris flies, And scatters Deaths around from both her Eyes, A Beau and Witling perish'd in the Throng, One dy'd in Metaphor, and one in Song. O cruel Nymph! a living Death I bear, Cry'd Dapperwit, and sunk beside his Chair. A mournful Glance Sir Fopling upwards cast, [2]Those Eyes are made so killing———was his last: Thus on Meander's flow'ry Margin lies Th' expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies.
As bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, Chloestept in, and kill'd him with a Frown; She smil'd to see the doughty Hero slain, But at her Smile the Beau reviv'd again.
[3]Now Jovesuspends 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 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 Atome just, The pungent Grains of titillating Dust. Sudden, with starting Tears each Eye o'erflows, And the high Dome re-ecchoes to his Nose.
Now meet thy Fate, incens'd Virago cry'd, And drew a deadly Bodkin from her Side. ([4]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 Bellsshe 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! 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.
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, [5]Since all things lost on Earth, are treasur'd there. There Heroe's Wits are kept in pondrous Vases, And Beau's in Snuff-boxes and Tweezer-Cases. There broken Vows, and Death-bed Alms are found, And Lovers Hearts with Ends of Riband bound; The Courtiers Promises, and Sick Man's Pray'rs, The Smiles of Harlots, and the Tears of Heirs, Cages for Gnats, and Chains to Yoak a Flea; Dry'd Butterflies, and Tomes of Casuistry.
But trust the Muse———she saw it upward rise, Tho' mark'd by none but quick Poetick Eyes: (So Rome's great Founder to the Heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confess'd in View.) 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 Skies bespangling with dishevel'd Light. The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies, And pleas'd pursue its Progress thro' the Skies.
This the Beau-mondeshall from the Mallsurvey, And hail with Musick its propitious Ray. This, the blest Lover shall for Venus take, And send up Vows from Rosamonda's Lake. This Partridgesoon 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.
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn the 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, your self shall die; When those fair Suns shall sett, as sett they must, And all those Tresses shall be laid in Dust; This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to Fame, And mid'st the Stars inscribe Belinda's Name!
