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Full o'er their heads the fwelling bag he rent,
And all the Furies iffu'd at the vent.

Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,

And fierce Thaleftris fans the rising fire.

O wretched maid! she fpread her hands and cry'd,
(While Hampton's echoes wretched maid! reply'd)
Was it for this you took fuch constant care
The bodkin, comb, and effence to prepare?
For this your Locks in paper durance bound,
For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
For this with fillets ftrain'd your tender head,
And bravely bore the double loads of lead!
Gods! shall the ravisher difplay your hair,
While the fops envy and the ladies ftare!
Honour forbid! at whofe 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 feem your friend!

And shall this prize, th' ineftimable prize,

Expof'd thro' crystal to the gazing eyes,
And heighten'd by the di'mond's circling rays,

On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?

Sooner shall grafs in Hyde-park Circus grow,
And wits take lodgings in the found of Bow;
Sooner shall earth, air, sea, to Chaos fall;
Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!
She faid; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
Anb bids her beau demand the precious hairs;
(Sir Plume of amber fnuff-box justly vain,
And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
With earneft eyes, and round unmeaning face,
He first the snuff-box open'd, then the case,

And thus broke out- "My Lord, why, what the devil!

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Z....ds! damn the Lock! 'fore God, you must be civil!

,, Plague on't 'tis paft a jeft-nay prithee, pox!

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Give her the hair --he spoke, and rapp'd his box!

It grieves me much (reply'd the Peer again)
Who fpeaks fo well should ever fpeak in vain;
But by this Lock, this facred Lock I fwear
(Which never more shall join its parted hair;
Which never more its honours shall renew,
Clipp'd from the native head where late it grew)
That while my noftrils draw the vital air,
This hand, which won it, shall forever 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 phial whence the forrows flow.

Then

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 she rais'd; and thus she faid.
For ever curs'd be this detefted day,

Which fnatch'd my beft my fav'rite cùrl away!
Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
If Hampton-Court these eyes had never feen!
Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,

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

In fome lone isle or diftant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er tafte Bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like, rofes that in defarts bloom and die.

What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
O had I ftay'd and faid my prayr's at home!
'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tott'ring China shook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of Fate

In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of thefe flighted, hairs!
My hands shall rend what e'en thy rapine spares:

Thefe in two fable ringlets taught to break,
Once gave new beauties to the fnowy neck;
The fifter-lock now fits uncouth, alone,
And in its fellow's fate forefees its own,
Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal sheers demands,
And tempts, once more, thy facrilegious hands.
Oh hadft thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !

CANTO V.

SHE faid: the pitying audience melt in tears ;
But Fate and Jove had ftopp'd the Baron's ears.
In vain Thaleftris with reproach affails;
For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
Not half fo fix'd the Trojan could remain,
While Anna begg'd and Dido rag'd in vain.
Then grave Clariffa graceful wav'd her fan;
Silence enfu'd, and thus the nymph began:

Say, why are beauties prais'd and honour'd moft,
The wife man's paffion, and the vain man's toast?
Why deck'd with all that land and fea afford,
Why angel's call'd, and angel-like ador'd?

Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd beaux
Why bows the fide-box from its inmoft rows?
How vain are all thefe glories, all our pains,

Unless good fenfe preferve what beauty gains:

That men may fay, when we the front-box grace, Behold the firft in virtue as in face!

Oh! if to dance all night, and drefs all day,
Charm'd the fmall-pox, or chac'd old age away,
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares produce
Or who would learn one earthly thing of use?
To patch, nay ogle, might become a faint;
Nor could it fure be such a sin to paint.

But fince, alas! frail beauty must decay,
Curl'd, or uncurl'd, fince locks will turn to grey;
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-humour ftill, whate'er we lofe?
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail
When airs, and flights, and screams and scoldings fail.
Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrike the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applaufe enfu'd,
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her Prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries,
And fwift as lightning to the combat flies.

All fide in parties, and begin th' attack:

Fans clap, filks rufile, and tough whalebones crack;
Heroes and Heroines, shouts confus'dly rife,
And bafs and treble voices ftrike the skies.

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