For, that sad moment, when the sylphs withdrew, And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, As ever sullied the fair face of light, 15 Down to the central earth, his proper scene, Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head. 25 Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place, But diff'ring far in figure and in face. Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid, Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed; With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons, 30 Her hand is filled; her bosom with lampoons. There Affectation with a sickly mien, Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, When each new night-dress gives a new disease. A constant vapour o'er the palace flies; Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires, Unnumbered throngs, on ev'ry side are seen, Safe past the gnome through this fantastic band, A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand. Then thus addressed the pow'r "Hail, wayward queen! Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen : Parent of vapours and of female wit, On various tempers act in various ways, A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains, And thousands more in equal mirth maintains. Like citron-waters matrons' cheeks inflame, 70 Or change complexions at a losing game; Or caused suspicion when no soul was rude, Or discomposed the head-dress of a prude, 75 Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease, Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease: 80 Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r. 85 A phial next she fills with fainting fears, Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears. The gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away, Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day. 90 Her eyes dejected, and her hair unbound. And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. "O wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cried, How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend? 95 100 105 ΙΙΟ 115 120 And bids her beau demand the precious hairs: (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain, And the nice conduct of a clouded cane) 125 With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face, He first the snuff-box opened, then the case, And thus broke out "My Lord, why, what the devil! Zounds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil. Plague on't! 'tis past a jest nay prithee, pox! 130 Give her the hair" - he spoke, and rapped his box. "It grieves me much," replied the peer again, "Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain, But by this lock, this sacred lock I swear, (Which never more shall join its parted hair; 135 Which never more its honours shall renew, Clipped from the lovely head where late it grew) That while my nostrils draw the vital air, This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear.” He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread 140 The long-contended honours of her head. But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not so; He breaks the phial whence the sorrows flow. Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half languishing, half drowned in tears; 145 On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a sigh, she raised; and thus she said. "For ever cursed be this detested day, Which snatched my best, my fav'rite curl away! |