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Oh, had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
In fome lone ifle, or diftant northern land;
Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
Where none learn Ombre, none e'er taste bohea!
There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
Like rofes, that in deferts bloom and die.
What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
Oh, had I stay'd, and said my prayers at home! 160
'Twas this, the morning omens feem'd to tell,
Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
The tottering china fhook without a wind,
Nay Poll fat mute, and Shock was moft unkind!
A fylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
In myftic vifions, now believ'd too late!
See the poor remnants of these flighted hairs!
My hand fhall rend, what ev'n thy rapine fpares:
These 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 fheers demands,
And tempts, once more, thy facrilegious hands,
Oh, hadst thou, cruel! been content to feize
Hairs lefs in fight, or any hairs but these !

CANTO V.

170

SHE faid: the pitying audience melt in tears;
But fate and Jove had stopp'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 enfued, and thus the nymph began.
Say, why are not beauties prais'd and honour'd
moft,

The wife man's passion, and the vain man's toast? 10
Why deck'd with all that land and fea afford,
Why angels call'd, and angel like ador'd?

Since painted, or not painted, all fhall fade,
And the who fcorns a man must die a maid;
What then remains, but well our power to use,
And keep good humour still, whate'er we lose ? 30
And trust me, dear! good-humour can prevail,
When airs, and flights, and screams, and scolding
fail,

Beauties in vain their pretty eyes may roll;
Charms ftrikes the fight, but merit wins the foul.
So fpoke the dame, but no applause ensued;
Belinda frown'd, Thaleftris call'd her prude.
To arms, to arms! the fierce Virago cries,
And swift as lightning to the combat flies.
All fide in parties, and begin th' attack; [crack;
Fans clap, filks ruftle, and tough whalebones
Heroes and heroines fhouts confus'dly rife,
And bafs and treble voices strike the skies.
No common weapon in their hands are found;
Like gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound.

41

So when bold Homer makes the gods engage,
And heavenly breafts with human passions rage;
'Gainft Pallas, Mars; Latona Hermes arms;
And all Olympus rings with loud alarms;
Jove's thunder roars, heaven trembles all around,
Blue Neptune ftorms, the bellowing deeps refound:
Earth fhakes her nodding towers, the ground gives
way,

51

And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce's height
Clapp'd his glad wings, and fat to view the fight:
Propp'd on their bodkin fpears, the fprites furvey
The growing combat, or affift the fray.

60

While through the press enrag'd Thalestris flies,
And scatters death around from both her eyes,
A beau and witling perish'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 flowery margin lies
Th' expiring fwan, and as he fings he dies.
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down,

Why round our coaches crowd the white-glov'd Chloe ftepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown ;

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 dress all day,
Charm'd the fmall pox, or chac'd old age away; 20
Who would not fcorn what housewife's cares pro-
duce,

Or who would learn one earthly thing to ufe?
To patch, nay ogle, may become a faint;
Nor could it fure be fuch a fin to paint.
But fince, alas! frail beauty muft decay;
Curl'd or uncurl'd, fince Locks will turn to grey;

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 7. Then grave Clarifa, &c.] A new character introduced in the fubfequent editions, to open more clearly the moral of the poem, in a parody of the fpeech of Sarpedon to Glaucus in Homer.

She fmil'd to fee the doughty hero flain,
But, at her fimile, the beau reviv'd again.

Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air,
Weighs the mens 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,
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 ftrength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb fubdued :

VARIATIONS.

70

85

Ver. 37. To arms, to arms!] From hence the first edition goes to the conclufion, except a very few fhort infertions added, to keep the machinery in view to the end of the poem.

Ver. 53. Triumphant Umbriel] Thefe four lines added, for the reafon before mentioned.

Jut where the breath of life his noftrils drew,
A charge of fnuff the wily virgin threw ;
The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
The pungent grains of titillating dust.
Sadden, with starting tears each eye o'erflows,
And the high dome re-echoes to his nose.

The courtier's proniifes, and fick man's prayers,
The fmiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120
Cages for guats, and chains to yoke a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.

But trust the mufe-he faw it upward rife,
Though mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:
(So Rome's great founder to the heavens withdrew,
To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden star, it shot through liquid air,
| And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
Not Berenice's locks firft rofe fo bright,
The heaven befpangling with difhevell'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purfue its progrefs through the skies.
This the Beau-monde fhall from the Mall furvey,
And hail with mufic its propitious ray.
This the bleft lover fhall for Venus take,
And fend up vows from Rofamonda's lake.
This partridge foon fhall view in cloudlefs fkies,
too When next he looks through Galileo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard fhall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
Then ceafe, bright nymph! to mourn thy ra-
vish'd hair,

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, 90
In three feal-rings; which after, melted down,
Form'd a vaft buckle for his widow's gown:
Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew,
The bells fhe jingled, and the whistle blew ;
Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long the wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boaft not my fall (he cry’d), insulting 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 furvive,
And burn in Cupid's flames-but burn alive.
Reftore the Lock, fhe cries; and all around,
Reftore the Lock the vaulted roofs rebound.
Not fierce Othello in fo loud a strain
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 loft!
The Lock, obtain'd with guilt, and kept with
pain,

In every place is fought, but fought in vain: 110
With fuch a prize no mortal must be bleft,

So heaven decrees! with heaven who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere,
Since all things loft on earth are treafur'd there.
There heroes wits are kept in ponderous vafes,
And beaux in fnuff-boxes and tweezer cafes:
There broken vows and death-bed alms are found,
And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound;

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140

Which adds new glory to the fhining sphere!
Not all the treffes that fair head can boast,
Shall draw fuch envy as the Lock you lolt.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, yourself shall die;
When those fair funs fhall fet, as fet they muft,
And all those treffes fhall be laid in duit,
This Lock, the mufe fhall confecrate to fame,
And 'midst the stars inferibe Belinda's name. 150

VARIATIONS.

Ver. 131. The Sylphs behold] These two lines added for the fame reafon, to keep in view the machinery of the poem.

VOL. VIII.

D

POEM S.

ÉLEGY

To the memory of an Unfortunate Lady.

WHAT beckoning ghost, along the moonlight

fhade,

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade?
'Tis the but why that bleeding bofom gor'd,
Why dimly gleams the visionary fword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly tell,
Is it, in heaven, a crime to love too well?
To bear too tender, or too firm a heart,
To act a lover's or a Roman's part?
Is there no bright reverfion in the fky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye elfe, ye Powers! her foul aspire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition first fprung from your bleft abodes;
The glorious fault of angels and of gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breafts of kings and heroes glows.
Moft fouls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,
Dull fullen prifoners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years,
Ufelefs, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like eastern kings a lazy ftate they keep,
And, clofe confin'd to their own palace, fleep.
From thefe perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer fpirits flow,
And separate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her race.

But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on thefe ruby lips the trembling breath,
Thefe checks now fading at the blast of death;
Cold is that breaft which warm'd the world before,
And thofe love-darting eyes muft roll no more.
Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball,

Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent hearfes fhall befiege your gates;
There paffengers fhall ftand, and pointing fay,
(While the long funerals blacken all the way)
Lo! thefe were they, whofe fouls the furies fteel'd,
And curft with hearts unknowing how to yield.
Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all, whofe breaft ne'er learn'd to glow
For others good, or melt at others woe.

What can atone (oh, ever injur'd fhade!)
Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid?

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By foreign hands thy decent limbs compos'd,
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were clos'd,
By foreign hands thy humble grave adorn'd,
By ftrangers honour'd, and by ftranger's mourn'd!
What though no friends in fable weeds appear;
Grieve for an hour, perhaps, then mourn a year,
And bear about the mockery of woe

To midnight dances, and the public show?
What though no weeping loves thy ashes grace,
Nor polifh'd marble emulate thy face?
What though no facred earth allow thee room,
Nor hallow'd dirge be mutter'd o'er thy tomb?
Yet fhall thy grave with rifing flowers be drefs'd,
And the green turf lie lightly on thy breaft:
There fhall the morn her earliest tears bestow,
There the first roses of the year fhall blow;
While angels with their filver wings o'erfhade
The ground now facred by thy relics made.

So, peaceful refts, without a stone, a name,
What once had beauty, titles, wealth, and fame.
How lov'd, how honour'd once, avails thee not,
To whom related, or by whom begot;
A heap of duft alone remains of thee,
'Tis all thou art, and all the proud shall be !

Poets themselves must fall, like those they fung, Deaf the prais'd ear, and mute the tuneful tongue. Ev'n he, whofe foul now melts in mournful lays, Shall shortly want the generous tear he pays; Then from his closing eyes thy form shall part, And the laft pang fhall tear thee from his heart, Life's idle bufinefs at one gafp be o'er, The mufe forgot, and thou belev'd no more!

PROLOGUE

ΤΟ

MR. ADDISON'S TRAGEDY OF CATO.

To wake the foul by tender ftrokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart;
To make mankind in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold:
For this the Tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream through every age;
Tyrants no more their favage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.

Our sather Chuns hy vulgar fprings to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying Love, we but our weakness show,
And wild Ambition well deferves its woe.
Here tears thall flow from a more generous caufe,
Such tears as patriots fhed for dying laws:
He bids your breafts with ancient ardour rife,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes.
Virtue confefs'd in human fhape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was :
No common object to your fight difplays,
But what with pleasure heaven itself surveys,
A brave man ftruggling in the forms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little fenate laws,
What bofom beats not in his country's caufe?
Who fees him act, but envies every deed?
Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?
Ev'n when preud Cæfar 'midst triumphal cars,
The fpoils of nations, and the pomp of wars,
Ignobly vain, and impotently great,
Shew'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state;
As her dead father's reverend image past,
The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercaft;
The triumph ceas'd, tears gufh'd from every eye;
The world's great victor pafs'd unheeded by ;
Her laft good man dejected Rome ador'd,
And honour'd Cæfar's lefs than Cato's fword.
Britons, attend: be worth like this approv'd,
And thow you have the virtue to be mov'd.
With honeft fcorn the first fam'd Cato view'd
Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she sub-
dued;

Your fcene precariously fubfifts too long
On French tranflation, and Italian fong.
Dare to have fenfe yourfelves; affert the stage,
Be juftiv warm'd with your own native rage:
Such plays alone fhould win a British ear,
As Cato's felf had not difdain'd to hear.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, That virtuous ladies envy while they rail; Such rage without betrays the fire within; In fome close corner of the foul, they fin; Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Amidft their virtues a referve of vice. The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams. Would you enjoy foft nights, and folid dinners: Faith, gallants, board with faints, and bed with finners.

Well, if our author in the wife offends,
He has a husband that will make amends:
He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving,
And fure fuch kind good creatures may be living,
In days of old they pardon'd breach of vows,
Stern Cato's felf was no relentless spouse:
Plu-Plutarch, what's his name, that writes his
life?

Tells us, that Cato dearly lov'd his wife :
Yet if a friend, a night or fo, fhould need her,
He'd recommend her as a special breeder.
To lend a wife, few here would fcruple make;
But, pray, which of you all would take her back?
Though with the ftoic chief our stage may ring,
The ftoic husband was the glorious thing.
The man had courage, was a fage, 'tis true,
And lov'd his country-but what's that to you?
Thofe ftrange examples ne'er were made to fit ye.
But the kind cuckold might inftruct the city:
There many an honest man may copy Cato,
Who ne'er faw naked fword, or look'd in Plato.
If, after all, you think it a difgrace,

That Edward's mifs thus perks it in your face;
To fee a piece of failing flesh and blood,
In all the reft fo impudently good;

Faith let the modeft matrons of the town

Come here in crowd,and flare the strumpet down.

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SAPPHO TO PHAON.

SAY, lovely youth, that doft my heart command,
Can Phaon's eyes forget his Sappho's hand?
Muft then her name the wretched writer prove,
To thy remembrance loft, as to thy love?
Afk not the caufe that I new numbers choose,
The lute neglected, and the lyric mufe;
Love taught my tears in fadder notes to flow,
And tun'd my heart to elegies of woe,
I burn, I burn, as when through ripen'd corn
By driving winds thefpreading flames are borne.
Phaon to Etna's fcorching fields retires,
While I confume with more than Ætna's fires!
No more my foul a charm in mufic finds,
Mufic has charms alone for peaceful minds.
Soft fcenes of folitude no more can pleafe,
Love enters there, and I'm my own disease.
No more the Lesbian dames my paflion move,
Once the dear objects of my guilty love;
All other loves are loft in only thine,
Ah, youth ungrateful to a flame like mine!
Whom would not all those blooming charms fur-

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The harp and bow would you like Phœbus bear,
A brighter Phoebus Phaon might appear;
Would you with ivy wreathe your flowing hair,
Not Bacchus' felf with Phaon could compare :
Yet Phoebus lov'd, and Bacchus felt the flanie,
One Daphne warm'd, and one the Cretan dame;
Nymphs that in verfe no more could rival me,
Than ev'n thofe gods contend in charms with

thee.

The mufes teach me all their fofteft lays,
And the wide world refounds with Sappho's praise.
Though great Alcæus more fublimely fings,
And ftrikes with older rage the founding ftrings,
No leis renown attends the moving lyre,
Which Venus tunes, and all her loves infpire;
To me what nature has in charms deny'd,
Is well by wit's more lafting flames fupply'd.
Though short my flature, yet my name extends
To heaven itself, and earth's remotest ends.
Brown as I am, an Ethiopian danie
Infpir'd young Perfeus with a generous flame:
Turtles and doves of differing hues unite,
And gloffy jet is pair'd with fhining white.
It to no charms thou wilt thy heart refign,
But fuch as merit, fuch as equal thine,
Ey none, alas! by none thou canst be mov'd!
Phaon alone by Phaon must be lov'd!
Yet once thy Sappho could thy cares employ,
Once in her arms you centr'd all your joy :
No time the dear remembrance can remove,
For, oh! how vaft a memory has love!
My mufic, then, you could for ever hear,
And all my words were mufic to your ear.
You ftopp'd with kiffes my enchanting tongue,
And found my kiffes fweeter than my fong.
In all I pleas'd, but moft in what was best;
And the last joy was dearer than the rest.
Then with each word, each glance, each motion fir'd,
You ftill enjoy'd, and yet you fill defir'd,
Till all diffolving in the trance we lay,
And in tumultuous raptures dy'd away.
The fair Sicilians now thy foul in flame;
Why was I born, ye gods! a Lefbian dame?
But ah, beware, Sicilian nymy he! ner boast
That wandering heart which I fo lately loft;
Nor be with all thofe tempting words abus'd,
Those tempting words were all to Sappho us'd.
And you that rule Sicilia's happy plains,
Have pity, Venus, on your poet's pains!
Shall fortune fill in one fad tenor run,
And still increase the woes fo foon begun?
laur'd to forrow from my tender years,
My parent's afhes drank my early tears:
My brother next, neglecting wealth and fame,
Ignobly burn'd in a destructive flame:
An infant daughter late my griefs increas'd,
And all a mother's cares diftra&t my breaft.
Alas, what more could fate itfelf impote,
But thee, the laft and greatest of my woes?
No more my robes in waving purple flow,
Nor on my hand the fparkling diamonds glow;
No more my locks in ringlets curl'd diffufe
The coftly fweetnefs of Arabian dews,
Nor braids of gold the varied treffes bind,
That fly diforder'd with the wanton wind:

For whom fhould Sappho ufe fuch arts as these?
He's gone, whom only she defir'd to please!
Cupid's light darts my tender bosom move,
Still is there cause for Sappho ftill to love:
So from my birth the fifters fix'd my doom,
And gave to Venus all my life to come;
Or, while my muse in melting notes complains,
My yielding heart keeps meafure to my ftrains.
By charms like thine which all my foul have won,
Who might not-ah! who would not be undone?
For thofe Aurora Cephalus might scorn,
And with fresh blushes paint the conscious morn:
For thofe might Cynthia lengthen Phaon's sleep,
And bid Endymion nightly tend his sheep:
Venus for thofe had rapt thee to the skies,
But Mars on thee might look with Venus' eyes.
O fcarce a youth, yet scarce a tender boy!
O useful time for lovers to employ !
Pride of thy age, and glory of thy race,
Come to these arms, and melt in this embrace!
The vows you never will return, receive;
And take at least the love you will not give.
See, while I write, my words are loft in tears!
The lefs my fenfe, the more my love appears.
Sure 'twas not much to bid one kind adieu;
(At least to feign was never hard to you!)
Farewell, my Lefbian love, you might have faid;
Or coldly thus, Farewell, oh Lesbian maid!
No tear did you, no parting kifs receive,
Nor knew I then how much I was to grieve.
No lover's gift your Sappho could confer,
And wrongs and woes were all you left with her.
No charge I gave you, and no charge could give,
But this, Be mindful of our loves, and live.
Now by the Nine, those powers ador'd by me,
And Love, the god that ever waits on thee,
When first I heard (from whom I hardly knew)
That you were fled, and all my joys with you,
Like fome fad ftatue, fpeechlefs, pale i ftood,
Grief chill'd my breast, and ftopp'd my freezing
blood;

No figh to rife, no tear had power to flow,
Fix'd in a stupid lethargy of woe:
But when its way th' impetuous paffion found,
I rend my treffes, and my breaft I wound;

I rave, then weep; I curfe, and then complain;
Now fwell to rage, now melt in tears again.
Not fiercer pangs diftract the mournful dame,
Whofe firft-born infant feeds the funeral flame.
My fcornful brother with a fmile appears,
infults my woes, and triumphs in my tears:
His hated image ever haunts my eyes;
And why this grief? thy daughter lives, he cries.
Stung with my love, and furious with defpair,
All torn my garments, and my bofom bare,
My woes, thy crimes, I to the world proclaim;
Such inconfiftent things are love and shame!
'Tis thou art all my care and my delight,
My daily longing, and my dream by night:
O night, more pleafing than the brightest day,
When fancy gives what abfence takes away,
And, drefs'd in all its vifionary charms,
Reftores my fair deferter to my arms!
Then round your neck in wanton wreaths I twine;
Then you, methinks, as fondly circle mine:

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