26 Alexander Pope

The Rape of the Lock

CANTO I.

  • WHAT dire offence from am’rous causes springs,
  • What mighty contests rise from trivial things,
  • I sing—This verse to CARYL, Muse! is due:
  • This, ev’n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:
  • Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,
  • If She inspire, and He approve my lays.
  • Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel
  • A well-bred Lord t’assault a gentle Belle?
  • Oh say what stranger cause, yet unexplor’d,
  • Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
  • In tasks so bold, can little men engage,
  • And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage?
  • Sol thro’ white curtains shot a tim’rous ray,
  • And ope’d those eyes that must eclipse the day:
  • Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,
  • And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:
  • Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock’d the ground
  • And the press’d watch return’d a silver sound.
  • Belinda still her downy pillow prest,
  • Her guardian SYLPH prolong’d the balmy rest:
  • ‘Twas He had summon’d to her silent bed
  • The morning-dream that hover’d o’er her head,
  • A Youth more glitt’ring than a Birth-night Beau,
  • (That ev’n in slumber caus’d her cheek to glow)
  • Seem’d to her ear his winning lips to lay,
  • And thus in whispers said, or seem’d to say.
  • Fairest of mortals, thou distinguish’d care
  • Of thousand bright Inbabitants of Air!
  • If e’er one Vision touch thy infant thought,
  • Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught;
  • Of airy Elves by moonlight shadows seen,
  • The silver token, and the circled green,
  • Or virgins visited by Angel-pow’rs,
  • With golden crowns and wreaths of heav’nly flow’rs;
  • Hear and believe! thy own importance know,
  • Nor bound thy narrow views to things below.
  • Some secret truths, from learned pride conceal’d,
  • To Maids alone and Children are reveal’d:
  • What tho’ no credit doubting Wits may give?
  • The Fair and Innocent shall still believe.
  • Know then, unnumber’d Spirits round thee fly,
  • The light Militia of the lower sky:
  • These, tho’ unseen, are ever on the wing,
  • Hang o’er the Box, and hover round the Ring.
  • Think what an equipage thou hast in Air,
  • And view with scorn two s and a Chair.
  • As now your own, our beings were of old,
  • And once inclos’d in Woman’s beauteous mould;
  • Thence, by a soft transition, we repair
  • From earthly Vehicles to these of air.
  • Think not, when Woman’s transient breath is fled,
  • That all her vanities at once are dead;
  • Succeeding vanities she still regards,
  • And tho’ she plays no more, o’erlooks the cards.
  • Her joy in gilded Chariots, when alive,
  • And love of Ombre, after death survive.
  • For when the Fair in all their pride expire,
  • To their first Elements their Souls retire:
  • The Sprites of fiery Termagants in Flame
  • Mount up, and take a Salamander’s name.
  • Soft yielding minds to Water glide away,
  • And sip, with Nymphs, their elemental Tea.
  • The graver Prude sinks downward to a Gnome,
  • In search of mischief still on Earth to roam.
  • The light Coquettes in Sylphs aloft repair,
  • And sport and flutter in the fields of Air.
  • Know farther yet; whoever fair and chaste
  • Rejects mankind, is by some Sylph embrac’d:
  • For Spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease
  • Assume what sexes and what shapes they please.
  • What guards the purity of melting Maids,
  • In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
  • Safe from the treach’rous friend, the daring spark,
  • The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,
  • When kind occasion prompts their warm desires,
  • When music softens, and when dancing fires?
  • ‘Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know,
  • Tho’ Honour is the word with Men below.
  • Some nymphs there are, too conscious of their face,
  • For life predestin’d to the Gnomes embrace.
  • These swell their prospects and exalt their pride,
  • When offers are disdain’d, and love deny’d:
  • Then gay Ideas croud the vacant brain,
  • While Peers, and Dukes, and all their sweeping train,
  • And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear,
  • And in soft sounds, Your Grace salutes their ear.
  • ‘Tis these that early taint the female soul,
  • Instruct the eyes of young Coquettes to roll,
  • Teach Infant-cheeks a bidden blush to know,
  • And little hearts to flutter at a Beau.
  • Oft, when the world imagine women stray,
  • The Sylphs thro’ mystic mazes guide their way,
  • Thro’ all the giddy circle they pursue,
  • And old impertinence expel by new.
  • What tender maid but must a victim fall
  • To one man’s treat, but for another’s ball?
  • When Florio speaks what virgin could withstand,
  • If gentle Damon did not squeeze her hand?
  • With varying vanities, from ev’ry part,
  • They shift the moving Toyshop of their heart;
  • Where wigs with wigs, with sword-knots sword|knots strive,
  • Beaux banish beaux, and coaches coaches drive.
  • This erring mortals Levity may call,
  • Oh blind to truth! the Sylphs contrive it all.
  • Of these am I, who thy protection claim,
  • A watchful sprite, and Ariel is my name.
  • Late, as I rang’d the crystal wilds of air,
  • In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star
  • I saw, alas! some dread event impend,
  • Ere to the main this morning sun descend,
  • But heav’n reveals not what, or how, or where:
  • Warn’d by the Sylph, oh pious maid, beware!
  • This to disclose is all thy guardian can:
  • Beware of all, but most beware of Man!
  • He said; when Shock, who thought she slept too long,
  • Leap’d up, and wak’d his mistress with his tongue.
  • ‘Twas then Belinda, if report say true,
  • Thy eyes first open’d on a Billet-doux;
  • Wounds, Charms, and Ardors, were no sooner read,
  • But all the Vision vanish’d from thy head.
  • And now, unveil’d, the Toilet stands display’d,
  • Each silver Vase in mystic order laid.
  • First, rob’d in white, the Nymph intent adores,
  • With head uncover’d, the Cosmetic pow’rs.
  • A heav’nly Image in the glass appears,
  • To that she bends, to that her eyes she rears;
  • Th’ inferior Priestess, at her altar’s side,
  • Trembling, begins the sacred rites of Pride.
  • Unnumber’d treasures ope at once, and here
  • The various off’rings of the world appear;
  • From each she nicely culls with curious toil,
  • And decks the Goddess with the glitt’ring spoil.
  • This casket India’s glowing gems unlocks,
  • And all Arabia breathes from yonder box.
  • The Tortoise here and Elephant unite,
  • Transform’d to combs, the speckled, and the white.
  • Here files of pins extend their shining rows,
  • Puffs, Powders, Patches, Bibles, Billet-doux.
  • Now awful Beauty puts on all its arms;
  • The fair each moment rises in her charms,
  • Repairs her smiles, awakens ev’ry grace,
  • And calls forth all the wonders of her face;
  • Sees by degrees a purer blush arise,
  • And keener lightnings quicken in her eyes.
  • The busy Sylphs surround their darling care,
  • These set the head, and those divide the hair,
  • Some fold the sleeve, whilst others plait the gown;
  • And Betty’s prais’d for labours not her own.
  • CANTO II.

  • NOT with more glories, in th’ etherial plain,
  • The Sun first rises o’er the purpled main,
  • Than, issuing forth, the rival of his beams
  • Launch’d on the bosom of the silver Thames.
  • Fair Nymphs, and well-drest Youths around her shone,
  • But ev’ry eye was fix’d on her alone.
  • On her white breast a sparkling Cross she wore,
  • Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore.
  • Her lively looks a sprightly mind disclose,
  • Quick as her eyes, and as unfix’d as those:
  • Favours to none, to all she smiles extends;
  • Oft she rejects, but never once offends.
  • Bright as the sun, her eyes the gazers strike,
  • And, like the sun, they shine on all alike.
  • Yet graceful ease, and sweetness void of pride
  • Might hide her faults, if Belles had faults to hide:
  • If to her share some female errors fall,
  • Look on her face, and you’ll forget ’em all.
  • This Nymph, to the destruction of mankind,
  • Nourish’d two Locks, which graceful hung behind
  • In equal curls, and well conspir’d to deck
  • With shining ringlets the smooth iv’ry neck.
  • Love in these labyrinths his slaves detains,
  • And mighty hearts are held in slender chains.
  • With hairy springes we the birds betray,
  • Slight lines of hair surprize the finny prey,
  • Fair tresses man’s imperial race insnare,
  • And beauty draws us with a single hair.
  • Th’ advent’rous Baron the bright locks admir’d;
  • He saw, he wish’d, and to the prize aspir’d.
  • Resolv’d to win, he meditates the way,
  • By force to ravish, or by fraud betray;
  • For when success a Lover’s toil attends,
  • Few ask, if fraud or force attain’d his ends.
  • For this, ere Phoebus rose, he had implor’d
  • Propitions heav’n, and ev’ry pow’r ador’d,
  • But chiefly Love—to Love an Altar built,
  • Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt.
  • There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves;
  • And all the trophies of his former loves;
  • With tender Billet-doux he lights the pyre,
  • And breathes three am’rous sighs to raise the fire.
  • Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent eyes
  • Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize:
  • The pow’rs gave ear, and granted half his pray’r,
  • The rest, the winds dispers’d in empty air.
  • But now secure the painted vessel glides,
  • The sun-beams trembling on the floating tides:
  • While melting music steals upon the sky,
  • And soften’d sounds along the waters die;
  • Smooth flow the waves, the Zephyrs gently play,
  • Belinda smil’d, and all the world was gay.
  • All but the Sylph—with careful thoughts opprest,
  • Th’ impending woe sat heavy on his breast.
  • He summons strait his Denizens of air;
  • The lucid squadrons round the sails repair;
  • Soft o’er the shrouds aërial whispers breathe,
  • That seem’d but Zephyrs to the train beneath.
  • Some to the sun their insect-wings unfold,
  • Waft on the breeze, or sink in clouds of gold;
  • Transparent forms, too fine for mortal sight,
  • Their fluid bodies half dissolv’d in light.
  • Loose to the wind their airy garments flew,
  • Thin glitt’ring textures of the filmy dew,
  • Dipt in the richest tincture of the skies,
  • Where light disports in ever-mingling dyes,
  • While ev’ry beam new transient colours flings,
  • Colours that change whene’er they wave their wings.
  • Amid the circle, on the gilded mast,
  • Superior by the head, was Ariel plac’d;
  • His purple pinions op’ning to the sun,
  • He rais’d his azure wand, and thus begun.
  • Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your chief give ear,
  • Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Daemons hear!
  • Ye know the spheres and various tasks assign’d
  • By laws eternal to th’ aërial kind.
  • Some in the fields of purest Aether play,
  • And bask and whiten in the blaze of day.
  • Some guide the course of wand’ring orbs on high,
  • Or roll the planets thro’ the boundless sky.
  • Some less refin’d, beneath the moon’s pale light
  • Pursue the stars that shoot athwart the night,
  • Or suck the mists in grosser air below,
  • Or dip their pinions in the painted bow,
  • Or brew fierce tempests on the wintry main,
  • Or o’er the glebe distil the kindly rain.
  • Others on earth o’er human race preside,
  • Watch all their ways, and all their actions guide:
  • Of these the chief the care of Nations own,
  • And guard with Arms divine the British Throne.
  • Our humbler province is to tend the Fair,
  • Not a less pleasing, tho’ less glorious care;
  • To save the powder from too rude a gale,
  • Nor let th’ imprison’d essences exhale;
  • To draw fresh colours from the vernal flow’rs;
  • To steal from rainbows e’er they drop in show’rs
  • A brighter wash; to curl their waving hairs,
  • Assist their blushes, and inspire their airs;
  • Nay oft, in dreams, invention we bestow,
  • To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelow.
  • This day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair
  • That e’er deserv’d a watchful spirit’s care;
  • Some dire disaster, or by force, or slight;
  • But what, or where, the fates have wrapt in night.
  • Whether the nymph shall break Diana’s law,
  • Or some frail China jar receive a flaw;
  • Or stain her honour, or her new brocade;
  • Forget her pray’rs, or miss a masquerade;
  • Or lose her heart, or necklace, at a ball;
  • Or whether Heav’n has doom’d that Shock must fall.
  • Haste then, ye spirits! to your charge repair:
  • The flutt’ring fan be Zephyretta’s care;
  • The drops to thee, Brillante, we consign;
  • And, Momentilla, let the watch be thine;
  • Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav’rite Lock;
  • Ariel himself shall be the guard of Shock.
  • To fifty chosen Sylphs, of special ,
  • We trust th’ important charge, the Petticoat:
  • Oft have we known that seven-fold fence to fail,
  • Tho’ stiff with hoops, and arm’d with ribs of whale;
  • Form a strong line about the silver bound,
  • And guard the wide circumference around.
  • Whatever spirit, careless of his charge,
  • His post neglects, or leaves the fair at large,
  • Shall feel sharp vengeance soon o’ertake his sins,
  • Be stop’d in vials, or transfix’d with pins;
  • Or plung’d in lakes of bitter washes lie,
  • Or wedg’d whole ages in a bodkin’s eye:
  • Gums and Pomatums shall his flight restrain,
  • While clog’d he beats his silken wings in vain;
  • Or Alum styptics with contracting pow’r
  • Shrink his thin essence like a rivel’d flow’r:
  • Or, as Ixion fix’d, the wretch shall feel
  • The giddy motion of the whirling Mill,
  • In fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow,
  • And tremble at the sea that froths below!
  • He spoke; the spirits from the sails descend;
  • Some, orb in orb, around the nymph extend;
  • Some thrid the mazy ringlets of her hair;
  • Some hang upon the pendants of her ear;
  • With beating hearts the dire event they wait,
  • Anxious, and trembling for the birth of Fate.
  • CANTO III.

  • CLose by those meads, for ever crown’d with flow’rs,
  • Where Thames with pride surveys his rising tow’rs,
  • There stands a structure of majestic frame,
  • Which from the neighb’ring Hampton takes its name.
  • Here Britain’s statesmen oft the fall foredoom
  • Of foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home;
  • Here thou, great ANNA! whom three realms obey,
  • Dost sometimes counsel take—and sometimes Tea.
  • Hither the heroes and the nymphs resort,
  • To taste awhile the pleasures of a Court;
  • In various talk th’ instructive hours they past,
  • Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last;
  • One speaks the glory of the British Queen,
  • And one describes a charming Indian screen;
  • A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes;
  • At ev’ry word a reputation dies.
  • Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat,
  • With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.
  • Mean while, declining from the noon of day,
  • The sun obliquely shoots his burning ray;
  • The hungry Judges soon the sentence sign,
  • And wretches hang that jury-men may dine;
  • The merchant from th’ Exchange returns in peace,
  • And the long labours of the Toilet cease.
  • Belinda now, whom thirst of fame invites,
  • Burns to encounter two adven’trous Knights,
  • At Ombre singly to decide their doom;
  • And swells her breast with conquests yet to come.
  • Strait the three bands prepare in arms to join,
  • Each band the number of the sacred nine.
  • Soon as she spreads her hand, th’ aërial guard
  • Descend, and sit on each important card:
  • First Ariel perch’d upon a Matadore,
  • Then each, according to the rank they bore;
  • For Sylphs, yet mindful of their ancient race,
  • Are, as when women, wondrous fond of place.
  • Behold, four Kings in majesty rever’d,
  • With hoary whiskers and a forky beard;
  • And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a flow’r,
  • Th’ expressive emblem of their softer pow’r;
  • Four Knaves in garbs succinct, a trusty band,
  • Caps on their heads, and halberts in their hand;
  • And particolour’d troops, a shining train,
  • Draw forth to combat on the velvet plain.
  • The skilful Nymph reviews her force with care:
  • Let Spades be trumps! she said, and trumps they were.
  • Now move to war her sable Matadores,
  • In snow like leaders of the swarthy Moors.
  • Spadillio first, unconquerable Lord!
  • Led off two captive trumps, and swept the board.
  • As many more Manillio forc’d to yield,
  • And march’d a victor from the verdant field.
  • Him Basto follow’d, but his fate more hard
  • Gain’d but one trump and one Plebeian card.
  • With his broad sabre next, a chief in years,
  • The hoary Majesty of Spades appears,
  • Puts forth one manly leg, to sight reveal’d,
  • The rest, his many-colour’d robe conceal’d.
  • The rebel Knave, who dares his prince engage,
  • Proves the just victim of his royal rage.
  • Ev’n mighty Pam, that Kings and Queens o’erthrew
  • And mow’d down armies in the fights of Lu,
  • Sad chance of war! now destitute of aid,
  • Falls undistinguish’d by the victor Spade!
  • Thus far both armies to Belinda yield;
  • Now to the Baron fate inclines the field.
  • His warlike Amazon her host invades,
  • Th’ imperial consort of the crown of Spades.
  • The Club’s black Tyrant first her victim dy’d,
  • Spite of his haughty mien, and barb’rous pride:
  • What boots the regal circle on his head,
  • His giant limbs, in state unwieldy spread;
  • That long behind he trails his pompous robe,
  • And, of all monarchs, only grasps the globe?
  • The Baron now his Diamonds pours apace;
  • Th’ embroider’d King who shows but half his face,
  • And his refulgent Queen, with pow’rs combin’d
  • Of broken troops an easy conquest find.
  • Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild disorder seen,
  • With throngs promiscuous strow the level green.
  • Thus when dispers’d a routed army runs,
  • Of Asia’s troops, and Afric’s sable sons,
  • With like confusion different nations fly,
  • Of various habit, and of various dye,
  • The pierc’d battalions dis-united fall,
  • In heaps on heaps; one fate o’erwhelms them all.
  • The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts,
  • And wins (oh shameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts.
  • At this, the blood the virgin’s cheek forsook,
  • A livid paleness spread’s o’er all her look;
  • She sees, and trembles at th’ approaching ill,
  • Just in the jaws of ruin, and Codille.
  • And now, (as oft in some distemper’d State)
  • On one nice Trick depends the gen’ral fate.
  • An Ace of Hearts steps forth: The King unseen
  • Lurk’d in her hand, and mourn’d his captive Queen:
  • He springs to vengeance with an eager pace,
  • And falls like thunder on the prostrate Ace.
  • The nymph exulting fills with shouts the sky;
  • The walls, the woods, and long canals reply.
  • Oh thoughtless mortals! ever blind to fate,
  • Too soon dejected, and too soon elate.
  • Sudden, these honours shall be snatch’d away,
  • And curs’d for ever this victorious day.
  • For lo! the board with cups and spoons is crown’d,
  • The berries crackle, and the mill turns round;
  • On shining Altars of Japan they raise
  • The silver lamp; the fiery spirits blaze:
  • From silver spouts the grateful liquors glide,
  • While China’s earth receives the smoaking tyde:
  • At once they gratify their scent and taste,
  • And frequent cups prolong the rich repaste.
  • Strait hover round the Fair her airy band;
  • Some, as she sipp’d, the fuming liquor fann’d,
  • Some o’er her lap their careful plumes display’d,
  • Trembling, and conscious of the rich brocade.
  • Coffee, (which makes the politician wise,
  • And see thro’ all things with his half-shut eyes)
  • Sent up in vapours to the Baron’s brain
  • New stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.
  • Ah cease, rash youth! desist ere ’tis too late,
  • Fear the just Gods, and think of Scylla’s Fate!
  • Chang’d to a bird, and sent to flit in air,
  • She dearly pays for Nisus’ injur’d hair!
  • But when to mischief mortals bend their will,
  • How soon they find fit instruments of ill?
  • Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting grace
  • A two-edg’d weapon from her shining case:
  • So Ladies in Romance assist their Knight,
  • Present the spear, and arm him for the fight.
  • He takes the gift with rev’rence, and extends
  • The little engine on his finger’s ends;
  • This just behind Belinda’s neck he spread,
  • As o’er the fragrant steams she bends her head.
  • Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprites repair,
  • A thousand wings, by turns, blow back the hair;
  • And thrice they twitch’d the diamond in her ear;
  • Thrice she look’d back, and thrice the foe drew near.
  • Just in that instant, anxious Ariel sought
  • The close recesses of the Virgin’s thought;
  • As on the nosegay in her breast reclin’d,
  • He watch’d th’ Ideas rising in her mind,
  • Sudden he view’d, in spite of all her art,
  • An earthly Lover lurking at her heart.
  • Amaz’d, confus’d, he found his pow’r expir’d,
  • Resign’d to fate, and with a sigh retir’d.
  • The Peer now spreads the glitt’ring Forfex wide,
  • T’ inclose the Lock; now joins it, to divide.
  • Ev’n then, before the fatal engine clos’d,
  • A wretched Sylph too fondly interpos’d;
  • Fate urg’d the sheers, and cut the Sylph in twain,
  • (But airy substance soon unites again)
  • The meeting points the sacred hair dissever
  • From the fair head, for ever, and for ever!
  • Then flash’d the living lightning from her eyes,
  • And screams of horror rend th’ affrighted skies.
  • Not louder shrieks to pitying heav’n are cast,
  • When husbands, or when lapdogs breathe their last;
  • Or when rich China vessels fall’n from high,
  • In glitt’ring dust, and painted fragments lie!
  • Let wreaths of triumph now my temples twine,
  • (The Victor cry’d) the glorious Prize is mine!
  • While fish in streams, or birds delight in air,
  • Or in a coach and six the the British Fair,
  • As long as Atalantis shall be read,
  • Or the small pillow grace a Lady’s bed,
  • While visits shall be paid on solemn days,
  • When num’rous wax-lights in bright order blaze,
  • While nymphs take treats, or assignations give,
  • So long my honour, name, and praise shall live!
  • What Time would spare, from Steel receives its date,
  • And monuments, like men, submit to fate!
  • Steel could the labour of the Gods destroy,
  • And strike to dust th’ imperial tow’rs of Troy;
  • Steel could the works of mortal pride confound,
  • And hew triumphal arches to the ground.
  • What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel,
  • The conqu’ring force of unresisted steel?
  • CANTO IV.

  • BUT anxious cares the pensive nymph op|press’d,
  • And secret passions labour’d in her breast.
  • Not youthful kings in battle seiz’d alive,
  • Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
  • Not ardent lovers robb’d of all their bliss,
  • Not ancient ladies when refus’d a kiss,
  • Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
  • Not Cynthia when her manteau’s pinn’d awry,
  • E’er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
  • As thou, sad Virgin! for thy ravish’d Hair.
  • For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
  • And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
  • Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,
  • As ever sully’d the fair face of light,
  • Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
  • Repair’d to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen.
  • Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome,
  • And in a vapour reach’d the dismal dome.
  • No chearful breeze this sullen region knows,
  • The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
  • Here in a grotto, shelter’d close from air,
  • And screen’d in shades from day’s detested glare,
  • She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,
  • Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
  • 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 array’d;
  • With store of pray’rs, for mornings, nights, and noons,
  • Her hand is fill’d; her bosom with lampoons.
  • There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
  • Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
  • Practis’d to lisp, and hang the head aside,
  • Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,
  • On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
  • Wrapt in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
  • The fair-ones feel such maladies as these,
  • When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
  • A constant Vapour o’er the palace flies;
  • Strange phantoms rising as the mists arise;
  • Dreadful, as hermit’s dreams in haunted shades,
  • Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
  • Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
  • Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
  • Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
  • And crystal domes, and Angels in machines.
  • Unnumber’d throngs on ev’ry side are seen,
  • Of bodies chang’d to various forms by Spleen.
  • Here living Tea-pots stand, one arm held out,
  • One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
  • A Pipkin there, like Homer’s Tripod walks;
  • Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose-pye talks;
  • Men prove with child, as pow’rful fancy works,
  • And maids turn’d bottles, call aloud for corks.
  • Safe past the Gnome thro’ this fantastic band,
  • A branch of healing Spleenwort in his hand.
  • Then thus address’d the pow’r—Hail wayward Queen!
  • Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:
  • Parent of vapours and of female wit,
  • Who give th’ hysteric, or poetic fit,
  • On various tempers act by various ways,
  • Make some take physic, others scribble plays;
  • Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
  • And send the godly in a pet to pray.
  • A nymph there is, that all thy pow’r disdains,
  • And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
  • But oh! if e’er thy Gnome could spoil a grace,
  • Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
  • Like Citron-waters matrons cheeks inflame,
  • Or change complexions at a losing game;
  • 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,
  • Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
  • Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin,
  • That single act gives half the world the spleen.
  • The Goddess with a discontented air
  • Seems to reject him, tho’ she grants his pray’r.
  • A wond’rous Bag with both her hands she binds,
  • Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
  • There she collects the force of female lungs,
  • Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
  • A Vial 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.
  • Sunk in Thalestris’ arms the nymph he found,
  • Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.
  • Full o’er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
  • And all the Furies issu’d at the vent.
  • Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
  • And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.
  • O wretched maid! she spread her hands, and cry’d,
  • (While Hampton’s echoes, wretched maid! reply’d)
  • Was it for this you took such constant care
  • The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?
  • For this your locks in paper durance bound,
  • For this with tort’ring irons wreath’d around?
  • For this with fillets strain’d your tender head,
  • And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
  • Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
  • While the Fops envy, and the Ladies stare!
  • Honour sorbid! at whose unrival’d shrine
  • Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign.
  • Methinks already I your tears survey,
  • Already hear the horrid things they say,
  • Already see you a degraded toast,
  • And all your honour in a whisper lost!
  • How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
  • ‘Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
  • And shall this prize, th’ inestimable prize,
  • Expos’d thro’ crystal to the gazing eyes,
  • And heighten’d by the diamond’s circling rays,
  • On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
  • Sooner shall grass in Hyde-park Circus grow,
  • And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
  • Sooner let earth, air, sea, to Chaos fall,
  • Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!
  • She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
  • And bids her Beau demand the precious hairs:
  • (Sir Plume of amber snuff-box justly vain,
  • And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
  • With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,
  • He first the snuff-box open’d, then the case,
  • And thus broke out—”My Lord, why, what the devil?
  • ” Z_…ds! damn the lock! ‘fore Gad, you must be civil!
  • ” Plague on’t! ’tis past a jest—nay prithee, pox!
  • ” Give her the hair”—he spoke, and rapp’d his box.
  • It grieves me much (reply’d 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;
  • Which never more its honours shall renew,
  • Clip’d 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
  • The long-contended honours of her head.
  • But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not so;
  • He breaks the Vial whence the sorrows flow.
  • Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
  • Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown’d in tears;
  • On her heav’d bosom hung her drooping head,
  • Which, with a sigh, she rais’d; and thus she said.
  • For ever curs’d be this detested day,
  • Which snatch’d my best, my fav’rite curl away!
  • Happy! ah ten times happy had I been,
  • If Hampton-Court these eyes had never seen!
  • Yet am not I the first mistaken maid.
  • By love of Courts to num’rous ills betray’d.
  • Oh had I rather un-admir’d remain’d
  • In some lone isle, or distant 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 roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
  • What mov’d my mind with youthful Lords to roam?
  • O had I stay’d, and said my pray’rs at home!
  • ‘Twas this, the morning omens seem’d to tell,
  • Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
  • The tott’ring China shook without a wind,
  • Nay Poll sat 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 these slighted hairs!
  • My hands shall rend what ev’n thy rapine spares:
  • These in two sable ringlets taught to break,
  • Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck;
  • The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
  • And in its fellow’s fate foresees its own;
  • Uncurl’d it hangs, the fatal sheers demands,
  • 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 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 honour’d most,
  • The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast?
  • Why deck’d with all that land and sea afford,
  • Why Angels call’d, and Angel-like ador’d?
  • Why round our coaches croud the white-glov’d Beaux,
  • Why bows the side-box from its inmost rows?
  • How vain are all these glories, all our pains,
  • Unless good sense preserve what beauty gains:
  • That men may say, when we the front-box grace,
  • Behold the first in virtue as in face!
  • Oh! if to dance all night, and dress all day,
  • Charm’d the small-pox, or chas’d old-age away;
  • Who would not scorn what housewife’s cares pro|duce,
  • 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 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 still whate’er we lose?
  • 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 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;
  • Fans clap, silks russle, and tough whalebones crack;
  • Heroes and Heroines 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.
  • 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:
  • Earth shakes her nodding towr’s, the ground gives way,
  • And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
  • Triumphant Umbriel on a sconce’s height
  • Clap’d his glad wings, and sate to view the fight:
  • Prop’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 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,
  • ” Those eyes are made so killing—was his last.
  • Thus on Maeander’s flow’ry margin lies
  • Th’ expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies.
  • When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
  • Chloe stepp’d 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.
  • Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air,
  • Weighs the Men’s 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-echoes to his nose.
  • Now meet thy fate, incens’d Belinda cry’d,
  • And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
  • (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 bells she jingled, 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,
  • Since all things lost on earth are treasur’d there.
  • There Hero’s wits are kept in pond’rous 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 ribband bound,
  • The courtier’s 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, poetic 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 heav’ns 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 monde shall from the Mall survey,
  • And hail with music its propitious ray.
  • This the blest Lover shall for Venus take,
  • And send up vows from Rosamonda’s lake.
  • This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skies,
  • When next he looks thro’ Galilaeo’s eyes;
  • And hence th’ egregious wizard shall foredoom
  • The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.
  • Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ra|vish’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, yourself shall die;
  • When those fair suns shall set, as set they must,
  • And all those tresses shall be laid in dust,
  • This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate to fame,
  • And ‘midst the stars inscribe Belinda’s name.
  • Source:

    The Works of Alexander Pope Esq. by Text Creation Partnership at the University of Michigan is licensed under a Creative Commons Public Domain License, except where otherwise noted.

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    Anthology of Medieval Literature Copyright © 2021 by Christian Beck is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License, except where otherwise noted.

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