1 But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppress'd,
2 And secret passions labour'd in her breast.
3 Not youthful kings in battle seiz'd alive,
4 Not scornful virgins who their charms survive,
5 Not ardent lovers robb'd of all their bliss,
6 Not ancient ladies when refus'd a kiss,
7 Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,
8 Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinn'd awry,
9 E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair,
10 As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravish'd hair.
11 For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew,
12 And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew,
13 Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite,
14 As ever sullied the fair face of light,
15 Down to the central earth, his proper scene,
16 Repair'd to search the gloomy cave of Spleen.
17 Swift on his sooty pinions flits the Gnome,
18 And in a vapour reach'd the dismal dome.
19 No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows,
20 The dreaded East is all the wind that blows.
21 Here, in a grotto, shelter'd close from air,
22 And screen'd in shades from day's detested glare,
23 She sighs for ever on her pensive bed,
24 Pain at her side, and Megrim at her head.
25 Two handmaids wait the throne: alike in place,
26 But diff'ring far in figure and in face.
27 Here stood Ill Nature like an ancient maid,
28 Her wrinkled form in black and white array'd;
29 With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons,
30 Her hand is fill'd; her bosom with lampoons.
31 There Affectation, with a sickly mien,
32 Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen,
33 Practis'd to lisp, and hang the head aside,
34 Faints into airs, and languishes with pride,
35 On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe,
36 Wrapp'd in a gown, for sickness, and for show.
37 The fair ones feel such maladies as these,
38 When each new night-dress gives a new disease.
39 A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;
40 Strange phantoms, rising as the mists arise;
41 Dreadful, as hermit's dreams in haunted shades,
42 Or bright, as visions of expiring maids.
43 Now glaring fiends, and snakes on rolling spires,
44 Pale spectres, gaping tombs, and purple fires:
45 Now lakes of liquid gold, Elysian scenes,
46 And crystal domes, and angels in machines.
47 Unnumber'd throngs on ev'ry side are seen,
48 Of bodies chang'd to various forms by Spleen.
49 Here living teapots stand, one arm held out,
50 One bent; the handle this, and that the spout:
51 A pipkin there, like Homer's tripod walks;
52 Here sighs a jar, and there a goose pie talks;
53 Men prove with child, as pow'rful fancy works,
54 And maids turn'd bottles, call aloud for corks.
55 Safe pass'd the Gnome through this fantastic band,
56 A branch of healing spleenwort in his hand.
57 Then thus address'd the pow'r: "Hail, wayward Queen!
58 Who rule the sex to fifty from fifteen:
59 Parent of vapours and of female wit,
60 Who give th' hysteric, or poetic fit,
61 On various tempers act by various ways,
62 Make some take physic, others scribble plays;
63 Who cause the proud their visits to delay,
64 And send the godly in a pet to pray.
65 A nymph there is, that all thy pow'r disdains,
66 And thousands more in equal mirth maintains.
67 But oh! if e'er thy gnome could spoil a grace,
68 Or raise a pimple on a beauteous face,
69 Like citron waters matrons' cheeks inflame,
70 Or change complexions at a losing game;
71 If e'er with airy horns I planted heads,
72 Or rumpled petticoats, or tumbled beds,
73 Or caus'd suspicion when no soul was rude,
74 Or discompos'd the head-dress of a prude,
75 Or e'er to costive lap-dog gave disease,
76 Which not the tears of brightest eyes could ease:
77 Hear me, and touch Belinda with chagrin;
78 That single act gives half the world the spleen."
79 The goddess with a discontented air
80 Seems to reject him, though she grants his pray'r.
81 A wondrous bag with both her hands she binds,
82 Like that where once Ulysses held the winds;
83 There she collects the force of female lungs,
84 Sighs, sobs, and passions, and the war of tongues.
85 A vial next she fills with fainting fears,
86 Soft sorrows, melting griefs, and flowing tears.
87 The Gnome rejoicing bears her gifts away,
88 Spreads his black wings, and slowly mounts to day.
89 Sunk in Thalestris' arms the nymph he found,
90 Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound.
91 Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent,
92 And all the Furies issu'd at the vent.
93 Belinda burns with more than mortal ire,
94 And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire.
95 "Oh wretched maid!" she spread her hands, and cried,
96 (While Hampton's echoes, "Wretched maid!" replied,
97 "Was it for this you took such constant care
98 The bodkin, comb, and essence to prepare?
99 For this your locks in paper durance bound,
100 For this with tort'ring irons wreath'd around?
101 For this with fillets strain'd your tender head,
102 And bravely bore the double loads of lead?
103 Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair,
104 While the fops envy, and the ladies stare!
105 Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine
106 Ease, pleasure, virtue, all, our sex resign.
107 Methinks already I your tears survey,
108 Already hear the horrid things they say,
109 Already see you a degraded toast,
110 And all your honour in a whisper lost!
111 How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend?
112 'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend!
113 And shall this prize, th' inestimable prize,
114 Expos'd through crystal to the gazing eyes,
115 And heighten'd by the diamond's circling rays,
116 On that rapacious hand for ever blaze?
117 Sooner shall grass in Hyde Park Circus grow,
118 And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow;
119 Sooner let earth, air, sea, to chaos fall,
120 Men, monkeys, lap-dogs, parrots, perish all!"
121 She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,
122 And bids her beau demand the precious hairs:
123 (Sir Plume, of amber snuff-box justly vain,
124 And the nice conduct of a clouded cane)
125 With earnest eyes, and round unthinking face,
126 He first the snuffbox open'd, then the case,
127 And thus broke out--"My Lord, why, what the devil?
128 Z{-}{-}{-}ds! damn the lock! 'fore Gad, you must be civil!
129 Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay prithee, pox!
130 Give her the hair"--he spoke, and rapp'd his box.
131 "It grieves me much," replied the peer again,
132 "Who speaks so well should ever speak in vain.
133 But by this lock, this sacred lock I swear,
134 (Which never more shall join its parted hair;
135 Which never more its honours shall renew,
136 Clipp'd from the lovely head where late it grew)
137 That while my nostrils draw the vital air,
138 This hand, which won it, shall for ever wear."
139 He spoke, and speaking, in proud triumph spread
140 The long-contended honours of her head.
141 But Umbriel, hateful gnome! forbears not so;
142 He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow.
143 Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears,
144 Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears;
145 On her heav'd bosom hung her drooping head,
146 Which, with a sigh, she rais'd; and thus she said:
147 "For ever curs'd be this detested day,
148 Which snatch'd my best, my fav'rite curl away!
149 Happy! ah ten times happy, had I been,
150 If Hampton Court these eyes had never seen!
151 Yet am not I the first mistaken maid,
152 By love of courts to num'rous ills betray'd.
153 Oh had I rather unadmir'd remain'd
154 In some lone isle, or distant northern land;
155 Where the gilt chariot never marks the way,
156 Where none learn ombre, none e'er taste bohea!
157 There kept my charms conceal'd from mortal eye,
158 Like roses, that in deserts bloom and die.
159 What mov'd my mind with youthful lords to roam?
160 Oh had I stay'd, and said my pray'rs at home!
161 'Twas this, the morning omens seem'd to tell,
162 Thrice from my trembling hand the patch-box fell;
163 The tott'ring china shook without a wind,
164 Nay, Poll sat mute, and Shock was most unkind!
165 A Sylph too warn'd me of the threats of fate,
166 In mystic visions, now believ'd too late!
167 See the poor remnants of these slighted hairs!
168 My hands shall rend what ev'n thy rapine spares:
169 These, in two sable ringlets taught to break,
170 Once gave new beauties to the snowy neck.
171 The sister-lock now sits uncouth, alone,
172 And in its fellow's fate foresees its own;
173 Uncurl'd it hangs, the fatal shears demands
174 And tempts once more thy sacrilegious hands.
175 Oh hadst thou, cruel! been content to seize
176 Hairs less in sight, or any hairs but these!"