'O, if to dance all night, and dress all day, Charmed the Small-pox, or chased old age away; Who would not scorn what housewife's cares produce, 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! Curled, or uncurled, 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 power 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 spake the Dame; but no applause ensued! BELINDA frowned. THALESTRIS called her 'Prude!' 'To Arms! To Arms! the fierce virago cries ;]

'To Arms! To Arms!' the bold THALESTRIS cries; And swift as lightning to the combat flies!

All side in Parties, and begin th' attack; Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whalebones crack! Heroes' and heroines' shouts confus'dly rise; And bass and treble voices strike the skies! No common weapons in their hands are found; Like Gods they fight, nor dread a mortal wound!

1 So when bold HOMER makes the Gods engage, And heavenly breasts with human Passions rage; 'Gainst PALLAS, MARS; LATONA, HERMES arms; And all Olympus rings with loud alarms!

JOVE's thunder roars! Heaven trembles all around!
Blue NEPTUNE Storms! The bellowing deeps resound!
Earth shakes her nodding Towers! The ground gives
And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
[way;

Triumphant UMBRIEL, on a sconce's height, Clapped his glad wings; and sat to view the fight. Propped on their bodkin spears, the Sprights survey The growing combat; or assist the fray.

While through the press enraged THALESTRIS flies, And scatters deaths around from both her eyes; A Beau and Witling perished in the throng; One died in metaphor, and one in Song.

'O, cruel Nymph! a living death I bear!' Cried DAPPERWIT; and sunk beside his Chair. A mournful glance Sir FOPLING upwards cast, 'Those eyes are made so killing!' was his last. Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies

2

Th' expiring swan; and, as he sings, he dies!

When bold Sir PLUME had drawn CLARISSA down; CHLOE stepped in, and killed him with a frown! She smiled to see the But, at her smile, the

1 HOMER, Iliad, XX.

doughty hero slain;
Beau revived again!

2 A Song in the Opera of Camilla.

1 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 feared the Chief th' unequal fight to try;
Who sought no more than on his foe to die!

But this bold Lord, with manly strength endued,
She with one finger and a thumb subdued!
Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,
A charge of snuff the wily Virgin threw.
The Gnomes direct, to ev'ry atom 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!' incensed BELINDA cried; And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.

(2 The same, his ancient personage to deck, Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck In three Seal-Rings; which, after, melted down Formed 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, graced her mother's hairs; Which long she wore, and now BELINDA wears.)

1 Vide HOMER, Iliad, VIII; and VIRGIL, Æneid, XII.

2 In imitation of the progress of AGAMEMNON'S sceptre in HOMER, Iliad, II.

'Boast not my fall!' he cried, '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, Roared for the handkerchief that caused his pain!

But see how oft ambitious aims are crossed;
And Chiefs contend till all the prize is lost!
The Lock, obtained 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 Heaven decrees! With Heaven, who can contest?
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar Sphere,
1 Since all things lost on Earth are treasured there.
There, Heroes' wits are kept in pond'rous vases;
And Beaus', 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, the Sick Man's prayers,
The smiles of Harlots, and the tears of Heirs.
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea;
Dried butterflies, and tomes of Casuistry.

1 Vide ARIOSTO, [Orlando furioso], Canto XXXIV.

But trust the Muse! She saw it upward rise; Though marked by none but quick poetic eyes! (So Rome's great Founder to the Heavens withdrew; TO PROCULLUS alone confessed in view!)

A sudden star, it shot through liquid air; And drew behind a radiant trail of hair! Not BERENICE's locks first rose so bright; The heavens bespangling with dishevelled light. The Sylphs behold it, kindling, as it flies; And, pleased, pursue its progress through the skies.

This, the Beau Monde shall from the Mall survey; And hail, with music, its propitious ray!

This, the blessed 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 through GALILEO's eyes; And hence, th' egregious Wizard shall foredoom The fate of LOUIS, and the fall of Rome.

Then, cease, bright Nymph! to mourn the ravished Which adds new glory to the shining Sphere! [hair; 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!