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Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs,
Which long she wore, and now Belinda wears.)
Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe!
Thou by fome 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.
Reftore de Lock! she cries; and all around
Reftore 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 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 ev'ry place is fought, but fought in vain : 110
With fuch a prize no mortal must be blest,
So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest?

105

Some thought it mounted to the Lunar sphere, Since all things loft on earth are treasur'd there. There Hero's wirs are kept in pond'rous vases, 115 And Beau's in snuff-boxes and tweezer-cafes. There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound,

The courtier's promises, and fick man's pray'rs,
The finiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,
Cages for gnats, and chains to yoak a flea,
Dry'd butterflies, and tomes of cafuiftry.

But truft the Museshe saw it upward rife, Tho' mark'd by none but quick, poetic eyes:

NOTES.

VER. 114. Since at things loft) Vid. Ariosto, Canto xxxiv.

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(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew,
To Proculus alone confefs'd in view)
A fudden 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 difhevel'd light. 130
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,

And pleas'd purfue its progress thro' the skies.

This the Beau monde shall from the Mall survey, And hail with mufic its propitious ray.

This the blest Lover fhall for Venus take,

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And fend up vows from Rosamonda's lake.
This Partridge soon fhall view in cloudless skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's eyes;
And hence th' egregious wizard shall foredoom
The fate of Louis, and the fall of Rome.

140

Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn thy ravishd

hair,

Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!
Not all the tresses that fair head can boatt,

VARIATIONS.

VER. 131. The Sylphs behold) These two lines added for the fame reason to keep in view the Machinery of the Poem.

NOTES.

VER. 137. This Partridge soon) John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer; who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to perdict the downfall of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English.

IMITATIONS.

VER. 128.

Srella micat.

Flammiferumque trahens spatioso limite crinem

Ovid.

Shall draw such envy as the Lock you loft.
For, after all the murders of your eye,
When, after millions flain, 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 confecrate to fame,
And 'midft the stars infcribe Belinda's name.

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ELEGY

To the MEMORY of an

UNFORTUNATE LADY a).

WHAT beck'ning ghost, along the moonlight

fhade

Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? 'Tis the!

but why that bleeding bosom gor'd,

Why dimly gleams the vifionary fword?
Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly! tell,
Is it, in heav'n, 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 sky,
For those who greatly think, or bravely die?
Why bade ye else, ye pow'rs! her foul afpire
Above the vulgar flight of low defire?
Ambition first sprung from your blest abodes;
The glorious fault of Angels and of Gods:
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
And in the breasts of Kings and Heroes glows.
Most souls, 'tis true, but peep out once an age,

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4) See the Duke of Buckingham's verses to a Lady designing to retire into a Monastery compar'd with Mr. Pope's Letters to feveral Ladies, p. 206. quarto Edition. She seems to be the fame perfon whose unfortunate death is the fubject of this poет.

Dull fullen pris'ners in the body's cage:
Dim lights of life, that burn a length of years
Ufeless, unfeen, as lamps in fepulchres;
Like Eastern Kings a lazy state they keep,
And close confin'd to their own palace, fleep.

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From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
Fate fnatch'd her early to the pitying sky.
As into air the purer spirits flow,
And fep'rate from their kindred dregs below;
So flew the foul to its congenial place,
Nor left one virtue to redeem her Race.

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But thou, falfe guardian of a charge too good,
Thou, mean deferter of thy brother's blood!
See on these ruby lips the trembling breath,
These cheeks now fading at the blast of death;
Cold is that breast which warm'd the world before,
And those love-darting eyes must roll no more.
Thus, if eternal justice rules the ball,
Thus shall your wives, and thus your children fall:
On all the line a fudden vengeance waits,
And frequent herses shall befiege your gates.
There paffengers shall stand and pointing say,
(While the long fun'rals blacken all the way)
Lo these were they, whose souls the Furies steel'd,
And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield.

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35

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Thus unlamented pass the proud away,

The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!

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So perifh all, whose breast ne'er learn'd to glow 45
For others good, or melt at others woe.

What can atone (oh ever-injur'd shade!)
Thy fate unpity'd, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend's complaint, no kind domeftic tear
Pleas'd thy pale ghost, or grac'd thy mournful bier,

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