This is the expanded, five-canto version of the poem. The line numbers and most of the notes are my own, though Pope’s notes are so marked.
Nolueram, Belinda, tuos violare capillos, Martial. |
“Belinda, I did not want to violate your locks, but I am glad to have given that much to your prayers.” Martial, 12.84. |
Canto I |
|
What dire Offence from am’rous° Causes springs, | related to love |
What mighty Contests rise from trivial Things, | |
I sing — This Verse to C——, Muse! is due; | |
This, ev’n Belinda may vouchsafe° to view: | agree |
Slight is the Subject, but not so the Praise, | |
If She inspire, and He approve my Lays.° | poem |
Say what strange Motive, Goddess! cou’d compel | |
A well-bred Lord t’ assault a gentle Belle? | |
Oh say what stranger Cause, yet unexplor’d, | |
Cou’d make a gentle Belle reject a Lord? [1.10] | |
And dwells such Rage° in softest Bosoms then? | does such rage dwell |
And lodge such daring Souls in Little Men? |
|
Sol° thro’ white Curtains shot a tim’rous Ray, | the sun |
And op’d those Eyes that must eclipse the Day; | |
Now Lapdogs give themselves the rowzing 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. [1.20] | fairy, spirit |
’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,° | fashionable man dressed for a party |
(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 Inhabitants of Air! | |
If e’er one Vision touch’d thy infant Thought, | |
Of all the Nurse and all the Priest have taught, [1.30] | |
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 Flowers, | |
Hear and believe! thy own Importance know, | |
Nor bound° thy narrow Views to Things below. | and don’t limit |
Some secret Truths from Learned Pride conceal’d, | |
To Maids alone and Children are reveal’d: | |
What tho’ no Credit° doubting Wits may give? | belief |
The Fair and Innocent shall still believe. [1.40] | |
Know then, unnumbered 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. | expensive theater seats |
Think what an Equipage° thou hast in Air, | group of attendants |
And view with scorn Two Pages — and a Chair. | footboys |
As now your own, our Beings were of old,° | once upon a time |
And once inclos’d in Woman’s beauteous Mold;° | physical body |
Thence,° by a soft Transition, we repair° | from there — go |
From earthly Vehicles to these of Air. [1.50] | |
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, | golden carriages |
And Love of Ombre,° after Death survive. | a card game |
For when the Fair in all their Pride expire, | |
To their first Elements the Souls retire:° | return |
The Sprights° of fiery Termagants° in Flame | spirits — obnoxious women |
Mount up, and take a Salamander’s Name. [1.60] | |
Soft yielding Minds to Water glide away, | |
And sip with Nymphs, their Elemental Tea. | |
The graver° Prude sinks downward to a Gnome, | more serious |
In search of Mischief still on Earth to roam. | |
The light Coquettes° in Sylphs aloft repair,° | flirts — go |
And sport and flutter in the Fields of Air. |
|
Know farther yet; Whoever fair and chaste° | beautiful and virginal |
Rejects Mankind, is by some Sylph embrac’d: | |
For Spirits, freed from mortal Laws, with ease | |
Assume what Sexes and what Shapes they please. [1.70] | |
What guards the Purity of melting° Maids, | overwhelmed |
In Courtly Balls,° and Midnight Masquerades, | fancy dances |
Safe from the treach’rous Friend, and daring Spark,° | fashionable man |
The Glance by Day, the Whisper in the Dark; | |
When kind Occasion° prompts° their warm Desires, | opportunity — starts up |
When Musick softens, and when Dancing fires? | |
’Tis but their Sylph, the wise Celestials know, | |
Tho’ Honour is the Word with Men below.° |
on earth |
Some Nymphs there are, too conscious of their Face, | |
For Life predestin’d to the Gnomes Embrace. [1.80] | |
These swell° their Prospects° and exalt their Pride, | exaggerate — future |
When Offers are disdain’d, and Love deny’d. | |
Then gay° Ideas crowd the vacant Brain; | frivolous |
While Peers° and Dukes, and all their sweeping Train, | noblemen |
And Garters, Stars, and Coronets appear, | |
And in soft Sounds, Your Grace salutes° their Ear. | greets |
’Tis these that early taint the Female Soul, | |
Instruct the Eyes of young Coquettes° to roll, | flirts |
Teach Infants Cheeks a bidden° Blush to know, | called for |
And little Hearts to flutter at a Beau.° [1.90] |
attractive man |
Oft when the World imagine Women stray, | |
The Sylphs thro’ mystick Mazes guide their Way, | |
Thro’ all the giddy Circle they pursue, | |
And old Impertinence° expel by new. | rudeness |
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; [1.100] | |
Where Wigs with Wigs, with Sword-knots Sword-knots strive, | |
Beaus banish Beaus, and Coaches Coaches drive. | |
This erring° Mortals Levity° may call, | mistaken — frivolousness |
Oh blind to Truth! the Sylphs contrive° it all. |
plan |
Of these am I, who thy Protection claim, | |
A watchful Sprite,° and Ariel is my Name. | spirit |
Late,° as I rang’d the Crystal Wilds of Air, | recently |
In the clear Mirror of thy ruling Star | |
I saw, alas! some dread° Event impend,° | terrible — hang over |
E’re° to the Main° this Morning Sun descend. [1.110] | before — sea |
But Heav’n reveals not what, or how, or where: | |
Warn’d by thy Sylph, oh Pious Maid beware! | |
This to disclose° is all thy Guardian can. | to reveal this |
Beware of all, but most beware of Man! |
|
He said; when Shock,° who thought she slept too long, | name of a lapdog |
Leapt 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.° | love letter |
Wounds, Charms, and Ardors, were no sooner read, | |
But all the Vision vanish’d from thy Head. [1.120] |
|
And now, unveil’d, the Toilet° stands display’d, | dressing table |
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;° | raises |
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; [1.130] | |
From each she nicely° culls° with curious Toil, | carefully, precisely — removes |
And decks° the Goddess with the glitt’ring Spoil. | dresses |
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. | artificial beauty spots |
Now awful° Beauty puts on all its Arms;° | awe-inspiring — armor |
The Fair each moment rises in her Charms, [1.140] | |
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. | come to life |
The busy Sylphs surround their darling Care; | |
These set the Head, and those divide the Hair, | |
Some fold the Sleeve, while others plait the Gown; | |
And Betty’s° prais’d for Labours not her own. |
the maid |
Canto II |
|
Not with more Glories, in th’ Etherial Plain, | |
The Sun first rises o’er the purpled Main,° | ocean |
Than issuing forth, the Rival of his Beams | |
Lanch’d on the Bosom of the Silver Thames.° | London’s major river |
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. | atheists |
Her lively Looks a sprightly Mind disclose, | |
Quick as her Eyes, and as unfix’d as those: [2.10] | |
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 [2.20] | |
In equal Curls, and well conspir’d to deck° | decorate |
With shining Ringlets her smooth Iv’ry Neck. | |
Love in these Labyrinths his Slaves detains, | |
And mighty Hearts are held in slender Chains. | |
With hairy Sprindges° we the Birds betray, | snares |
Slight Lines of Hair surprize the Finny Prey,° | fish |
Fair Tresses° Man’s Imperial Race insnare, | locks of hair |
And Beauty draws us with a single Hair. |
|
Th’ Adventrous Baron the bright Locks admir’d, | |
He saw, he wish’d, and to the Prize aspir’d: [2.30] | |
Resolv’d° to win, he meditates the way, | determined |
By Force to ravish,° or by Fraud betray; | carry off |
For when Success a Lover’s Toil attends,° | accompanies |
Few ask, if Fraud or Force attain’d his Ends. |
|
For this, e’re° Phœbus° rose, he had implor’d | before — the sun |
Propitious° Heav’n, and ev’ry Pow’r ador’d, | favorable |
But chiefly Love — to Love an Altar built, | |
Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt.32 | |
There lay three Garters, half a Pair of Gloves; | |
And all the Trophies of his former Loves. [2.40] | |
With tender Billet-doux° he lights the Pyre, | love letters |
And breathes three am’rous° Sighs to raise the Fire. | loving |
Then prostrate° falls, and begs with ardent Eyes | face-down |
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 Tydes, | |
While melting Musick steals upon° the Sky, | sneaks up on |
And soften’d Sounds along the Waters die. [2.50] | |
Smooth flow the Waves, the Zephyrs° gently play, | light breezes |
Belinda smil’d, and all the World was gay.° | carefree |
All but the Sylph — With careful Thoughts opprest, | |
Th’ impending° Woe sate° heavy on his Breast. | threatening — sat |
He summons strait° his Denizens° of Air; | right away — citizens |
The lucid° Squadrons round the Sails repair: | bright |
Soft o’er the Shrouds Aerial Whispers breathe, | |
That seem’d but Zephyrs to the Train° beneath. | followers |
Some to the Sun their Insect-Wings unfold, | |
Waft on the Breeze, or sink in Clouds of Gold. [2.60] | |
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, | color, dye |
Where Light disports° in ever-mingling Dies, | plays |
While ev’ry Beam new transient° Colours flings, | changing |
Colours that change whene’er they wave their Wings. | |
Amid the Circle, on the gilded Mast, | |
Superior° by the Head, was Ariel plac’d; [2.70] | high up |
His Purple Pinions° opening to the Sun, | wings |
He rais’d his Azure° Wand, and thus begun. |
sky-blue |
Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your Chief give Ear, | |
Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Dæmons° hear! | (all supernatural beings) |
Ye know the Spheres and various Tasks assign’d, | |
By Laws Eternal, to th’ Aerial Kind. | |
Some in the Fields of purest æther play, | |
And bask and whiten in the Blaze of Day. | |
Some guide the Course of wandring Orbs° on high, | planets |
Or roll the Planets thro’ the boundless Sky. [2.80] | |
Some less refin’d, beneath the Moon’s pale Light | |
Hover, and catch the shooting stars by Night; | |
Or suck the Mists in grosser° Air below, | heavier, denser |
Or dip their Pinions° in the painted Bow, | wings |
Or brew fierce Tempests° on the wintry Main,° | storms — sea |
Or o’er the Glebe° distill the kindly Rain. | soil |
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. [2.90] |
|
Our humbler Province° is to tend the Fair,° | responsibility — beautiful |
Not a less pleasing, tho’ less glorious Care. | |
To save the Powder from too rude° a Gale,° | strong — wind |
Nor let th’ imprison’d Essences° exhale, | perfumes |
To draw fresh Colours from the vernal° Flow’rs, | green, growing |
To steal from Rainbows ere° they drop in Show’rs | before |
A brighter Wash; to curl their waving Hairs, | |
Assist their Blushes, and inspire their Airs; | |
Nay oft, in Dreams, Invention° we bestow, | imagination |
To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelo.° [2.100] |
decorative parts of a gown |
This Day, black Omens threat the brightestFair | |
That e’er deserv’d a watchful Spirit’s Care; | |
Some dire Disaster, or° by Force, or Slight, | either |
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,° | (a kind of fabric) |
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. [2.110] | Belinda’s lapdog |
Haste° then ye Spirits! to your Charge° repair;° | hurry — responsibility — go |
The flutt’ring Fan be Zephyretta’s Care; | |
The Drops° to thee, Brillante, we consign;° | diamond earrings — entrust |
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 Note, | |
We trust th’ important Charge, the Petticoat.° | underwear |
Oft have we known that sev’nfold Fence to fail; | |
Tho’ stiff with Hoops, and arm’d with Ribs of Whale. [2.120] | |
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 stopt in Vials, or transfixt with Pins. | |
Or plung’d in Lakes of bitter Washes lie, | |
Or wedg’d whole Ages in a Bodkin’s° Eye: | hairpin |
Gums and Pomatums° shall his Flight restrain, | hair gels |
While clog’d he beats his silken Wings in vain; [2.130] | |
Or Alom-Stypticks° with contracting Power | astringent substances |
Shrink his thin Essence like a rivell’d Flower. | |
Or as Ixion fix’d, the Wretch shall feel | |
The giddy Motion of the whirling Mill, | |
In Fumes of burning Chocolate° shall glow, | (always a drink at this time) |
And tremble at the Sea that froaths 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; [2.140] | earrings |
With beating Hearts the dire Event° they wait, | terrible outcome |
Anxious, and trembling for the Birth of Fate. |
|
Canto III |
|
Close by those Meads° for ever crown’d with Flow’rs, | meadows |
Where Thames with Pride surveys his rising Tow’rs, | |
There stands a Structure of Majestick Frame, | |
Which from the neighb’ring Hampton° takes its Name. | Hampton Court, a palace |
Here Britain’s Statesmen oft the Fall foredoom° | predict |
Of Foreign Tyrants, and of Nymphs at home; | |
Here Thou, great Anna!° whom three Realms obey, | Queen Anne |
Dost sometimes Counsel° take — and sometimes Tea. | advice |
Hither° the Heroes and the Nymphs resort, | to hear |
To taste awhile the Pleasures of a Court; [3.10] | |
In various Talk th’ instructive hours they past, | |
Who gave the Ball,° or paid the Visit last: | hosted the dance |
One speaks the Glory of the British Queen, | |
And one describes a charming Indian Screen.° | portable room divider |
A third interprets Motions, Looks, and Eyes; | |
At ev’ry Word a Reputation dies. | |
Snuff,° or the Fan, supply each Pause of Chat, | powdered tobacco for snorting |
With singing, laughing, ogling,° and all that. |
staring |
Mean while declining from the Noon of Day, | |
The Sun obliquely° shoots his burning Ray; [3.20] | from an angle |
The hungry Judges soon the Sentence sign, | |
And Wretches hang that Jury-men may Dine; | |
The Merchant from th’ exchange° returns in Peace, | stock exchange |
And the long Labours of the Toilette° cease — | dressing table |
Belinda now, whom Thirst of Fame invites, | |
Burns to encounter two adventrous Knights, | |
At Ombre singly to decide their Doom;° | fate |
And swells her Breast with Conquests yet to come. | |
Strait° the three Bands° prepare in Arms to join, | at once — groups |
Each Band the number of the Sacred Nine.° [3.30] | the Muses |
Soon as she spreads her Hand, th’ Aerial 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; | snow-white |
And four fair Queens whose hands sustain a Flow’r, | |
Th’ expressive Emblem of their softer Pow’r; [3.40] | |
Four Knaves° in Garbs succinct,° a trusty Band, | jacks — wrapped up |
Caps on their heads, and Halberds° in their hand; | battle axes |
And Particolour’d° Troops, a shining Train,° | multicolored — followers |
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, | black |
In Show like Leaders of the swarthy° Moors.° | dark — North Africans |
Spadillio° first, unconquerable Lord! | the ace of spades |
Led off two captive Trumps, and swept the Board. [3.50] | |
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. | unimportant |
With his broad Sabre next, a Chief in Years, | |
The hoary° Majesty of Spades appears; | old |
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. [3.60] | turns out to be |
Ev’n mighty Pam that Kings and Queens o’erthrow, | |
And mow’d down Armies in the Fights of Lu,° | a card game |
Sad Chance of War! now, destitute° of Aid, | lacking |
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. | queen |
The Club’s black Tyrant first her Victim dy’d, | |
Spite of his haughty Mien,° and barb’rous Pride: [3.70] | appearance |
What boots° the Regal° Circle on his Head, | benefits — royal |
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;° | quickly |
Th’ embroider’d King who shows but half his Face, | |
And his refulgent° Queen, with Pow’rs combin’d, | shining |
Of broken Troops an easie Conquest find. | |
Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild Disorder seen, | |
With Throngs promiscuous° strow the level Green. [3.80] | mixed |
Thus when dispers’d a routed° Army runs, | defeated |
Of Asia’s Troops, and Africk’s Sable° Sons, | black |
With like Confusion different Nations fly, | |
In various habits and of various Dye,° | color |
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,° | clever tricks |
And wins (oh shameful Chance!) the Queen of Hearts. | |
At this, the Blood the Virgin’s Cheek forsook,° | abandoned |
A livid° Paleness spreads o’er all her Look; [3.90] | ghastly white |
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) | often |
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. | lying on its face |
The Nymph exulting° fills with Shouts the Sky, | victorious |
The Walls, the Woods, and long Canals reply.° [3.100] |
echo |
Oh thoughtless Mortals! ever blind to Fate, | |
Too soon dejected,° and too soon elate!° | depressed — thrilled |
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, | table |
The Berries° crackle, and the Mill° turns round. | coffee beans — grinder |
On shining Altars of Japan° they raise | Asian-style varnish |
The silver Lamp; the fiery Spirits blaze. | |
From silver Spouts the grateful Liquors° glide, | pleasing liquids |
And China’s Earth receives the smoking Tyde. [3.110] | |
At once they gratify° their Scent and Taste, | please |
While frequent Cups prolong the rich Repast.° | meal |
Strait° hover round the Fair her Airy Band; | nearby |
Some, as she sip’d, the fuming Liquor fann’d, | |
Some o’er her Lap their careful Plumes display’d, | |
Trembling, and conscious of the rich Brocade.° | fabric |
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. [3.120] | schemes |
Ah cease rash Youth! desist e’er° ’tis too late, | before |
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!° | evil |
Just then, Clarissa drew with tempting Grace | |
A two-edg’d Weapon from her shining Case; | |
So Ladies in Romance° assist their Knight, | adventure stories |
Present the Spear, and arm him for the Fight. [3.130] | |
He takes the Gift with rev’rence, and extends | |
The little Engine° on his Finger’s Ends: | device |
This just behind Belinda’s Neck he spread, | |
As o’er the fragrant Steams she bends her Head: | |
Swift to the Lock a thousand Sprights° repair,° | spirits — hurry |
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; [3.140] | |
As on the Nosegay° in her Breast reclin’d, | bunch of flowers |
He watch’d th’ Ideas rising in her Mind, | |
Sudden he view’d, in spite of all her Art,° | effort |
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, | baron — scissors (Latin) |
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;° [3.150] | foolishly — came between |
Fate urg’d° the Sheers, and cut the Sylph in twain, | pushed |
(But Airy Substance soon unites again) | |
The meeting Points that sacred Hair dissever | |
From the fair Head, for ever and for ever! |
|
Then flash’d the living Lightnings from her Eyes, | |
And Screams of Horror rend° th’ affrighted Skies. | tear apart |
Not louder Shrieks to pitying Heav’n are cast, | |
When Husbands or when Lap-dogs breath their last, | |
Or when rich China Vessels, fal’n from high, | |
In glittring Dust and painted Fragments lie! [3.160] |
|
Let Wreaths of Triumph now my Temples twine,° | wrap around |
(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 British Fair, | fancy carriage drawn by six horses |
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 numerous Wax-lights in bright Order blaze, | |
While Nymphs take Treats, or Assignations° give, | meeting times |
So long my Honour, Name, and Praise shall live! [3.170] |
|
What Time wou’d spare, from Steel receives its date,° | end |
And Monuments, like Men, submit to Fate! | |
Steel cou’d the Labour of the Gods destroy, | |
And strike to Dust th’ Imperial Tow’rs of Troy. | |
Steel cou’d the Works of mortal Pride confound,° | topple |
And hew° Triumphal Arches to the Ground. | chop down |
What Wonder then, fair Nymph! thy Hairs shou’d feel | |
The conqu’ring Force of unresisted Steel? |
|
Canto IV |
|
But anxious Cares the pensive° Nymph opprest, | thoughtful |
And secret Passions labour’d in her Breast. | |
Not youthful Kings in Battel seiz’d alive, | |
Not scornful Virgins who their Charms survive, | |
Not ardent° Lovers robb’d of all their Bliss, | passionate |
Not ancient Ladies when refus’d a Kiss, | |
Not Tyrants fierce that unrepenting die, | |
Not Cynthia when her Manteau’s° pinn’d awry,° | jacket — crooked |
E’er felt such Rage, Resentment and Despair, | |
As Thou, sad Virgin! for thy ravish’d° Hair. [4.10] |
carried off |
For, that sad moment, when the Sylphs withdrew, | |
And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, | |
Umbriel, a dusky melancholy Spright,° | dark, gloomy spirit |
As ever sully’d° the fair face of Light, | dirtied |
Down to the Central Earth, his proper Scene, | |
Repairs° to search the gloomy Cave of Spleen. |
travels |
Swift on his sooty° Pinions° flitts the Gnome, | black — wings |
And in a Vapour reach’d the dismal Dome.° | building |
No cheerful Breeze this sullen° Region knows, | gloomy |
The dreaded East is all the Wind that blows. [4.20] | |
Here, in a Grotto, sheltred 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. |
Migraine |
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;° | dressed |
With store of Pray’rs, for Mornings, Nights, and Noons, | |
Her Hand is fill’d; her Bosom with Lampoons.° [4.30] |
nasty poems |
There Affectation with a sickly Mien° | appearance |
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, | attractive |
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; [4.40] | |
Dreadful, as Hermit’s Dreams in haunted Shades, | |
Or bright as Visions of expiring Maids. | |
Now glaring Fiends,° and Snakes on rolling Spires, | devils |
Pale Spectres, gaping Tombs, and Purple Fires: | |
Now Lakes of liquid Gold, Elysian° Scenes, | like paradise |
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 Teapots stand, one Arm held out, | |
One bent; the Handle this, and that the Spout: [4.50] | |
A Pipkin there like Homer’s Tripod walks; | |
Here sighs a Jar, and there a Goose Pie talks; | |
Men prove° with Child, as pow’rful Fancy works, | turn out to be |
And Maids turn’d° Bottels, call aloud for Corks. |
transformed into |
Safe past the Gnome thro’ this fantastick° Band, | incredible |
A Branch of healing Spleenwort in his hand. | |
Then thus addrest the Pow’r — Hail wayward° Queen! | disobedient, strange, stubborn |
Who rule the Sex° to Fifty from Fifteen, | womankind |
Parent of Vapors and of Female Wit, | |
Who give th’ Hysteric or Poetic Fit, [4.60] | |
On various Tempers act by various ways, | |
Make some take Physick,° others scribble Plays; | medicine |
Who cause the Proud their Visits to delay, | |
And send the Godly in a Pett,° to pray. | temper tantrum |
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° Matron’s Cheeks inflame, | lemon-flavored brandy |
Or change Complexions at a losing Game; [4.70] | |
If e’er with airy Horns I planted Heads, | |
Or rumpled Petticoats,° or tumbled Beds, | underwear |
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, | constipated |
Which not the Tears of brightest Eyes could ease: | |
Hear me, and touch Belinda with Chagrin;° | worry |
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. [4.80] | |
A wondrous 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 Gift away, | |
Spreads his black Wings, and slowly mounts to Day. |
|
Sunk in Thalestris’° Arms the Nymph he found, | queen of the Amazons |
Her Eyes dejected and her Hair unbound. [4.90] | |
Full o’er their Heads the swelling Bag he rent,° | tore open |
And all the Furies issued° at the Vent. | came out |
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 Ecchos, 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? [4.100] | curling irons |
For this with Fillets° strain’d your tender Head, | headbands |
And bravely bore the double Loads of Lead? | |
Gods! shall the Ravisher display your Hair, | |
While the Fops° envy, and the Ladies stare! | fashionable men |
Honour forbid! at whose unrival’d Shrine | |
Ease, Pleasure, Virtue, All, our Sex resign.° | give up |
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! [4.110] | |
How shall I, then, your helpless Fame° defend? | reputation |
’Twill then be Infamy° to seem your Friend! | disagrace |
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 Hide Park Circus grow, | |
And Wits take Lodgings in the Sound of Bow; | |
Sooner let Earth, Air, Sea, to Chaos fall, | |
Men, Monkies, Lap-dogs, Parrots, perish all! [4.120] |
|
She said; then raging to Sir Plume repairs,° | goes |
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! | by God |
“Plague on’t! ’tis past a Jest — nay prithee, Pox! | |
“Give her the Hair — he spoke, and rapp’d his Box.
[4.130] |
|
It grieves me much (reply’d the Peer again) | |
Who speaks so well shou’d 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, | |
Clipt 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. [4.140] |
|
But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears° not so; | resists |
He breaks the Vial whence° the Sorrows flow. | from which |
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! [4.150] | |
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, | golden carriage |
Where none learn Ombre, none e’er taste Bohea!° | a kind of tea |
There kept my Charms conceal’d from mortal Eye, | |
Like Roses that in Desarts bloom and die. | |
What mov’d my Mind with youthful Lords to rome? | |
O had I stay’d, and said my Pray’rs at home! [4.160] | |
’Twas this, the Morning Omens seem’d to tell; | |
Thrice from my trembling hand the Patch-box° fell; | collection of artificial beauty-marks |
The tott’ring China shook without a Wind, | |
Nay, Poll sate 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! | remains |
My hands shall rend what ev’n thy Rapine° spares: | theft |
These, in two sable° Ringlets taught to break, | black |
Once gave new Beauties to the snowie Neck. [4.170] | |
The Sister-Lock now sits uncouth,° alone, | awkward |
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,° | attacks with blame |
For who can move when fair Belinda fails? | |
Not half so fixt the Trojan cou’d remain, | |
While Anna begg’d and Dido rag’d in vain. | |
Then grave° Clarissa graceful wav’d her Fan; | serious |
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? [5.10] | |
Why deck’d with all that Land and Sea afford,° | offer |
Why Angels call’d, and Angel-like ador’d? | |
Why round our Coaches crowd the white-glov’d Beaus, | |
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; [5.20] | a disfiguring and often deadly virus |
Who would not scorn what Huswife’s° Cares produce, | housewife’s |
Or who would learn one earthly Thing of Use? | |
To patch, nay ogle,° might become a Saint, | stare |
Nor could it sure be such a Sin to paint.° | wear makeup |
But since, alas! frail Beauty must decay, | |
Curl’d or uncurl’d, since Locks will turn to grey, | |
Since paint’d, or not paint’d, all shall fade, | |
And she who scorns a Man, must die a Maid;° | virgin |
What then remains, but well our Pow’r to use, | |
And keep good Humour still whate’er we lose? [5.30] | |
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 strike the Sight, but Merit wins the Soul. |
|
So spake the Dame, but no Applause ensu’d;° | followed |
Belinda frown’d, Thalestris call’d her Prude. | |
To Arms, to Arms! the fierce Virago° cries, | a masculine or warlike woman |
And swift as Lightning to the Combate flies. | |
All side in Parties, and begin th’ Attack; | |
Fans clap, Silks russle, and tough Whalebones crack; [5.40] | |
Heroes and Heroins 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. |
and don’t fear |
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;° [5.50] | echo |
Earth shakes her nodding Tow’rs, the Ground gives way; | |
And the pale Ghosts start at the Flash of Day! |
|
Triumphant Umbriel on a Sconce’s Height | |
Clapt his glad Wings, and sate° to view the Fight, | sat |
Propt on their Bodkin° Spears, the Sprights survey | hairpin |
The growing Combat, or assist the Fray. |
|
While thro’ the Press enrag’d Thalestris flies, | |
And scatters Deaths around from both her Eyes, | |
A Beau and Witling perish’d in the Throng, | |
One dy’d in Metaphor, and one in Song. [5.60] | |
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 Meander’s flow’ry Margin° lies | bank, riverside |
Th’ expiring Swan, and as he sings he dies. |
|
When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down, | |
Chloe stept in, and kill’d him with a Frown; | |
She smil’d to see the doughty° Hero slain, | brave |
But at her Smile, the Beau reviv’d again. [5.70] |
|
Now Jove suspends° his golden Scales in Air, | hangs |
Weighs the Mens Wits against the Lady’s Hair; | |
The doubtful Beam° long nods from side to side; | (part of a scale) |
At length the Wits mount up, the Hairs subside.° |
go down |
See fierce Belinda on the Baron flies,° | attacks |
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 indu’d,° | endowed |
She with one Finger and a Thumb subdu’d, [5.80] | |
Just where the Breath of Life his Nostrils drew, | |
A Charge of Snuff° the wily° Virgin threw; | powdered tobacco — clever |
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-ecchoes to his Nose. |
|
Now meet thy Fate, incens’d° Belinda cry’d, | furious |
And drew a deadly Bodkin° from her Side. | hairpin |
(The same, his ancient Personage to deck,° | decorate |
Her great great Grandsire° wore about his Neck [5.90] | grandfather |
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, | grandmother’s |
The Bells she gingled, 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! [5.100] | |
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.° | echo |
Not fierce Othello° in so loud a Strain | character in Shakespeare’s play |
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! | struggle |
The Lock, obtain’d with Guilt, and kept with Pain, | |
In ev’ry place is sought,° but sought in vain: [5.110] | looked for |
With such a Prize no Mortal must be blest, | |
So Heav’n decrees! with Heav’n who can contest?° |
compete |
Some thought it mounted to the Lunar Sphere,° | the moon |
Since all things lost on Earth, are treasur’d there. | |
There Heroe’s Wits are kept in pondrous° Vases, | heavy |
And Beau’s in Snuff-boxes and Tweezer-Cases. | |
There broken Vows, and Death-bed Alms° are found, | charity |
And Lovers Hearts with Ends of Riband° bound; | ribbon |
The Courtiers Promises, and Sick Man’s Pray’rs, | |
The Smiles of Harlots,° and the Tears of Heirs, [5.120] | whores |
Cages for Gnats, and Chains to Yoak a Flea; | |
Dry’d Butterflies, and Tomes of Casuistry.° |
pointless logical arguments |
But trust the Muse — she saw it upward rise, | |
Tho’ mark’d° by none but quick Poetic Eyes: | noticed |
(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, | clear |
And drew behind a radiant Trail of Hair. | |
Not Berenice’s Locks first rose so bright, | |
The heav’ns bespangling° with dishevel’d light. [5.130] | sparkling |
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, | high society |
And hail with Musick its propitious° Ray. | promising good fortune |
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’ Galilæo’s Eyes; | |
And hence th’ Egregious Wizard shall foredoom | |
The Fate of Louis, and the Fall of Rome.
[5.140] |
|
Then cease, bright Nymph! to mourn the ravish’d Hair | |
Which adds new Glory to the shining Sphere!° | sky |
Not all the Tresses° that fair Head can boast | locks of hair |
Shall draw such Envy as the Lock you lost. | |
For, after all the Murders of your Eye, | |
When, after Millions slain, your self shall die; | |
When those fair Suns shall sett, as sett they must, | |
And all those Tresses shall be laid in Dust; | |
This Lock, the Muse shall consecrate° to Fame, | make holy |
And mid’st the Stars inscribe° Belinda’s Name! [5.150] |
write |