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Then in a bodkin grac'd her mother's hairs, 95
Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) insulting foe!
Restore the Lock! she cries; and all around
105 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 fought, 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 loft 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. 116 There broken vows, and death-bed alms are found, And lovers hearts with ends of ribband bound, The courtier’s prornises, and fick man's pray’rs, The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs, 120 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 Ver. 114. Since all things loj?] Vid. Ariosto. Canto xxxiv. P.
(So Rome's great founder to the heav'ns withdrew, To Proculus alone confess’d in view)
126 Ą fydden Star, it shot thro’ liquid air, And drew behind a radiant trail of hair. Not Berenice's Locks first rose so bright, The heay'ns bespangling with disheveld light. 139 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 furvey, And hail with music its propitious ray: This the bleft Lover shall for Venus take, 135 And send up vows from Rosamonda's lake. This Partridge soon shall view in cloudless skics, 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 rą.
VER. 137. This Partridge foon] John Partridge was a ridiculous Star-gazer, who in his Almanacks every year never fail'd to predict the downfal of the Pope, and the King of France, then at war with the English, P.
IMITATIO X S.
Flama:iferumque trahens fpatiofo limite crinem
For, after all the murders of your eye, 145
E L E GY
To the MEMORY of an
HAT beck’ning ghost, along the moon
light shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade ? 'Tis she ! - but why that blec ding bosom gor'd, Why dimly gleams the visionary sword ? Oh ever beauteous, ever friendly ! tell,
Why bade ye elfe, ye Pow’rs ! her soul aspire
* See the Duke of Buckingham's verses to a Lady de. figning to retire into a Monastery compared with Mr. Pope's Letters to several Ladies, p. 206. She seems to be the same person whose unfortunate death is the fubject of this poem.
Thence to their images on earth it flows,
From these perhaps (ere nature bade her die)
But thou, false guardian of a charge too good, Thou, mean deserter of thy brother's blood ! 30 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 thofe love-darting eyes must roll no more. Thus, if Eternal justice rules the ball,
35 Thus fhall your wives, and thus your children fall: On all the line a sudden vengeance waits, And frequent herses shall besiege your gates. There passengers shall stand, and pointing say, (While the long fun'rals blacken all the way) 40 Lo these were they, whose fouls the Furies steeld, And curs'd with hearts unknowing how to yield, Thus unlamented pass the proud away, The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day ! So perifh all, whose breast ne'er learn’d to glow For others good, or melt at others woe.