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CANTO V - Alexander Pope, The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope [1903]

Edition used:

The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope. Cambridge Edition, ed. Henry W. Boynton (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1903).

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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,
    • For who can move when fair Belinda fails?
    • Not half so fix’d the Trojan could remain,
    • While Anna begg’d and Dido raged in vain.
    • Then grave Clarissa graceful waved her fan;
    • Silence ensued, 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?10
    • Why deck’d with all that land and sea afford,
    • Why angels call’d, and angel-like ador’d?
    • Why round our coaches crowd the whiteglov’d beaux?
    • 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 smallpox, or chased old age away;20
    • 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,
    • Curl’d or uncurl’d, since locks will turn to gray;
    • 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?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 spoke the dame, but no applause ensued;
    • Belinda frown’d, Thalestris call’d her prude.
    • ‘To arms, to arms!’ the fierce virago cries,
    • And swift as lightning to the combat flies.
    • All side in parties, and begin th’ attack;
    • Fans clap, silks rustle, and tough whale-bones crack;40
    • Heroes’ and heroines’ shouts confusedly 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.
    • 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 bell’wing deeps resound:50
    • Earth shakes her nodding towers, the ground gives way,
    • And the pale ghosts start at the flash of day!
    • Triumphant Umbriel, on a sconce’s height ,
    • Clapp’d his glad wings, and sat to view the fight:
    • Propp’d on their bodkin-spears, the sprites survey
    • The growing combat, or assist the fray.
    • While thro’ the press enraged Thalestris flies,
    • And scatters death around from both her eyes,
    • A Beau and Witling perish’d in the throng,
    • One died in metaphor, and one in song:60
    • ‘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 Mæander’s flowery margin lies
    • Th’ expiring swan, and as he sings he dies.
    • When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clarissa down,
    • Chloe stepp’d in, and kill’d him with a frown;
    • She smiled to see the doughty hero slain,
    • But, at her smile, the beau revived again.
    • Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air ,71
    • 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 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 endued,
    • She with one finger and a thumb subdued:
    • Just where the breath of life his nostrils drew,81
    • A charge of snuff the wily virgin threw;
    • The Gnomes direct, to every atom just,
    • The pungent grains of titillating dust.
    • Sudden, with starting tears each eye o’erflows,
    • And the high dome reechoes to his nose.
    • ‘Now meet thy fate,’ incens’d Belinda cried,
    • And drew a deadly bodkin from her side.
    • (The same, his ancient personage to deck,
    • Her great-great-grandsire wore about his neck,90
    • 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,
    • 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.)
    • ‘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!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.
    • Not fierce Othello in so loud a strain
    • 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 sought, but sought in vain:110
    • 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 lost on earth are treasured there.
    • There heroes’ wits are kept in pond’rous vases,
    • And beaux’ in snuffboxes and tweezercases.
    • There broken vows, and deathbed alms are found,
    • And lovers’ hearts with ends of riband bound,
    • The courtier’s promises, and sick man’s prayers,
    • The smiles of harlots, and the tears of heirs,120
    • Cages for gnats, and chains to yoke a flea,
    • Dried butterflies, and tomes of casuistry.
    • But trust the Muse—she saw it upward rise,
    • Tho’ mark’d by none but quick poetic eyes
    • (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,
    • And drew behind a radiant trail of hair.
    • Not Berenice’s locks first rose so bright,
    • The heav’ns bespangling with dishevell’d light.130
    • 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,
    • And hail with music its propitious ray;
    • 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’ Galileo’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 ravish’d hair,
    • Which adds new glory to the shining sphere!
    • 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.150

POEMS WRITTEN BETWEEN 1713 AND 1717

[Canto V. Line 45.]So when bold Homer, etc. See Homer, Iliad, xx. (Pope.)

[Line 53.]Umbriel, on a sconce’s height. Minerva, in like manner, during the battle of Ulysses with the suitors, perches on a beam of the roof to behold it. (Pope.)

[Line 65.]Thus on Mæander’s flow’ry margin, etc.

  • ‘Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis,
  • Ad vada Maeandri concinit albus color.’
  • Ovid, Epistle vii. 2. (Pope.)

[Line 71.]Now Jove suspends his golden scales in air. See Homer, Iliad, viii., and Virgil, Æneid, xii. (Pope.)