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| NOT with more Glories, in th' Etherial Plain, |
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| The Sun first rises o'er the purpled Main, |
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| Than issuing forth, the Rival of his Beams |
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| Lanch'd on the Bosom of the Silver Thames. |
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| Fair Nymphs, and well-drest Youths around her shone, |
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| But ev'ry Eye was fix'd on her alone. |
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| On her white Breast a sparkling Cross she wore, |
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| Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore. |
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| Her lively Looks a sprightly Mind disclose, |
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| Quick as her Eyes, and as unfix'd as those: |
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| Favours to none, to all she Smiles extends, |
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| Oft she rejects, but never once offends. |
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| Bright as the Sun, her Eyes the Gazers strike, |
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| And, like the sun, they shine on all alike. |
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| Yet graceful Ease, and Sweetness void of Pride, |
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| Might hide her Faults, if Belles had faults to hide: |
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| If to her share some Female Errors fall, |
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| Look on her Face, and you'll forget 'em all. |
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 This Nymph, to the Destruction of Mankind, |
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| Nourish'd two Locks, which graceful hung behind |
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| In equal Curls, and well conspir'd to deck |
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| With shining Ringlets her smooth Iv'ry Neck. |
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| Love in these Labyrinths his Slaves detains, |
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| And mighty Hearts are held in slender Chains. |
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| With hairy Sprindges we the Birds betray, |
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| Slight Lines of Hair surprize the Finny Prey, |
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| Fair Tresses Man's Imperial Race insnare, |
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| And Beauty draws us with a single Hair. |
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| Th' Adventrous Baron the bright Locks admir'd, |
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| He saw, he wish'd, and to the Prize aspir'd: |
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| Resolv'd to win, he meditates the way, |
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| By Force to ravish, or by Fraud betray; |
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| For when Success a Lover's Toil attends, |
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| Few ask, if Fraud or Force attain'd his Ends. |
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| For this, e're Phoebus rose, he had implor'd |
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| Propitious Heav'n, and ev'ry Pow'r ador'd, |
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| But chiefly Love—to Love an Altar built, |
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| Of twelve vast French Romances, neatly gilt. |
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| There lay three Garters, half a Pair of Gloves; |
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| And all the Trophies of his former Loves. |
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| With tender Billet-doux he lights the Pyre, |
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| And breathes three am'rous Sighs to raise the Fire. |
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| Then prostrate falls, and begs with ardent Eyes |
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| Soon to obtain, and long possess the Prize: |
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| The Pow'rs gave Ear, and granted half his Pray'r, |
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| The rest, the Winds dispers'd in empty Air. |
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| But now secure the painted Vessel glides, |
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| The Sun-beams trembling on the floating Tydes, |
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| While melting Musick steals upon the Sky, |
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| And soften'd Sounds along the Waters die. |
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| Smooth flow the Waves, the Zephyrs gently play |
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| Belinda smil'd, and all the World was gay. |
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| All but the Sylph—-With careful Thoughts opprest, |
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| Th' impending Woe sate heavy on his Breast. |
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| He summons strait his Denizens of Air; |
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| The lucid Squadrons round the Sails repair: |
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| Soft o'er the Shrouds Aerial Whispers breathe, |
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| That seem'd but Zephyrs to the Train beneath. |
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| Some to the Sun their Insect-Wings unfold, |
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| Waft on the Breeze, or sink in Clouds of Gold. |
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| Transparent Forms, too fine for mortal Sight, |
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| Their fluid Bodies half dissolv'd in Light. |
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| Loose to the Wind their airy Garments flew, |
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| Thin glitt'ring Textures of the filmy Dew; |
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| Dipt in the richest Tincture of the Skies, |
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| Where Light disports in ever-mingling Dies, |
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| While ev'ry Beam new transient Colours flings, |
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| Colours that change whene'er they wave their Wings. |
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| Amid the Circle, on the gilded Mast, |
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| Superior by the Head, was Ariel plac'd; |
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| His Purple Pinions opening to the Sun, |
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| He rais'd his Azure Wand, and thus begun. |
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| Ye Sylphs and Sylphids, to your Chief give Ear, |
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| Fays, Fairies, Genii, Elves, and Daemons hear! |
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| Ye know the Spheres and various Tasks assign'd, |
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| By Laws Eternal, to th' Aerial Kind. |
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| Some in the Fields of purest AEther play, |
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| And bask and whiten in the Blaze of Day. |
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| Some guide the Course of wandring Orbs on high, |
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| Or roll the Planets thro' the boundless Sky. |
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| Some less refin'd, beneath the Moon's pale Light |
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| Hover, and catch the shooting stars by Night; |
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| Or suck the Mists in grosser Air below, |
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| Or dip their Pinions in the painted Bow, |
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| Or brew fierce Tempests on the wintry Main, |
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| Or o'er the Glebe distill the kindly Rain. |
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| Others on Earth o'er human Race preside, |
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| Watch all their Ways, and all their Actions guide: |
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| Of these the Chief the Care of Nations own, |
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| And guard with Arms Divine the British Throne. |
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| Our humbler Province is to tend the Fair, |
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| Not a less pleasing, tho' less glorious Care. |
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| To save the Powder from too rude a Gale, |
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| Nor let th' imprison'd Essences exhale, |
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| To draw fresh Colours from the vernal Flow'rs, |
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| To steal from Rainbows ere they drop in Show'rs |
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| A brighter Wash; to curl their waving Hairs, |
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| Assist their Blushes, and inspire their Airs; |
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| Nay oft, in Dreams, Invention we bestow, |
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| To change a Flounce, or add a Furbelo. |
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| This Day, black Omens threat the brightest Fair |
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| That e'er deserv'd a watchful Spirit's Care; |
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| Some dire Disaster, or by Force, or Slight, |
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| But what, or where, the Fates have wrapt in Night. |
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| Whether the Nymph shall break Diana's Law, |
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| Or some frail China Jar receive a Flaw, |
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| Or stain her Honour, or her new Brocade, |
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| Forget her Pray'rs, or miss a Masquerade, |
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| Or lose her Heart, or Necklace, at a Ball; |
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| Or whether Heav'n has doom'd that Shock must fall. |
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| Haste then ye Spirits! to your Charge repair; |
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| The flutt'ring Fan be Zephyretta's Care; |
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| The Drops to thee, Brillante, we consign; |
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| And Momentilla, let the Watch be thine; |
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| Do thou, Crispissa, tend her fav'rite Lock; |
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| Ariel himself shall be the Guard of Shock. |
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| Whatever spirit, careless of his Charge, |
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| His Post neglects, or leaves the Fair at large, |
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| Shall feel sharp Vengeance soon o'ertake his Sins, |
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| Be stopt in Vials, or transfixt with Pins. |
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| Or plung'd in Lakes of bitter Washes lie, |
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| Or wedg'd whole Ages in a Bodkin's Eye: |
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| Gums and Pomatums shall his Flight restrain, |
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| While clog'd he beats his silken Wings in vain; |
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| Or Alom-Stypticks with contracting Power |
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| Shrink his thin Essence like a rivell'd Flower. |
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| Or as Ixion fix'd, the Wretch shall feel |
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| The giddy Motion of the whirling Mill, |
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| In Fumes of burning Chocolate shall glow, |
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| And tremble at the Sea that froaths below! |
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| He spoke; the Spirits from the Sails descend; |
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| Some, Orb in Orb, around the Nymph extend, |
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| Some thrid the mazy Ringlets of her Hair, |
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| Some hang upon the Pendants of her Ear; |
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| With beating Hearts the dire Event they wait, |
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| Anxious, and trembling for the Birth of Fate. |
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