Sunk in Thalestris'[34] arms the nymph he found, Her eyes dejected and her hair unbound. 90 Full o'er their heads the swelling bag he rent, And all the furies issued at the vent. Belinda burns with more than mortal ire, And fierce Thalestris fans the rising fire. 'O wretched maid!' she spread her hands, and cried, (While Hampton's echoes 'wretched maid!' replied) '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 torturing irons wreath'd around? 100 For this with fillets strain'd your tender head, And bravely bore the double loads of lead? Gods! shall the ravisher display your hair, While the fops envy, and the ladies stare? Honour forbid! at whose unrivall'd shrine Ease, pleasure, virtue, all our sex resign. 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! 110 How shall I, then, your helpless fame defend? 'Twill then be infamy to seem your friend! And shall this prize, the inestimable prize, Exposed through 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 Hyde-park Circus grow, And wits take lodgings in the sound of Bow; Sooner let earth, air, sea to chaos fall, Men, monkeys, lapdogs, parrots, perish all!' 120 She said; then raging to Sir Plume[35] repairs, 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! Plague on't! 'tis past a jest--nay, prithee, pox! Give her the hair'--he spoke, and rapp'd his box. 130 'It grieves me much' (replied the Peer again) Who speaks so well should 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, Clipp'd 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. 140 But Umbriel, hateful Gnome! forbears not so; He breaks the vial whence the sorrows flow. Then see! the nymph in beauteous grief appears, Her eyes half-languishing, half-drown'd in tears; On her heaved bosom hung her drooping head, Which, with a sigh, she raised; and thus she said: