Or in a coach and six the British fair, As long as Atalantis[449] shall be read, 165 Or the small pillow grace a lady's bed,[450] While visits shall be paid on solemn days, When num'rous wax-lights in bright order blaze, While nymphs take treats, or assignations give, So long my honour, name, and praise shall live!"[451] 170 What time would spare, from steel receives its date, And monuments, like men, submit to fate![452] Steel could the labour of the gods destroy,[453] And strike to dust th' imperial tow'rs of Troy; Steel could the works of mortal pride confound, 175 And hew triumphal arches to the ground.[454] What wonder then, fair nymph! thy hairs should feel The conqu'ring force of unresisted steel?[455] CANTO IV. But anxious cares the pensive nymph oppressed,[456] And secret passions laboured in her breast. Not youthful kings in battle seized alive, Not scornful virgins who their charms survive, Not ardent lovers robbed of all their bliss, 5 Not ancient ladies when refused a kiss, Not tyrants fierce that unrepenting die,[457] Not Cynthia when her manteau's pinned awry, E'er felt such rage, resentment, and despair, As thou, sad virgin! for thy ravished hair. 10 For, that sad moment, when the sylphs withdrew,[458] And Ariel weeping from Belinda flew, Umbriel, a dusky, melancholy sprite, As ever sullied the fair face of light, Down to the central earth, his proper scene, 15 Repaired to search the gloomy cave of Spleen. Swift on his sooty pinions flits the gnome,[459] And in a vapour reached the dismal dome. No cheerful breeze this sullen region knows, The dreaded east is all the wind that blows.[460] 20 Here in a grotto, sheltered close from air, And screened in shades from day's detested glare,[461] She sighs for ever on her pensive bed, Pain at her side, and Megrim[462] at her head. Two handmaids wait[463] the throne: alike in place, 25 But diff'ring far in figure and in face. Here stood Ill-nature like an ancient maid, Her wrinkled form in black and white arrayed; With store of pray'rs, for mornings, nights, and noons, Her hand is filled; her bosom with lampoons. 30 There Affectation with a sickly mien, Shows in her cheek the roses of eighteen, Practised to lisp, and hang the head aside, Faints into airs, and languishes with pride, On the rich quilt sinks with becoming woe, 35 Wrapped 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.[464] A constant vapour o'er the palace flies;