Hyperboles, though ne'er so great,
Will still come short of self-conceit.
So very like a Painter drew,
That every eye the picture knew;
15 He hit complexion, feature, air,
So just, the life itself was there.
No flattery with his colours laid,
To bloom restor'd the faded maid;

He gave each muscle all its strength;
20 The mouth, the chin, the nose's length;
His honest pencil touch'd with truth,
And mark'd the date of age and youth.

He lost his friends, his practice fail'd; Truth should not always be reveal'd; 25 In dusty piles his pictures lay, For no one sent the second pay. Two bustos, fraught with every grace, A Venus' and Apollo's face,

He plac'd in view; resolv'd to please, 30 Who ever sat he drew from these, From these corrected every feature, And spirited each awkward creature.

All things were set; the hour was come, His palette ready o'er his thumb; 35 My Lord appear'd; and, seated right, In proper attitude and light,

The Painter look'd, he sketch'd the piece, Then dipt his pencil, talk'd of Greece, Of Titian's tints, of Guido's air; 40 Those eyes, my Lord, the spirit there, Might well a Raphael's hand require, To give them all the native fire;

The features, fraught with sense and wit, You'll grant are very hard to hit; 45 But yet with patience you shall view, As much as paint and art can do.'

Observe the work. My Lord replied,

'Till now I thought my mouth was wide; Besides, my nose is somewhat long; 50 Dear sir, for me, 'tis far too young!'

55

'Oh! pardon me, (the artist cried)
In this we Painters must decide.
The piece ev'n common eyes must strike,
I warrant it extremely like.'

My Lord examin'd it a-new;

No looking-glass seem'd half so true.
A lady came, with borrow'd grace,
He from his Venus form'd her face.
Her lover prais'd the Painter's art;
60 So like the picture in his heart!
To every age some charm he lent;
Ev'n beauties were almost content.
Through all the town his art they prais'd;
His custom grew, his price was rais'd.
65 Had he the real likeness shown,
Would any man the picture own?
But when thus happily he wrought,
Each found the likeness in his thought.

ON A LAP DOG

Shock's fate I mourn; poor Shock is now no more!

Ye Muses! mourn, ye Chambermaids! deplore. Unhappy Shock! Yet more unhappy fair, Doom'd to survive thy joy and only care. 5 Thy wretched fingers now no more shall deck, And tie the favorite ribband round his neck; No more thy hand shall smooth his glossy hair, And comb the wavings of his pendent ear. Let cease thy flowing grief, forsaken maid! 10 All mortal pleasures in a moment fade: Our surest hope is in an hour destroy'd, And love, best gift of Heaven, not long enjoy'd.

Methinks I see her frantic with despair,

Her streaming eyes, wrung hands, and flowing

hair;

15 Her Mechlin pinners, rent, the floor bestrow, And her torn face gives real signs of woe. Hence, Superstition! that tormenting guest, That haunts with fancied fears the coward breast; No dread events upon this fate attend,

20 Stream eyes no more, no more thy tresses rend. Though certain omens oft forwarn a state,

25

And dying lions show the monarch's fate,
Why should such fears bid Celia's sorrow rise?
For when a lap dog falls, no lover dies.

Cease, Celia, cease; restrain thy flowing tears.
Some warmer passion will dispel thy cares.
In man you'll find a more substantial bliss,
More grateful toying and a sweeter kiss.

He's dead. Oh! lay him gently in the ground! 30 And may his tomb be by this verse renown'd. Here Shock, the pride of all his kind, is laid, Who fawn'd like man, but ne'er like man betray'd.

Alexander Pope

1688-1744

THE RAPE OF THE LOCK

(Enlarged version published 1714)

CANTO I.

What dire offence from am'rous causes springs, What mighty contests rise from trivial things, I sing This verse to Caryll, Muse! is due; This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view; 5 Slight is the subject, but not so the praise, If she inspire, and he approve my lays.

Say what strange motive, goddess! could com

pel

A well-bred lord t' assault a gentle belle? O say what stranger cause, yet unexplored, 10 Could make a gentle belle reject a lord? In tasks so bold, can little men engage, And in soft bosoms, dwells such mighty rage?

Sol through white curtains shot a tim'rous ray, And op'd those eyes that must eclipse the day; 15 Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake, And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:

Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the
ground,

And the pressed watch returned a silver sound.
Belinda still her downy pillow pressed,

20 Her guardian sylph prolonged the balmy rest: 'Twas he had summoned to her silent bed

The morning dream that hovered o'er her head, A youth more glitt'ring than a birth-night beau, (That ev'n in slumber caused her cheek to glow) 25 Seemed to her ear his winning lips to lay, And thus in whispers said, or seemed to say. "Fairest of mortals, thou distinguished care Of thousand bright inhabitants of air!

If e'er one vision touched thy infant thought, 30 Of all the nurse and all the priest have taught; Of airy elves by moonlight shadows seen, The silver token, and the circled green,

Or virgins visited by angel-pow'rs,

With golden crowns and wreaths of heav'nly flow'rs;

35 Hear and believe! thy own importance know, Nor bound thy narrow views to things below. Some secret truths, from learned pride concealed, To maids alone and children are revealed. What though no credit doubting wits may give? 40 The fair and innocent shall still believe.

Know then, unnumbered spirits round thee fly,
The light militia of the lower sky:

These, though unseen, are ever on the wing,
Hang o'er the box, and hover round the ring.
45 Think what an equipage thou hast in air,
And view with scorn two pages and a chair.
As now your own, our beings were of old,
And once inclosed in woman's beauteous mould;
Thence, by a soft transition, we repair

50 From earthly vehicles to these of air.

Think not, when woman's transient breath is fled,

That all her vanities at once are dead;

Succeeding vanities she still regards,

And though she plays no more, o'erlooks the cards.

55 Her joy in gilded chariots, when alive,

And love of ombre, after death survive. For when the fair in all their pride expire, To their first elements, their souls retire: The sprites of fiery termagants in flame 60 Mount up, and take a salamander's name. Soft yielding minds to water glide away, And sip, with nymphs, their elemental tea. The graver prude sinks downward to a gnome, In search of mischief still on earth to roam. 65 The light coquettes in sylphs aloft repair, And sport and flutter in the fields of air.

"Know further yet; whoever fair and chaste Rejects mankind, is by some sylph embraced : For spirits, freed from mortal laws, with ease 70 Assume what sexes and what shapes they please. What guards the purity of melting maids,

In courtly balls, and midnight masquerades,
Safe from the treach'rous friend, the daring
spark,

The glance by day, the whisper in the dark,