Prop'd on their bodkin fpears, the Sprites furvey The growing combat, or affift the fray. 56 While thro' the prefs enrag'd Thaleftris flies, And scatters death around from both her eyes, A Beau and Witling perifh'd in the throng, One dy'd in metaphor, and one in fong. "O cruel nymph! a living death I bear, Cry'd Dapperwit, and funk beside his chair. A mournful glance Sir Fopling upwards caft, "Those eyes are made fo killing---was his last. Thus on Mæander's flow'ry margin lies Th' expiring Swan, and as he fings he dies. 60 65 When bold Sir Plume had drawn Clariffa down, Chloe stepp'd in, and kill'd him with a frown; She smil❜d to see the doughty hero flain, But, at her smile, the Beau reviv'd again. NOTES. VER. 45. So when bold Homer] Homer, Il. xx. P. IMITATIONS. 70 VER. 53. Triumphant Umbriel ] Minerva in like manner, during the battle of Ulyffes with the Suitors in Odyff. perches on a beam of the roof to behold it. P. VER. 64. Thofe eyes are made fo killing] The words of a Song in the Opera of Camilla. P. VER. 65. Thus on Meander's flow'ry margin lies] Sic ubi fata vocant, udis abjectus in herbis, Ad vada Mæandri concinit albus olor. Ov. Ep. P. Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air, 80 Now Jove fufpends his golden fcales in air, 80 eye o'erflows, 85 And the high dome re-echoes to his nose. Now meet thy fate, incens'd Belinda cry'd, NOTES. VER. 71, Now Jove, etc.] Vid, Homer II. n. xii. P. IMITATIONS. VER. 83. The Gnomes direct,] Thefe tw the above reafon. P. VER. 89. The fame, his antient perfonage tion of the progrefs of Agamemnon's fceptre In three feal-rings; which after, melted down, Her infant grandame's whistle next it grew, Boaft not my fall (he cry'd) infulting foe! 100 105 Reftore the Lock! fhe cries; and all around Reftore the Lock! the vaulted roofs rebound. Not fierce Othello in fo loud a ftrain Roar'd for the handkerchief that caus'd his pain. But fee 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 fought, but fought in vain : With fuch a prize no mortal must be blest, So heav'n decrees! with heav'n who can contest? 110 |