Say what strange Motive, Goddeſs! cou'd compel
A well-bred Lord t'aſſault a gentle Belle?
Oh ſay what ſtranger Cauſe, yet unexplored,
Cou'd make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?
And dwells ſuch Rage in ſofteſt Boſoms then?
And lodge ſuch daring Souls in Little Men?
Sol thro' white Curtains did his Beams diſplay,
And op'd thoſe Eyes which brighter ſhine than they;
Now Shock had giv'n himſelf the rowsing Shake,
And Nymphs prepar'd their Chocolate to take;
Thrice the wrought Slipper knock'd againſt the Ground,
And ſtriking Watches the tenth Hour reſound.
Belinda still her downy Pillow preſt,
Her Guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy Reſt.
'Twas he had ſummon'd to her ſilent Bed
The Morning Dream that hover'd o'er her Head.
A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,
(That ev'n in Slumber caus'd her Cheek to glow)