Rape of the Lock.
NOT with more Glories, in th' Etherial Plain,
The Sun firſt prizes; o'er the purpled Main,
Than iſſuing forth, the Rival of his Beams
Lanch'd on the Boſom of the Silver Thames.
Fair Nymphs, and well-dreſt Youths around her ſhone,
But ev'ry Eye was fixt on her alone.
On her white Breaſt a ſparkling Croſs ſhe wore,
Which Jews might kiſs, and Infidels adore.