Sent up in Vapours to the Baron's Brain
New Stratagems, the radiant Lock to gain.
Ah ceaſe raſh Youth! deſiſt e'er 'tis too late,
Fear the juſt Gods, and think of Scylla's Fate!
Chang'd to a Bird, and ſent to flit in Air,
She dearly pays for Niſus' injur'd Hair!
But when to Miſchief Mortals bend their Mind,
How ſoon fit Instruments of Ill they find?
Juſt then, Clariſſa drew with tempting Grace
A two-edg'd Weapon from her ſhining Caſe,
So Ladies in Romance aſſiſt their Knight,
Preſent the Spear, and arm him for the Fight.
He takes the Gift with rev'rence, and extends
The little Engine on his Finger's Ends,
This juſt behind Belinda's Neck he ſpread,
As o'er the fragrant Steams she bends her Head.
Swift to the Lock a thouſand Sprights repair,
A thouſand Wings, by turns, blow back the Hair,
- Vide Ovid. Metam. 8.