A ſudden Star, it ſhot thro' liquid Air,
And drew behind a radiant Trail of Hair.
Not Berenice's Locks firſt roſe ſo bright,
The Skies beſpangling with diſhevel'd Light.
The Sylphs behold it kindling as it flies,
And pleas'd purſue its Progreſs thro' the Skies.
This the Beau-monde ſhall from the Mall ſurvey,
And hail with Muſick its propitious Ray.
This, the bleſt Lover ſhall for Venus take,
And ſend up Vows from Roſamonda's Lake.
This Partridge ſoon ſhall view in cloudleſs Skies,
When next he looks thro' Galilæo's Eyes;
And hence th' Egregious Wizard ſhall foredoom
The Fate of Louis, and the Fall of Rome.
Then ceaſe, bright Nymph! to mourn the raviſh'd Hair
Which adds new Glory to the ſhining Sphere!
Not all the Treſſes that fair Head can boaſt
Shall draw ſuch Envy as the Lock you loſt.