The Rape of the Lock, Canto I

¹What dire offence from am'rous causes springs,

²What mighty contests rise from trivial things,

³I sing — This verse to Caryll, Muse! is due:

⁴This, ev'n Belinda may vouchsafe to view:

⁵Slight is the subject, but not so the praise,

⁶If she inspire, and he approve my lays.

⁷Say what strange motive, Goddess! could compel

⁸A well-bred Lord to assault a gentle Belle?

⁹O say what stranger cause, yet unexplor'd,

¹⁰Could make a gentle Belle reject a Lord?

¹¹In tasks so bold, can little men engage,

¹²And in soft bosoms dwells such mighty Rage?

¹³Sol thro' white curtains shot a tim'rous ray,

¹⁴And oped those eyes that must eclipse the day:

¹⁵Now lap-dogs give themselves the rousing shake,

¹⁶And sleepless lovers, just at twelve, awake:

¹⁷Thrice rung the bell, the slipper knock'd the ground,

¹⁸And the press'd watch return'd a silver sound.

¹⁹Belinda still her downy pillow prest,

²⁰Her guardian Sylph prolong'd the balmy rest:

²¹'Twas he had summon'd to her silent bed

²²The morning-dream that hover'd o'er her head;

²³A Youth more glitt'ring than a Birth-night Beau,

²⁴(That ev'n in slumber caus'd her cheek to glow)