RAPE of the LOCK.


NOT with more Glories, in th’ Etherial Plain, The Sun first rises 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 fix’d on her alone. On her white Breast a sparkling Cross she wore, Which Jews might kiss, and Infidels adore.

Canto 2

Lud Du Guernier inv. C. Du Bosc sculp.