"Then cease, bright nymph! to mourn thy 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, For after all the murders of your eye, When, after millions slain, yourself shall die; When those fair suns shall set, as set they must, And all those tresses shall be laid in dust, This Lock the Muse shall consecrate to fame, And 'midst the stars inscribe Belinda's name."